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inklore · 1 year

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code breaker

premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).

note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3

There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…

But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.

The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.

You know for certain your ex's face is.

Good.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses.

Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.

"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another.

"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."

"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."

"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."

"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach.

Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days.

A girl can dream.

And she has. Embarrassingly.

The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.

An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God.

And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity.

Gratefulness.

Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you?

When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings.

He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.

When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.

That’s the thing about Joel.

He was always there.

If you needed help, he always seemed to find time.

Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before.

And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks.

Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over.

"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped."

And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"

"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone."

"Hey! I could punch someone."

"Could and would are two different things."

"You sayin I couldn’t?"

"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t."

"Not tough enough?"

"Your heart's too big."

"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured."

"I’m shaking in my boots."

"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn. On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.

There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.

"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.

Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch."

"You should still get it looked at."

"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?"

Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel."

"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."

"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."

"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?"

"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out.

A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red.

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully.

"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts.

"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll.

"Don’t alert the press."

"Oh, they’ve already been informed."

His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky.

When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting.

After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink.

"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."

"She’s with a friend tonight."

"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him.

He snorts, "don’t know about all that."

"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin.

"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"

"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."

"It’s deadly."

"Truly."

"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money."

You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be.

But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say.

"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.

No one had acted as quick as Joel had.

Joel Miller was a good man.

"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know.

Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.

Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma.

So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind.

"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good."

The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle.

"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke.

"Look at me."

You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks.

There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.

What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now.

When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?"

"A what—pity kiss?"

"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?"

Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."

"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?"

"Exactly."

There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.

"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."

"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.

And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate.

"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.

An agreement.

"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks.

"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his.

"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders.

Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.

Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one.

His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him.

The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you.

He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl.

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.

If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.

The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers.

You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now.

You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can.

"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.

The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth.

It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs.

Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence.

Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.

The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked.

"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.

"Do you wanna change that?"

The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously." There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.

It can be all about you.

It is all about you.

You deserve nothing less.

His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken.

Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."

"I caused?" His brows shoot up.

"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.

The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis.

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.

He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.

You really did date assholes.

Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging.

"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth.

He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center.

He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"

And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.

"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection.

"Glad I’m amusin’ to you."

Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are."

I’m clean.

I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises.

We’re protected.

Now take me already.

The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.

It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag.

And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.

"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back.

There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight.

When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel.

"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."

"Joel."

"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock.

"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after.

And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."

"He owes me fifty bucks."

There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"

"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though."

"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully.

"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.

"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."

"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.

"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fluff #the last of us smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fic #pedro pascal fics #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction

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thevagabondexpress · 1 year

Text

reasons for a character to be angsty *other than* "abusive/deadbeat parents," "was bullied/assaulted," "queer and living with homophobic parents," or "someone died"

okay. hear me out. maybe it's just me but i'm tired of seeing the very heavy, triggering backstories listed above used to create brooding darkness within a character. now, that's not to say you can't use those. i've seen a couple authors use them and handle them very well. but i feel like they've been overused and, for the majority, not handled particularly well most of the time. hence, i've created a list of alternative reasons for your fictional charater to be a 'lil angsty without that weight of trauma that could be fumbled easily if not handled carefully. feel free to use these and share this around, that's what it's there for. feel free also to provide suggestions in the comments and i'll add them to the list.

∘ time period specific generation z angst: "the planet is turning into a pressure cooker, everything is on fire, democracy is crumbling like a dry pound cake, and nobody who has any power is doing anything because they only care about making money."

∘ habitual insomniac who just can't f***ing get their sleep schedule together. they're snarky and brooding because they're so. f***ing. tired.

∘ eldest sibling angst.

∘ middle sibling angst.

∘ youngest sibling angst.

∘ existential gender/sexuality/educational/career/faith/insert here crisis

∘ crisis of desired vs. perceived identity: "I want people to see me this way but all they ever see is this."

∘ they have a goal. they're really motivated. they're trying hard and they know they're good at what they do. but for some reason either they face consistent roadblocks from other people, or other people just refuse to acknowledge it.

∘ wanting something they can't have, but not in a whiny "he's so hot and I want to go out with him but he won't look at me" sort of way. no, as in, "I want to go visit my family in [insert country] but I don't have the time or money to go and I haven't seen my cousin in years she must be walking and drawing on the walls by now."

∘ unhealthy workaholic with a deep dark secret: that research project, etc. they've been obsessing and staying up late over and pushing everyone away for . . .

∘ sympathy angst: character has a friend/relative that cannot or will not acknowledge the emotions they ought to be feeling, so this character starts feeling the emotions for them

∘ character is caring for someone who is injured/ill (they don't even have to be dying, or in critical condition) and it's taking a toll

∘ character has been in one profession for a long time. now they've quit, moved on, and are doing something else. maybe they've retired. but they miss their old job, plus they find themselves falling back into the old habits. they worked that job so long they don't know how to be anything else.

∘ generational gothic: the character has uncovered a long-buried secret. maybe about their family. maybe about their place of work. maybe about their hometown, or the house they bought. whatever it is, everyone else seems to have forgotten it, and moved on. but they know. and they must cope with the burden of this aged secret thrown over their shoulders.

∘ performative angst: character is really into one of the fine arts. or building cars. or a martial art. or history. or science. whatever. point is, they develop angst deliberately as a performative state because they think it sounds cool.

∘ something the character has always believed to be a concrete fact turns out to be just another terrible fiction.

∘ character discovers a truth about themselves they had not previously realized. now they must analyze it, and come to terms with it. ∘ career-based moral/ethical angst: I do what I have to do because it's necessary and important (or because it's what i've always known, or both). but is it really good, or right? could there be a better way?

∘ time-period specific 1960's system-directed anger, whether that's to do with the civil rights movement or the war or both.

∘ character has moved to a new place. now, they must adjust to new societal expectations and customs, and possibly new food and culture as well. they feel strange and out of place, and miss their homeland.

∘ the character recently ended a relationship (romantic or otherwise) that was no longer functioning. they're the person who ended it, because they could see that things weren't working out anymore, but they're also very aware that the "it's not working out" went both ways and is much their fault as their friend/partner's. hence, they've gone and convinced themself that they were the bad guy, even though they really weren't.

∘ character had a massive falling out with a beloved friend or relative and now the two can't get along. they can barely be in the same room and it's dragging on the both of them and everyone around them.

#character creation #characterization #trope alternatives #writer thoughts and answers #a little pinch of writing advice

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s0apysm1les · 11 months

Note

Lol okay so I got this funny idea or at least... it seemed funny to me in my head... welp so anyways imagine this: Reader calls yandere Peter Parker by this full name and starts to glare at him when he doesn't do something reader asked him to like maybe not doing the chore the darling asked him to?

CW: Goofy reader who adds extra names as emphasis, couple's argument, angry cooking

Batter Chatter

Peter Parker x Reader

not really a yandere story, this one's just cute! Just gonna drop a good one instead of explaining where I've been all this time.

"Peter Benjamin Parker!"

Wasn't a good thing to hear as a teen and it still isn't a good thing to hear as a 27 year old super-hero-but-also-photographer-by-trade. He had only just removed his mask and turned to the source of the alluring voice to see the love of his life.

Definitely angry and with a sharp glare in those beautiful eyes... and it's at that angry look that he remembers why he even left in the first place! Eggs... he forgot the eggs again. He only stepped out for a minute! He could go back out-

"Don't you even think of stepping out that window again Peter Edgar Benjamin Parker!" Oh, you're really mad this time.

"I ask you to do one! Thing! What is that?!" Before he even opens his mouth to respond you continue, "Get eggs! Why? For me to make cakes for YOUR office party that YOU signed me up for!" It was technically his boss, J Jonah Jameson, who signed you up for it but Peter didn't want to bring that up and earn more ire. Why the Daily Bugle is hosting a potluck, he doesn't know but it is a test of all the worker's ability to cook and everyone is pulling all stops.

He was specifically told "Parker, since it seems the only thing you're capable of doing is bringing half-shot photos of Spiderman, I don't trust you to bring in anything edible. You better leave it to that girlfriend of yours. Mary Jane or whatever."

"Ah, it's actually-"

"Don't correct me, Parker. Didn't I just say 'or whatever'? Whoever it is, I'm sure it's better than you! Have them bring it in or else!"

And with that, you were unwillingly listed in the catering field for the next week as you figure out what to bring, what you need and how you'll do it in the small apartment kitchen. With Peter hovering over your shoulder, you settle on bite sized portions of three types of cake, lemon pound cake, chocolate cake and strawberry cakes, each with little pads of icing or glaze on top. Peter called them cupcakes, you called him uncultured in the kitchen. "Petit Fours" you called them.

And all you asked of him was to bring you a 24 pack of eggs... which he didn't...

"Peter Edgar Johnson Parker! Are you listening to me?!"

"Yes, of course! I'm sorry! I promise I'm listening."

"Then why didn't you do what I asked! You decided to just fight random thugs on the street again." Your voice went from dry anger to wet anger. You sounded like you were going to cry. "It wasn't even any of your big bad enemies. The police could have taken care of these guys! Why don't you care about me?" You finished by dropping your head and hugged yourself.

Peter drops his mask and races to your side and attempts to both hug you and lift your face to look at him.

"I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry. Look at me, please?"

"No" You cry out, head still dropped and trying to hide yourself from him. You're immediately embarrassed because you're crying over such a little thing as a carton of eggs that you yourself could've gotten in the interim - remembering you had actually done so after he left.

You already knew that he was going to stop and fight some bad guys. It's his job. And he has to do this to keep you safe. You know this, you do. But just, over and over and over again. He forgets what you ask him to remember when he's fighting and it's to the point where it feels almost purposeful and that you're not worth remembering.

You wipe your eyes and sniff. You're mad. Stay mad. You remind yourself.

"Get out." You say. Trying to make it not obvious that you're crying and failing as he looks at your red shiny eyes.

"What? No wait -"

"Peter Charles Edgar Johnson - whatever the - PARKER!" You yell out. "Get out of the living room! Get out of the kitchen! Let me cook in peace!" You push away from him and watch his strong arms drop limply to his side, bumping off of his body as they fall.

Calling the expression on his face the "kicked puppy" look would make him seem less hurt than he actually was. But you were mad and you had to make yourself be strong.

"Go to the room, Peter. Now." You point for emphasis at the doorway a mere 3 feet away. The imposing hollow core door that hung crookedly on its hinges felt more like iron bars. And after a staring contest of 10 seconds, he slowly made his way into the room.

He didn't turn on the light and instead stood in the dark and stared at you until you ahem'd him to close the door with another flick of your finger. He complied...

With a stiffening of your shoulders, another wipe of your face and a full body shake you got started with cooking. You removed the eggs that YOU bought from the fridge and pulled up the recipes for the three cakes you intended to miniaturize and got started. Halfway through the second's batter beating, you heard the loud creak of the door opening and knew the eyes watching you belonged to your sulking boyfriend.

You didn't turn around, instead just let him watch. And as you cooked and moved and decorated, he slowly emerged from the room and sat in the doorway. You assume anyway, because you refused to turn back and look at him, still wanting to make him feel how upset you were despite not being so angry any more.

With you finally finishing up on the decorating portion, you felt that Peter had moved closer now and decided to finally glance at him. You see him propped against the corner of the kitchen's island and looking at you with his own set of tired and red rimmed eyes.

You look at him, the desserts and the sink half full of dishes and breath out an exhale. You grab a pink iced mini cake and a lemon cake and walk over to him and drop down into a cross legged position in front of him. Without a word and without looking into his eyes you pass him the strawberry cake.

He's staring at your face and you can feel it while you watch him in your peripheral vision bite into the cake.

"Is it good?" You ask after a far too long moment.

"mhm" he says around the cake in his mouth.

You lean against his shoulder and look up at his face.

"... can you do the dishes?" you ask. I love you, I'm sorry.

"Mhm" he kisses your forehead and then leans his head onto yours.

"I love you" "I love you too"

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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

Text

a piece of cake

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Something happens at Shuri's birthday party that leads to a heated fight.

word count: 3k words. (fuck, it worth every damn word)

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! angry jealous sex, let's start there. unprotected sex, oral sex (face fucking and ridding), fingering, brief daddy!kink, brief praise!kink, language, cursing, handcuffing, mention of bodily fluids, and probably i'm forgetting something else, i just lost my mind. bucky being the cutest and loving man on earth at the end.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list here.

You had never been so quiet, but you knew that opening your mouth only could cause a storm inside the car, on your way back home. Believing you could have a pinch of luck, Bucky wouldn't notice that something was raving you mad since the moment you watched him letting another woman give him a spoon of cake. Straight to his mouth. You almost choked on your drink, talking to Shuri about how excited she was to celebrate her birthday in New York, when you witnessed the scene hearing their laughs and watching how they dared to touch his metal arm constantly. Your boyfriend was talking with some of his old friends from Wakanda, not even knowing he made friends there. He never said a word about it. Even so, they didn't have the right to flirt with him. Unless he didn't say anything about you.

But Bucky wasn't stupid. Or at least, not like you thought. Gazing you by the corners of his blue eyes, he was conscious that something was going wrong. He licked his upper lip briefly, slowly. He tasted the waters putting a hand on your thigh, which was your favorite gesture while he was driving, deriving with your fingers laced and him placing kisses on the back of your hand. But you didn't move an inch, still staring through the copilot's window with your elbow nailed there and your chin resting on your knuckles.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing”.

Your passive tone and the lie as a response caused him to frown, pulling over the car to focus on you. He turned on his seat and placed a hand behind the headrest of yours.

“Spit it”.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow ironically, looking at him for a second. If he had to ask it was because he wasn't really seeing the dilemma there.

“I'm just tired and I wanna go home, James. That's all”.

James. James. You did it unconsciously, but he didn't take it as an innocent manner of calling him. Unexpressive, the soldier joined the highway driving faster than he used to. You had pissed him off, but it wasn't your problem. He had hurt your feelings with something he didn't give any importance to. The only thing you wanted was to take a shower, put on your comfier pajamas and go to sleep, probably you'd see tomorrow that situation differently than today and you could move on from your insecurities and the jealousy running through your veins.

You arrived at your apartment in record time, keeping the car inside the parking under the building. You removed the seat belt to wear your leather jacket and grab your purse on your feet, stepping out when you were ready. But Bucky stayed inside, just turning off the engine. He didn't have any intention of leaving it, maintaining his hands tightly gripped around the wheel. You ignored him as soon as you couldn't pretend you were just tired anymore. It was the first time something like that happened and you were having a strong desire to throw your guts up.

Three minutes later you were under the warm water with your forehead resting against the cold wall and your eyes closed. Maybe you were overreacting and the rational, mature behavior would be to go to talk with him, tell your boyfriend what made you feel upset. Sighing as you nodded two times, determined to put the cards on the table, you shut off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Oh, fucking hell!” You growled because of the scare of your life when you found Bucky already in your shared room.

He had his back supported on the wall, a leg flexed, and his hands behind himself. No expression on his face, but expecting an explanation from you. You were hoping for something from him too, maybe I don't know what I've done to make you feel like that, can you give me a clue? He just stared at you in silence, drying the pearls of water decorating your body before wearing a pair of black panties and your forgotten pajamas instead of one of his t-shirts impregnated on his scent.

“Com'ere”. Bucky whispered, stretching his flesh hand on air when you were about to go to sleep.

“No”.

Well, that wasn't the proper way to talk like grown adults. You crossed both arms on your chest, standing next to your side of the bed.

“What'd you say?” He squinted incredulous, slowly standing from the wall, pretending you hadn't uttered that word.

“I said no, you fucking punk”.

“The hell d'you think you're talking to, darling?”

“To the cretin who let other women flirt and touch him”. You replied with evident annoyance. “Why don't you go to show them your daddy's skills, uh? Sure I can find someone who respects me in the meantime”.

Suddenly, a grimace you hadn't seen before on him appeared like a thunderbolt. You weren't sure if you just made him feel more furious or if you just broke his heart. But before you could figure it out, Bucky shorted the distance between both in two fast strides and his hands gripped your throat and the back of your neck respectively, pinning you to the closest wall and tossing the lamp on your nightstand to the floor. You complained slightly —with his tongue wildly invading your mouth— because of the strength he used to put you against the wall.

You tried to push him away, to not fall into his charmings, but he made your mind blank when his fingers were firmly nailed in your ass and his body was accommodated between your legs. Your fiery provoked a bulge under his pants so painful that in every rock against your core he wasn't sure if it hurt or if it was some kind of pleasure he couldn't handle. Out of breath, Bucky attacked your neck, digging his teeth in your neck with so much passion that you screamed delighted his full name while pulling his hair. That gesture drove him insane, losing the less sanity he had at that point. With just a push, your boyfriend ripped off your shirt to strip you, in anticipation of your panties suffering the same fate.

Bucky threw you to the mattress on your abdomen, perfectly positioned to what was about to happen. He was so eager, so desperate for showing you what he was feeling that he didn't lose time taking off his clothes, just undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans to pull them down to his ankles along his boxers. You heard him spitting in his hand to use it as lube, although you were sufficiently soaked and ready for your Buck that neither of you needed his saliva. He rammed his dolorous erection into your cunt, crashing his pelvis and pressing it against your ass with all his strength, causing you to drown a loud cry in the sheets.

Tangling his fingers with yours and lacing your arms around your neck, putting all his weight onto your back, Bucky pounded you with an insanely quick rhythm, not giving you any chance to mold your throbbing walls around his length. Your pleased vocals echoed inside your room in total sync with the hits to your g-spot. Your body received with every one of them soft cramps mixed with pain and pleasure, making you roll your eyes and tear your throat.

“'S that wh— what you wanted, uh?” Bucky snarled against the back of your neck, totally gone, not giving you a break or showing any mercy.

“Fuck, no…” You replied, challenging him.

He swallowed a rough moan, wrapping his cold fingers around your throat while using the other to pull back your hair and arch your body. “Don' fucking… lie to me, doll… You wan— wanted your daddy to make you… feel desired over tho— those women”.

And yes, he was right. More or less. But you didn't expect him to react like that. Bucky was rabidly fucking you, moving the bed from its position with every angry thrust into your pussy. You knew you weren't going to last for too long if he continued impaling you against the mattress, just like that. But you both had to recognize that it was the best session of sex of your life.

“You were… fucking mad watch— watching 'em touch my arm… your arm, right?”

You whined at the brutality he used to push his hard cock beyond your limits, holding it there as he tilted your head to crash his lips on yours. Bucky devoured them until they were shiny, swollen, slightly ached because of the bit he left on your bottom one.

“If you don't tell me… the truth… I swear I'm not gonna let you come”. The whisper fell into your ear with such a raspy tone of voice, conscious of him being very capable.

“It was… your fucking fault, James. Not… Not mine”. You grunted, feeling him going a little deeper. “I di— didn't let anybody flirt with me… as if you didn't exist”.

That was the truth, but the wrong answer for him. Suddenly, Bucky pulled out his dick covered in your arousal, freeing you from any grip. A pause that only lasted the time he took to grab the handcuffs from your nightstand to place them in your wrists and secure them around the headboard. Now you were under his total control, defying him by strongly closing your legs and frowning at him, panting and sweating.

“Lemme tell you something”. Your boyfriend said, dangerously crawling over the bed till reaching your knees and forcing them to be separated, wide spread for him. “If you think I was flirting, but you didn't see… how uncomfortable I was… This situation is not my fault”.

The tables were turned as he finished his sentence, settling himself between your legs yet kneeling to raise your ass above his lap. “Not so mouthy now, are you, doll?”

You wanted to speak back, to say something after having a second to reconsider the reason why you were so angrier at him when Bucky pushed you down and rammed his dick back to the place it belonged. You forced unconsciously your hands gripped, wanting to put them on him —wherever—. As soon as he handcuffed you, your desire for touching him used to be suffocating. But you were the one who played from the start, instead of telling him how you were feeling about that situation at Shuri's party.

Bucky didn't even let you kiss him, stabilizing you on top with an arm around your waist and his cold hand holding the back of your head. His hips rocked straight to your g-spot once and once, making you lose any kind of control over your body as your boyfriend didn't have any compassion, needing to find relief to his sorrowful erection by cumming inside your clenching walls. You were driving him crazy, maintaining your eye contact at all moments and almost drinking your delighted, obscene crying, aware that only him could cause you to be so dirty.

“Feels good, uh…? You like it?” Your boyfriend brushed your lips with his, depriving you of his kisses or any other touch. “Bec— 'cause you take your daddy... so damn good, baby girl… So tight… so tight you could kill me”.

“Yes, da— daddy”. You whimpered nodding your head. “Only you… can fuck me li— like that… Only you”.

“That's it… that's it, oh, fuck… fuck, doll”.

You saw him roll that pair of beautiful blue eyes to the back of his head, feeling Bucky's thighs tensing under your legs. You didn't want anything else than making him cum, after overthinking about how he felt, and not about what you witnessed. He was right, more or less. He was still being so innocent in those kinds of situations that he used to feel like a scared kid.

You suddenly fell back to reality when the emptiness sensation invaded you. Bucky pulled out his length from you again, causing you to beg in silence for not denying you the orgasm you were about to reach. But he warned you. Bucky asked you to tell him the truth and you chose to challenge him. Letting you sit on the mattress, he flexed a leg to guide his twitching cock to your mouth, not needing to tell you what he wanted you to do. You just parted your lips, receiving him without protesting, curling your fingers when he forced your limits, and positioned both hands on your head. Twirling your tongue around his base as you could, with your cavity completely invaded, Bucky provoked you a strong gag. A gesture that led to his warm seed being spilled down your throat.

“Fuck my life, baby girl!” He couldn't help but howl driven by the pleasure as you coughed and made vibrate his sensitive skin.

Just holding his dick trapped by your lips for a second, he freed your mouth, taking his time to admire you swallowing his cum and showing afterward your tongue. God, you looked so beautiful disheveled, with teary eyes and swollen lips because of the effort.

“Want me to tell you something else?” Bucky asked while cleaning the sweat in his forehead with the back of his arm, taking the small key to liberating you with his free hand.

You didn't reply, not needing to, as he rubbed your wrists to comfort your skin before lying by your side.

“Com'ere”. He whispered, yet trying to recover your breathings. Bucky wrapped you with his flesh arm, rubbing his iron fingers up and down your tense belly, creating a contrast that caused you goosebumps. “'M so sorry for making you feel like that”.

He kissed you. Slowly, passionate, tasting his own juices mixed with your saliva. Caressing your tongue with the tip of his, and no rush. You felt his digits touring down your skin, till finding your throbbing and needed clit. You weren't able to hold back a sweet moan when he circled his fingertip over your sensible pearl, gladly drinking your vocals.

“When I wanted to react… she was putting that damn spoon into my mouth. It felt horrible, doll, I promise”. He murmured, venturing his long cold finger to part your folds and sink it inside you —moaning at the fulfill sensation—. “You always save me from those awkward situations… but you were having fun with Shuri and I didn't want to interrupt you”.

You were feeling like shit, looking at him through your eyelids as he curved a second finger into your cunt and increased the pace of the pounds with his hand made of vibranium. Bucky spread some gentle kisses all around your face, ending with a tender bite to your lips.

“When you told me you wanted to go home, I felt a huge relief… 'Cause that was everything I wanted. Go home with you. Maybe watch a movie… cuddle… fall asleep on the sofa”.

“Oh, God, Bucky”. You wept onto his mouth, as soon as a third finger filled you, nailing his hand in the perfect position to be moved up and down. “I'm so— sorry, Buck… I'm sorry”.

“Fuck, no”. He let out, thrusting you harder, faster, creating a melody of filthy sloppy sounds while your moans were louder and louder. “I should stop 'em, I didn't… I didn't. But I respect you more than anything, doll… I love you with all my heart. I care 'bout you, 'bout your feelings… Can you forgive me? Can you… Can you cum for me?”

You nodded your head running out of words, seeing your boyfriend snaking his body down the bed to between your shaky legs, yet having his fingers knuckles deep inside you. “Keep 'em open for your man”.

The blow to your abused cunt provoked you a lash up to your backbone, landing your hands on his head as Bucky sank his face straight to your center. His digits fucked you savagely, while his tongue took control of your swollen pearl —sucking, licking, kissing, pulling it back—. He wasn't going to deny that pleasure to you, quite the opposite. You pressed unconsciously his face a little closer to your pussy, swinging your hips and riding his mouth when his caresses and his pushes became too much for you.

Bucky made you cum harder than ever, crying his name till you didn't have any strength and you were just a sack of bones under his expert mouth, devouring you and drinking your juices as if it was the elixir of life. And when he was satiated, you glanced at him using the tip of his tongue to trail a path up crossing your abdomen, the gap between your breasts, your throat, until kissing you again getting comfortable on top of you. It was a kiss full of love, and guiltiness, and necessity, and pure devotion for you.

“Did I hurt you with what I said?” You murmured, still enraptured by the fireworks fluttering within your belly.

“This isn't 'bout me”. Bucky clicked his tongue, hiding his face into your sweaty neck. “This is 'bout what I let happen”.

“That doesn't answer my question, Buck… I'm sorry about what I said. I was just… I feel insecure". You confessed stroking his scalp and back with your hands, lacing your legs together. “I didn't mean it. I would never try to… find someone who respects me more than you do. That's impossible. And not talking about how much you love me”.

“I love you with every inch of myself”. He swore, he promised, raising his face to look straight at your eyes. “I can't imagine a life without you”.

“Me either… Your love makes me feel alive”.

Bucky left one last tender kiss on your lips before suddenly standing up and holding you onto his arms to carry you to the bathroom and take a shower together —wash your hair, worship your body again as if it was the last thing he was going to do—.

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2K notes · View notes

natswritingz · 3 years

Text

Sexting next door / Sam x Reader

Note : This is my first fic in I don’t know how long, I tried my hardest so I really hope at least someone can enjoy this lol, also might be typos!

Words : 2.4k

Warnings : Sexting, exchanging pictures, dirty dirty talking, talk of oral/penetration/dry humping, swearing, lots of stuff.

The last week had been occupied with a hunt which ended with the three of you searching the woods for an old cemetery, laying all the buried souls to rest. Working with the Winchesters made the gigs easier. You found some joy in their presence, especially around Sammy.

You guys obviously had crushed on eachother, Sammy made the most moves while you took them as innocent jokes. You just didn't want to complicate anything for anyone.

You all had just got back to the motel, while the brothers shared a room like always, you got your own right next door. Your phone sat next to you as you pried off your dirt caked boots, hidden graveyards were something else. The device chimed with Sams assigned ringtone, you grabbed it in eagerness.

"You get settled in?"

You smiled at the text, he knew how to make you feel special even if it's a simple check in. You struggled with a response that sounded natural, typing then deleting, you finally wrote one and went with it.

"Yeah, just got the boots off lol"

"Are you getting anything good on the tv?"

"Nope, nothing"

That was a lie, you haven't even looked at the tv yet, but he didn't know that. You began unbuttoning your grimy top, feeling the cool air nip at your skin while the material still hung on your shoulders. You bit your lip as you typed another text to follow your previous one.

"Finally getting out of these clothes too"

You locked your phone quickly with embarrassment, you couldn't believe what you just sent. He was your friend, but the entire day he had been constantly flirting which made the temptation even harder to resist. The phone chimed after what felt like ages.

"Me too, I was able to get the shower first"

You read the text through squinted eyes, terrified to read his response with fully opened eyes. Your mind trailed to the image of him without anything on, the warm water running down his toned body, it made your heart race.

"Just about to get in"

You nervously pulled at your lip while intently watching the screen.

"Maybe I should hop in too, hot water sounds amazing right now"

"Do it, I'll keep you company ;)"

The wink confirmed it. He was leaving an opening for you to accept or decline before pursuing anything more.

"I'm taking off my clothes right now, what are you doing?"

"Turning the shower on, already undressed"

"I wish I could see that"

He opened it and hasn't responded in a while, you completely fucked it up. You cursed at yourself before seeing the tiny text bubble come up and disappear a few times until one finally came in.

"I wish I could see you take off those jeans, I could not stop staring at your ass today. All I wanted to do was pounce on you, you've been all I could think of."

You gulped at his message, this was would be your first time sexting, you were already loving it. You felt yourself getting excited at his message, reading it over and over. You pulled your shirt off the rest of the way.

"You were looking? That's very unprofessional of you, Sammy. If only I knew, I would've been 'accidentally' grinding against you all day."

Both of your tones suddenly changed, it wasn't the laid back no-period texts you normally exchanged, it was dirty and intriguing. You couldn't wait for him to respond.

"If you had done that, I don't think I would've been able to control myself."

"What would you have done? I would've loved to feel you press against my ass, I'm clenching my thighs just thinking about it."

"I would've pulled you into the nearest room and commanded you to grind against me until you came in your pretty panties."

You groaned at the thought, Sammy made dry humping sound hot, he could probably make any sexual act sound compelling.

"How do you know what panties I wear?"

You found yourself completely wrapped in texting back and forth you forgot about your plans to shower. Deciding to get comfortable, you leaned back onto the comforter. You were invested in where this was going, a shower could wait, unlike this.

"I've done your laundry and seen you in your undergarments before. I think I pretty much know everything about you, Y/N."

"I'm imaging my lace covered pussy grinding against your bulge covered by your boxers. It would feel so good to have you rub against me. I'd be soaking through my panties you could definitely see it dampening both our cloths."

You wanted to get dirtier so you tested the water, you wrote the first thing you thought of. It may have been a little too forward but your lust clouded all rational thinking.

"Jesus. My imagination might not be doing this scenario justice, I think we'd have to try it out next time we see eachother."

The elation in you grew with each suggestion.

"And when will that be?"

"If you keep it up, soon. Have you stripped yet?"

Sam was a great dom, he wanted everything to be in his control and you couldn't help but like it. You could trust him with control.

"I've been so busy with our little daydreams, I forgot I was even going to shower. Laying in bed still partially clothed."

"Take your pants off now, then give your ass a nice spank for me. Make it sting."

You followed his orders, placing the phone to your side as you lifted your hips to remove the jeans. You held the phone again as you flipped, now laying on your stomach, you used your free hand to rub on your cheek before giving it a sharp smack.

"Both are done, I'm thinking this might leave a mark?"

You raised your phone in a rush of confidence, snapping a photo of your ass and the handprint that reddened with time, attaching it to your message, and sending it without any hesitation. The mark was not as big as Sam could do and you dearly wished it was his hand instead.

"Fucking hell Y/N, I was not expecting that. You're making me want to come over right now to fuck you senseless."

"What do I do next? Still have my panties and bra on."

"Take your bra off baby girl, play with your nipples till they're both hard. Pinch them, flick them, be rough with it."

It was easy for you to follow his words, you found yourself loving his demands and dominance, you could keep following them for hours. You held yourself up with an elbow, you pinched the tip hard between your fingertips, rolling them slightly for more stimulation. You moaned with each uncoordinated flick.

"They're feeling so sensitive now."

You attached another picture, your tits in frame with your now erect and red nipples. After his reaction with the last one, you wanted to get more from him.

"So so perfect. Picture I'm there, sucking and biting on them. My warm breath fanning your soft skin. I want to make you feel good."

"You're making me feel good right now, I can't believe we're actually doing this."

"We can stop whenever you get uncomfortable, I want you to be good with all of this."

His message made you smile through the lust, he really did care about you. It wasn't the most ideal timing, but you could easily get worked back up again with his skills.

"Sorry, never wanna stop this <3"

You shook your head with a small laugh as you flirted.

"Good, me neither. You still have your panties on like a good girl?"

"Haven't taken them off yet, you haven't told me to."

"Sounds like someone's enjoying being bossed around, huh? What if I told you to suck me off, would you do it?"

"I'd let you throat fuck me. I want to gasp for my breath when you finally pull from my mouth."

"Your lips look perfect for my cock, I want to see them wrapped around me as I thrust into your mouth."

"I want you to be as rough as you can, Sammy."

You flipped over to your back once again, your hand dipping into your undies, rubbing soft circles over your clit as you awaited another message. You wanted to invite him over that instant but you had to resist the urge, sexting was fun and a good first step for the two of you.

"I've finally entered the shower, I'm stroking myself to the pictures you sent me. Kinda hard keeping the phone dry."

You laughed a little to yourself at the end of his message.

"Your turn?"

Not that your heart hadn't been pounding the entire time, your recent text made it even faster. You bit your lip in anticipation, you couldn't lie to yourself, you've always wondered what he was packing. And just like that, you revived a picture. Your jaw clenched at his size and width, you weren't entirely sure you'd be able to fit him if you ever got to doing this stuff in person. It was hot and impressive.

"How am I going to fit all of you? I don't think any amount of wetness would prepare me for you."

"We'll make it fit princess, I wanna see your warm pussy stretch around me. Fuuuck, I want you so bad Y/N."

"I want you bad too, maybe our next session can be face to face. I can't imagine how you'll make me feel when I have your hands on me instead of my own."

"You touching yourself right now? I don't remember telling you to stop playing with your tits."

"I couldn't take it anymore, I was aching for some relief."

That was true, your pussy throbbed for attention to the point it hurt to not touch yourself. No one else had this affect over you, making you soak through your lace like nothing.

"Fine, you can touch yourself as long as you don't cum until I allow you, and take it easy, I want you to enjoy this."

"Yes, Sammy."

You slowed down, rubbing slow circles on your aroused clit. Everything was heightened and sensitive, what was he doing to you?

"I'm touching myself, paced instead of rushed. I wish this was your hand. Not gonna lie, I constantly think of how good your large hands would feel on my body."

"Where?"

His response was immediate after he quickly read your message, considering what he told you just a little ago, you knew he was getting off to your little conversation.

"On my ass, in my pussy, around my throat. Even you holding my hands above my head or behind my back sounds like a pleasure. I want you to touch and explore every part of me."

The typing bubble appeared just as it did when he responded to every other text, this time you cut off his response with another one of your own, you wanted to get him really worked up.

"For future reference, I'd probably cum instantly with your tongue on my clit and your fingers in me as deep as they'd go."

You weren't a newbie when it came to sex, you knew what you wanted in the bedroom. Being a hunter and constantly hopping town to town, you had your occasional one night stand to release the stress that came with your job.

"Oh really? You want me buried in you while tasting you all at once? I can do that for you princess, I've been wanting to taste you. I'd eat you out till you came on my tongue then I'd make you kiss me, deep."

"You already know I'd return the favor."

You referred back to your message you sent not long ago about going down on him.

"We haven't even talked about getting to the main act and you've got me almost cumming. I had to slow my pace in order to not finish."

You smirked at his reply, biting your lip with a small groan as you still touched yourself. You were hoping you had the same effect on him that he had on you.

"Let's get onto the main act then. How'd you want to fuck me?"

"I can think of a few ways... But I most definitely want to see myself slide in and out of you. I want to enjoy every bit."

"Maybe my hands holding onto the back of my thighs while laying on my back? Everything would be on display."

"I could put your legs up on my shoulders and get really deep in you. Wouldn't that feel good?"

"I'd be seeing stars. And I would not be able to walk afterwards. Feeling you brush against my cervix repeatedly with your big cock, you're gonna fill me so good."

"Y/N you're gonna make me cum. Speed up."

With his permission, you started to rub faster. You moaned loudly, forgetting about anyone else in the seedy motel.

"Fuck, keep moaning."

You blushed in embarrassment, he could hear you from their rooms bathroom which definitely meant Dean could hear you, the strangers on the opposite side didn't concern you. You allowed yourself to moan with each lap, not holding back the cries. You went on for a minute before diverting your attention back to the phone.

"Imagine how much louder I'd be with you inside me."

"I've been thinking about all the noises you'd be making the entire time. You sound so hot. Are you close?"

"Yeah Sammy, I'm almost there."

Your breathing pattern became rapid and harsh, small wines escaping your lips as you played yourself to perfection.

"Beg for permission to cum."

You groaned at his response.

"Please let me cum, please Sam, I'm not sure I can hold it."

It was hard enough holding back your release but even harder to beg with one hand.

"You can cum baby, just cause you've been so good."

Your body released the tension, the relief rolling in as you came in your panties, finally. It hit you hard, your hips shaking as you moaned louder than earlier. You couldn't deny it, you never orgasmed like that when you were doing it solo.

"I couldn't help but finish to your moans"

His response was like his usual ones, not so formal and more playful. You could get used to seeing both sides regularly.

"We should do this more often, or try it in person, either one"

"I am 100% on board with that"

If for some reason you wanna be notified when I post a new fic, leave a comment to be tagged and your username will go here!

#supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fic #supernatural imagine #supernatural smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #spn

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freshsweetrolls · 3 years

Text

honey dipped words through sugar coated lips

- kanroji mitsuri x gn!reader

- warnings !; lack of eating,starvation,body dysmorphia(?)

-notes; mitsuri my absolute queen i love you so

the cool afternoon breeze tangled within the silk curtains. dipping into the ajar window. the hum of summer bugs echoed throughout the garden beyond. dipping through flowers filled with sweet nectar.

kanroji watched, content. her fingers tangled within her own ombré hair, undoing her thick braids. a gentle smile played on her painted lips as she fed herself the sweet and salty treat of sakura mochi. licking any loose rice pieces from her lips.

she turned her head slightly upon hearing the creak of a door opening. as y/n stepped out of the shadow of the doorway. still dressed in their demon slayer attire. kanjiro frowned at this, a slight pout on her face. as she moved over to make room for them.

"ah, the doors quite noisy!" she exclaimed, her tone lathered with emotion. "i'll have to see if i can fix it later."

y/n hummed in agreement. settling next to the pillar of love as she pressed theirself against her. replacing their own hands with kanroji’s, to which she hummed happily. feeling y/n's delicately brush her hands through knots. relishing in the feeling of their hands moving through her maintained hair flawlessly.

y/n sighed, taking in her sweet scent of thick perfume and cherry blossoms. with a slight undertone of-

"kanroji, have you been eat sakura mochi again? i can smell the anko." y/n quipped, smirking. as kanjiro's cheeks flushed a gentle pink. sheepishly, she lifted up the plate of almost finished sakura mochis'. anko paste smeared among the platter, littered with bits of pink rice cake.

"i have two left, would you like one?" kanroji asked kindly, holding a mochi closer and closer to y/n.

y/n sucked in a sharp breath, eyeing the sweet spring treat. gathering kanroji’s hair to tie into two little, more simplistic braids. a feeling of guilt puddling in their stomach.

"the offer is generous kanroji but I'll have to pass."

kanroji frowned, still holding the platter. "i watched you skip breakfast this morning, sweetness. and i know when you went out for your mission this late morning you didn't stop for lunch." she stated, tone laced with worry.

she hesitated before continuing, looking a little nervous as her ears reddened. "and last night, i found your dinner all scooped in the trash. not a bite missing." she whispered

"although this is a cheat snack, and not necessarily filling, it's better than nothing!" she explained, giving y/n a quick wink. "as long as kocho doesn't know!"

finishing their handy work in kanroji’s hair, they tied the two twin braids together. letting them cascade before coming together. sitting back, y/n swallowed thickly.

"it's just ah-" their tongue went dry and heavy in their mouth, feeling their head buzz with nerves. "i don't know, since i'm a demon slayer and all i wanted to keep a better shape. so i've cut my diet down a bit. just so i can lose a few pounds." y/n confessed, playing with a loose strand of hair.

"i-i just don't like how I look right now." they voice got quieter, cracked over with emotion. the dirt beneath their shoes being interesting than kanroji’s gentle green eyes. "and my uniform is the only thing that can cover that up."

the platter kanjiro was holding was put down with a gentle clink, a deep breath was exhaled through her nose. she was silent for a few moments, collecting her thoughts.

reaching over she gently thumbed the tear that had just barely slipped from y/n eye. holding their face ever so gently in her palms.

"now now." she hummed. "no need to get your self all worked up, i know how nervous you get in confrontational situations such as these."

pondering, she continued. "y/n you are absolutely stunning, i don't know what ever made you think that."

y/n nestled intokanroji’s soft palms, feeling her thumb pad lightly graze their rosy cheeks.

"there isn't a single thing i wouldn't change about your gentle soul. and you too should feel the same." she continued, bringing her fingers to hold their chin in them, peppering gentle kisses along their face.

"loving yourself will never fully happen. i'm not saying you went ever love yourself, there will always be parts of you you will adore." kanroji explained, voice hushed. pausing her explanation to prompt y/n to speak.

"like my eyes." she mumbled back, causing kanjiro to grin.

"yes yes! exactly!" she jeered, kissing y/n once more.

"however you can accept it. either accept the fact that you can change that part of you, through self love and confidence. or accept the fact that it is unchangeable, and learn to love it."

tears began to form in the corner of their eyes, gently trickling down her cheeks. upon seeing the tears filled with joy, she too began to cry.

"wow kanroji, you have a way with words." y/n said, tone breathless as they gently wiped the tears from their face. kanjiro chuckled.

"i'm not too sure about that. but if that's how you feel, then so be it." flicking the braids over her shoulder, she reached over to gently grab the platter of leftover mochi. turning to face y/n.

"i don't know how it'll taste now, but at least try half?" nudging the tray closer, y/n picked up a mochi. gently nibbling it between her teeth.

"i'll try kanroji. i am forever grateful for you my dear." y/n hummed, glancing upwards at a beaming kanroji. who was mid-chew of her own salty treat. the gleam of it being on her lips, reflected from the sun.

"anytime! now let us enjoy this peaceful afternoon."

pulling y/n closer, she gently tangled her fingers within their hair. massaging at their scalp with a soothing motion. unspeaking as the hot summer air stirred the leaves. the humming of the bugs a sweet lullaby combined with the birds as their orchestra.

@ 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴

#[ 🌙 ] -#mitsuri #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer fanfiction #kimetsu no yabia fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #kanroji mitsuri #mitsuri kanroji #mitsuri kanroji x reader #freshsweetrolls

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heyheyloki · 4 years

Note

what if mc wanted to cook for beel? but mc can barely boil rice let alone make a whole meal to satisfy him, they attempt to do so anyways and nearly burns themselve, along with the whole kitchen down. definitely not based on a true story, cause i've got stove privileges.

Cooking Chaos

I can’t cook to save my life so this is great, thanks for the request!

Beelzebub x GN!Reader

It was night, nearing midnight. After a long week of school with the other demon brothers, you and your favorite famished sixth-born out of the seven always did a movie night on Fridays. A way to kick off the weekend with waking up the next day around noon, since it was always at least three in the morning when you’d actually fell asleep.

Most of the days, the food that’d Beel and you would eat would be take out, or someone else would make it. Though, that was mostly if another brother was joining in like Mammon, Levi, or Belphie. Tonight, however, it was only going to be Beel and you, and you wanted to do something to celebrate the first night in a while that it’d just be the two of you. You thought maybe making some food for tonight would be the best idea, the thing is, you suck at cooking. You couldn’t even do something without burning some food, or yourself. Your lack in skill for cooking made Lucifer have to take action and literally ban you from the kitchen unless another brother was with you.

So, in order for this to be a surprise, you had to sneak into the kitchen when you knew Lucifer was in his room and the others were out, sleeping, or in their room as well. When you reached the area of the house undetected so far, you flicked the lights on. Taking a deep breath and praying to Simeon and Luke to let this go off without a hitch, you finally began your plan.

You planned to make a meal fit for a family of twenty. Given how Beel can eat a whole cake in one bite, it was the mere minimum you could do to satisfy his hunger. You knew the basics of cooking. Yanno, pans, heat, pretty much all the essential tools needed to help. But, when it came to executing the action, you were a complete failure.

Taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally, you got started. First, you grabbed the cookbook you borrowed from Belphie, the only demon brother that knew of your plans. It was safe to trust him, especially with anything that had Beel at the center of it. It had most of Beel’s favorite foods, actually, it had a couple of favorites for every one of the brothers. But, you focused on only the few pages marked with the orange color. Beel’s color.

Minutes went by, you swore it was only minutes. Standing in the middle of the kitchen with egg whites on your hands, flour up on your arms, and a few unfamiliar food items splattered all over your clothes. Over all, a huge mess was standing in the middle of an even bigger mess. The egg that was on your arm, some of that was on the counter. When you cracked it you seriously didn’t think you did it too hard. Over and over again you tried but you could never kept it in it’s shell long enough to make it over to the heated pan.

The flour on your arms was a pounded mess all over the cabinets down to the tile floor. It was like someone just held a leaf blower to a few pounds of flour at the entrance and let it rip without a care in the world. Not to mention all the food items only found in Devildom were sliding slowly off the walls, leaving some weird green goo behind it. One was even on the ceiling since you tried to do that pancake flip trick just to get an ego boost, though, it only shrunk your confidence.

You stared at the scene in front of you with deadpan eyes, your hands outside of your pockets out of fear for soiling your clothes even further. After taking in the entire kitchen, you started to slowly agree with Lucifer about your kitchen ban.

You sighed, taking your hands over towards the towels and cleaning the mess. The paper towel that went over your skin started to get more pressurized, more rough. Your eyes narrowed on your hands as you rubbed them over and over, even when you knew the guck was off, you kept going. Your hands started to redden, clearly irritated. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have stopped anytime soon if it wasn’t from the voice that called your name.

A shaky breath came out of your lungs, your eyes going wide for a second as your brain connected the dots. When you noticed who it was simply from the voice, you stayed still. Almost ashamed to turn around.

“What happened?” Beel asked, his footsteps painfully loud in your ears as they came closer.

You turned your gaze down, your head following suit as your hands gripped the counter. “I wanted to cook for you.” You explained, your voice coming out brittle and low.

Your knuckles began to white as you waited for him to speak, your heart fast against your chest at the knowledge him right behind you. You knew if you turned around, you’d probably face a saddened face. You didn’t want to be pitied, you hated that most in the world.

But, when you finally turned to him at his voice beckoning you to turn around, you didn’t find a trace of pity along his expression. None at all. You swore for a moment, a split second, you lost the air in your lungs. Nothing in his face shined more bright than the happiness you saw. His smile was wide, the ends of his lips showing small dimples that made your heart skip a beat. It was so genuine, so kind that it actually made the ends of his eyes crinkle with nothing but pure joy.

“You wanted to cook for me?” He asked in a giddy nature.

You just nodded your head, afraid that if you speak, your voice wouldn’t make it out past your lips.

“That’s sweet.” He hummed. “You should have invited me though, I would have been happy to help.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “You’d probably eat everything before the food was done.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, but we would be able to watch the movies faster.”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “Next time we can both cook.”

Beel smiled, his lips closed this time as he stared at you with anticipation filmed over his bicolored hues. “I’d like that. Maybe we can even get Belphie in on this.”

#beelzebub x reader #beelzebub x male reader #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me x male reader #x male reader #male reader #x reader #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel x reader #obey me beel #obey me shall we date #shall we date beelzebub

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

Last Christmas

Word Count: 2372

Warnings: Mild violence and blood some angst or is it whomp?

A/N: This one was a fun write. I need to thank @robertsheehanownsmyass for being my sounding-board, always, and for helping me with ideas! Chapter 1: God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman can be found here

Chapter 2: The Fairytale of New York

It's not that Violet meant to kill Nathan. Yet here she was, at 4:30 in the morning holding him on her apartment floor while he bled to death. Her lips brushed his freezing forehead as she adjusted his head in her lap.

Not very long before the murder, Violet woke with a start when she heard a door slam. She was drunk still from the never-ending fishbowl drinks bestowed upon her after the win. Brain fuzzy and the room spun as Violet got to her feet and rummaged through the nightstand.

She desperately searched for a missing piece and her kitchen knife. Was someone meant to be with her? Her body screamed with booze and adrenaline as she held the knife aloft venturing into the hallway.

Violet made her way to the living area. A throb grew in her ears that deafened the silence of her apartment. The night flashed before her eyes as her head swam.

How the liquor filled her goblet with just a point of his long finger. Which he told her wasn’t necessary. Just thinking about it often worked. Like how he thought the scantily clad shot girl could use bigger tits, so they inflated a size or two. The dude bro that wolf whistled at Violet and slapped her ass as she walked passed, his tongue literally fell out.

“It's MY job to sexually harass women, NOT yours!” he yelled over the techno. Then casually tossed the body part in the horrified man’s direction. “What's a matter,” he pouted his lips in a kiss, “Sexy bitch got your tongue?!”

Violet furrowed her brows now as she rubbed her pulsing temples. Had they danced? Out in the middle of the crowd, his hands on her waist as she leaned back into him. Both gyrating rhythmically to some rave remix of an 80s song.

“You are the weirdest shaped guy I've ever met!” Violet had shouted. “Like a muscular-armed stick bug”

The strobe lights flashed across his face as he strained to grasp this as an insult or compliment. Instead he took a chance and kissed Violet's neck. She let him.

There was, Violet remembered now, flirting in the back of a cab. She told him drunkenly he had Irish eyes and a green smile.

“No,” she shook her head and laughed. “Green eyes and an Irish smile?”

He laughed but smashed his face into Violet’s. His kisses were wet, sloppy. Too eager and childlike for someone in their twenties. Violet pointed that out as she wedged a hand between his face and her.

“Christ who taught you how to kiss?!” her hand squeezed his cheeks so that his mouth formed an O shape.

“M’maffs teach-a in yee-ah four,” he muffled.

“Your fourth grade teacher French kissed you?!”

“No!” he giggled “Year four, it’s. I was fifteen.”

“That's sexual assault!” Violet cried.

“Aww only if you don't want it to happen.” He tried to push his mouth into her again, but she literally ducked out of his way. Defeated, he gave up and the rest of the ride was silent.

Back in the present. Out of nowhere from behind, “Hey do you have any blank-”

It was quick. Shocking how easy it was to stab Nathan through the heart. How fate helped Violet sink the knife so deeply into him that her breasts met his bare chest before either understood what was going on.

Nathan’s lower jaw hung open as he started to grunt in pain. A dark pool of blood poured around the weapon. Stark contrast to his pale olive skin. He swayed but steadied himself on Violet’s arms. His demeanor changing instantly from panic to acceptance and his body relaxed.

Violet’s hand still around the knife as a lump formed in her throat. She scrambled out of his grip, sobs and pleas of forgiveness wracked her body as she struggled to find her phone.

“I've got.. to.. to.. to.. Call 9-1-1. It was an accident. Nathan. I'll get someone here-”

“NO!” he bellowed. “No, it'll be ok. I'll..” he winced. “Come back.”

“From what?! I STABBED YOU!”

“Death, sweetheart.” His Irish accent makes the A R sound like the word “Air.” “I've been stabbed in the heart (h-air-t) by women before, but I've never been..” Nathan gesticulated to the knife in his chest.

“ARE YOU MAKING A FUCKING JOKE?! YOU'RE DYING! Oh my God,” Violet’s knees began to buckle but she caught herself on the counter.

“I'm immortal. Christ t’is fucking hurts.” Nathan struggled to breathe. “Was impaled twice. Beat t’death once. I'll be good.”

He continued, “C’mon Vi, give us a hand,” he instructed. His shaking hand unable to grip the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest. “I'll die quicker this way. be back half past or so”

It was so matter of fact. “Pride goeth before the fall” Violet thought.

A cheeky grin deepened the dimples in Nathan’s cheeks as Violet took the carving knife out of his chest. Blood had spilled unexpectedly down the corners of his lips while he slid down the wall. Violet tried her best to catch him. To soften the blow between man and hardwood, but Nathan folded like the scarecrow coming off his pole.

Even more present:

“Joyeux Noël, Violet. You've Committed your first involuntary manslaughter.” Warm tears poured down her cheeks onto Nathan’s face.

Her legs were sticky with his coppery blood, but she kept marveling when her world soon grew quiet without his smart mouth and witty retorts. There was only a faint gurgle of blood that filled his mouth and lungs. How beautiful Nathan would always be to her in this moment because immortality was for vampires and mythology.

She would never forgive him either. It took longer than Nathan insisted, heart still pumped dark crimson into her hand used as a piss-poor tourniquet. But the beating slowed to a stop as Violet absently combed her fingers through his thick hair to soothe her exhausted body into a fitful sleep.

This time it was the heady smell of eggs and sausage that roused Violet from her sleep.

There was humming and singing in a language she didn't know as someone rattled about in the cupboards.

One hand over her eyes, head felt like someone bashed it repeatedly with a drumstick, she came to life. Her mind grabbed at flashes of kisses and a knife and Nathan being dead. The hallway, but this was her couch?

Suddenly she sat straight up, “OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!” Violet's hands and bare thighs were caked in dry blood. She flew off the couch and went to Make it down the hall to the guestroom. But instead she slipped and fell in the coagulated mess on the hardwood floor

“Aw yep,” a harsh Irish lilt quipped from the kitchen. “I meant t’clean that up before ya woke, but I wasn't sure where the supplies were.”

Violet simply laid down on her floor, defeated. “I killed you,” she whispered.

Nathan appeared above her. His shaggy hair fell across his forehead and the goatee and mustache Violet swore he had shaved was back. He consciously fumbled to button his dress shirt that she was certain he wasn't wearing as he lay in her arms.

“You were in your underwear. You were bleeding to death last night in your underwear only,” she sat up grimacing at her blood caked hair.

“I cleaned up the best I could. Told ye it would be half five when I came to. Didn't wanna leave ye on the floor, so I carried ye t’the sofa. Sorta did a bit o’the whore’s bath in your sink.” Nathan mimed washing his body, “Not really comfortable with the whole showering in a strange bird’s gaff without permission.”

Violet stumbled to her feet with Nathan’s help. His reflex to catch her as she slid again in the mess was quick. Their chests pressed together again. His skin against hers as she clung to the seams of his shirt to balance herself. Violet's face flushed. From a hangover or how warm Nathan was. Alive.

“I ran you through with a carving knife. You died in my lap. You turned ice cold and had purple lips and I thought to myself how many times I asked you if you ever shut up.”

“Only when I'm dead,” Nathan absently stroked her hair. Large hand gently rubbed her back and took a chance at getting a squeeze of her ass.

Violet ignored what Nathan did and refused to look at him. Not in those ever changing eyes anyway. Instead she placed her hand flat on Nathan's smooth, if not slightly stained, chest. No gaping wound, heartbeat steady.

Violet's own heart pounded in her ears as the adrenaline from touching him raced through her veins. There was no denying that he was just as beautiful alive.

And no denying that Nathan eagerly tried to crash his mouth into hers, but Violet swerved. “Are those my underwear!?”

Nathan stepped back to pop his shirt up and push his own backside in her direction. “Mine were ruined,” he rubbed himself and bit his entire bottom lip. “Oi they're soft and make my ass look great.” He slapped it for good measure.

“I like you better dead"

Nathan sneered sarcastically and rolled his eyes. His lips moved with no sound coming out but baby babble. "See if I make YOU breakfast again!”

A hot shower and clean clothes later, Violet climbed onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Her houseguest sat a plate of food and a mug of tea in front of her

“Found some peppermint. Mum says that helps with a hangover.” Dimpled grin before he turned around to finish cleaning up her kitchen.

“Oh,” Violet was taken aback by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she meant it. “Hey! You’re not using magic.”

“Nooo. I'll use it sparingly until I have to give it back. Been right fucking fun while it’s lasted.”

“You’re cleaning my kitchen.”

“Yeah? If you tell us where some brushes and such are, I'll clean the floor next.”

Violet felt a pleasure seep into her bones as she sipped the hot tea. It was nice to have someone to look after her for once. She had time to really watch as Nathan scrubbed the pans he used. She took notice of him biting a cuticle or chewing skin off his lip as he carefully searched her drawers for a towel. He flitted about kind of like a hummingbird; never staying still long enough between tasks.

“Nathan you don't have to do any of this. I know it's just a layover until you're back in London. I The situation isn't exactly ideal. Now that I murdered you, isn't it fucking weird?” Violet questioned around a mouthful of food.

He faced Violet while drying the dishes. “Nah. Been killed loads of times. Impaled twice. Sewer pipe. Metal picket fence. Then had my head bashed in. Stabbed in the heart by a beautiful girl who is a bit dodgy about me kissing her is tops now!” A bright smile crept across his face.

“why are you cleaning then?”

Nathan scratched the back of his head in thought, “Well, so ye don't have t’remember I was ever here.”

Violet’s mouth hung open but she closed it quickly. “Who the fuck would ever want to forget you?” She started to laugh, “I watched your anger literally explode in hundreds of rabbits. I probably drank a hundred bucks of liquor for free. You took a guy’s tongue out for slapping my ass. And you're..”

Nathan leaned on the island top with his chin in one hand, “Immortal?” He wiggled his eyebrows seductively.

“An Irish prick,” Violet cocked her own eyebrow in return. Nathan pouted.

“I've gotta go to the casino. I know someone in the back of the house who found all of your shit. Please just stay here. Can you do that?” She got up to get a bucket and cleaning supplies from the closet.

“Do you know how many movies start with someone saying don't move?!” There was a gleam in his bright green eyes.

“Nathan, I mean it!” she commanded from the bedroom. “I have to go Christmas shopping too. Jesus it's Christmas eve.” She hobbled back into the living room trying to pull a shoe on.

“Fine. But if I find porn anywhere and have a wank out of boredom, that's on you lady!” He mimicked masturbating in her direction.

Violet’s face contorted in disgust as she threw on a leather jacket. “Grow up.”

“Tried that. She ran away with all the money, and I went to prison. When do I meet mum and dad?” shit-eating grin

“They're dead.”

Nathan’s face fell. For once he was momentarily speechless. “My step-dad’s a dog.”

Violet's hand was on her doorknob, but she paused. “Wait.. Like cheats on your mom dog?”

“More like turns into a naked Jack Russell at night with his massive cock out all over town.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“So much. T’anks for asking!” Nathan grabbed Violet by the wrist. He spun his finger in a circle ever so slightly. “Just a bit o’ Christmas magic before you go?”

Violet gasped as a sprig of mistletoe manifested itself above them. A bough of pine spread on either side of the doorway wrapped in tinsel. Little white lights started to twinkle from inside.

“Nathan, it’s beau-” but Violet was interrupted by his mouth covering hers again.

He was softer this time as his hands gripped her waist. His tongue gently slid into her mouth and Violet accepted it. Her body relaxed into him as their lips moved on instinct. But she found herself as quickly as she had gotten lost. She managed to wedge her hands between their bodies so she could push herself away.

“No. Nope. We can't do this. You're leaving the day after tomorrow, and I'm not a fucking Hallmark Christmas movie.”

Nathan brushed his nose against Violet's forehead, “I think it's too late for that.” But she turned abruptly and left him cold by the front door.

“Make yourself at home, okay?” Was all she shouted from the other side of the door.

#robert sheehan #nathan young #nathan x violet #lord of chaos #robert sheehan character fic

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katedrakeohd · 5 years

Text

The Royal Honor 👑

Masterlist

Chapter One

________________

A 'The Royal Heir' Fanfiction

Last Night in Paradise (Rated: Mature 18+)

The warm surf lapped over their feet as they walked along the beach hand in hand. The golden peachy glow of sunset set the ocean on fire, and the soft tropical breeze soothed their sun warmed skin. After a week in this Paradise they were reluctant to leave, but they had memories to last them a lifetime.

Kate smiled up at her husband Drake Walker, his handsome face bronzed by a week in the tropical sun. The toned and generously proportioned muscles of his chest and torso matched his arms and powerful legs. He was truly a prime specimen of masculine perfection, power and sex appeal. Feeling her eyes on him he turns his face away from the glow upon the water, the white of his smile rivaling the sparkling sea foam that lathered their ankles. The playful smirk at the corner of his mouth brought a sparkle to his dark eyes, making Kate's stomach flutter and her knees go weak. No matter where they were, that smirk and sparkle always made her melt inside and love him more.

The first month of their marriage had been a pure bliss of laughter, lovemaking and utter joy. Their honeymoon had been more of the same, except with less clothing, and there had been days they'd barely worn anything at all. You'd have to look very closely to find a tan line on either of them, except for in private places they only shared with each other.

It was their last night on the island, and after enjoying a sumptuous meal of steak, seafood and fresh fruit they were taking their time during their evening beach walk.

Turning to Kate and drawing her into his arms, Drake chuckles, leaning in to kiss her smiling mouth.

“So Kate, tonight what will it be? Sex on the beach and then skinny dipping, or skinny dipping and then sex on the beach.”

Kate laughs, holding onto him tightly as the surf ploughs and scrapes the sand from around their feet. “How about skinny dipping and then sex at the villa, I've had enough of rinsing sand out of intimate places to last me a lifetime.”

As his fingers deftly untie the back of her bikini top for the countless time that week he couldn't agree more. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Kate giggles as he stuffs her bikini top into the pocket of his shorts, and then hooks his thumbs into the top of her bikini bottoms and quickly forces them down off of her hips to fall into the surf at her ankles. Kate steps out one foot and then kicks her soggy bottoms out onto the dry sand.

In the dying light of sunset, with her long hair blowing on the breeze and her toes burrowed into the soft sand, Kate positively glowed like a goddess. Her sun kissed skin took on a coppery tone, and her sapphire eyes glittered like the waves. Drake felt his whole body grow warm and tingle at the sight of her, and it had nothing to do with the sultry tropical air. She stepped in close, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her breasts to his chest. Inhaling deeply, he relished the feel of her every curve and angle pressed up against his hot skin. She smelled of coconut, beach sand and sunshine. He knew her lips would taste salty and sweet, where she had been in the sea breeze all day and had eaten the majority of the fruity offerings at dinner.

Dipping down to grab her ass, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. When she presses her lips hungrily to his, his tongue jockeys for position in her mouth. When she flicks the underside of his tongue playfully with hers, he groans. Bucking his hips upward and bouncing her against his hardened cock in his shorts, makes her break off the kiss and drop her head back with a moan.

“Drake, I want you so bad..”

Kissing her neck and holding her tight, he whispers, “And you have no idea how much I want you Kate, how much I always want you..”

Gripping him tighter with her legs, she tugs at his hair and nips at his lower lip.

“Show me,” she hisses, teasing his lips with hers, making him work to establish a lock. He growls, kissing her roughly, his heart pounding and his lungs screaming for air when he finally breaks contact.

Kate gasps for air, feeling giddy and drunk off his kisses. His hard muscled body flexed and strained to keep her tightly held to him as he turned to walk into the ocean. Feeling the water lick at her toes as the waves crash against his knees, makes Kate giggle.

“You wouldn't drop me would you?”

Drake smirks at her and winks, “Who me? I wouldn't dare.”

As he wades deeper, it becomes more difficult for Drake to keep his footing under their combined weight. He bounces her again and her ass splashes against the water, making her shriek and clutch him tighter around the shoulders.

With a chuckle he says, “Kaaate, you're getting mighty slippery. Don't know how much longer I can hold on.”

Kate looks around nervously, trying to judge the depth of the water around them in the growing darkness. Drake starts to rock side to side, testing the limits of Kate's grip on him. Her eyes go wide when she realizes what he's planning to do. Laughing and shrieking as his rocking intensifies, she protests, slapping him on the back. “No..no..no. Draaake!”

With a laugh, he launches her into the air with a grunt. She screams and then hits the water with a big splash. Drake holds his sides laughing when she comes back up sputtering, cursing and splashing water at him.

“Oh it's on Mr. Walker!” she laughs, lunging forward to push him down into the water.

They both go under and Drake grabs for her hand and struggles to stand back up. When they surface, he manages to get to his knees, pulling her tightly to him. After turning his head to cough the saltwater out of his mouth, he goes in for a kiss. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Kate relaxes against him, letting the waves rock them back and forth.

Under the water Drake's hands slide down her back and he grabs her ass, clamping her tightly to him. “Hold on tight my little mermaid, I'm going to stand up.”

Kate holds on as tightly as she can as Drake struggles to stand up. As he finds his footing she wraps her legs around his waist again, sending him off balance. Laughing as he wobbles and then straightens up, Drake walks back to the beach. When the water is ankle deep he twirls her around splashing, making her shriek with laughter. “Stop!..Drake, stop!”

Laughing some more he kisses Kate's smiling mouth, his chest heaving from the exertion of carrying them both out of the water. Kate lets go of his waist, and Drake sets her down on the wet sand. Breathing hard they rest their foreheads together, smiling. Kate runs her hands down the front of his body, feeling the grit on his skin, her fingers stop at the waistband of his swim shorts.

“I think these need to go.” Kate says with a grin.

Drake unties the drawstring on his shorts and after a brief struggle drops them to the sand. Kicking them off, he reaches for her hand and they make their way back to the villa. The warm evening air blows the salty droplets off of their damp skin, and by the time they walk up to the building they're mostly dry apart from their hair.

Drake looks down at the sand caked on his feet and ankles. He leads Kate around to the patio at the back of the villa, grabbing a beach towel off of a lounge chair, and then heads for the outdoor shower. The shower enclosure wasn't big enough for two, but that's never stopped them before. As Drake reaches in to start the water, Kate hugs him around the waist from behind. She can feel the grit on his skin as she slides her hands lower. Drake stops her hand before she reaches his groin. “Nah ah, there's enough grit down there from being in the ocean, I don't need you rubbing it around.”

Kate withdraws her hand, “Oh right, sorry.”

Drake steps to the side when the water's warm. “Ladies first.”

Kate nods, stepping under the warm water. There wasn't any soap, but she was more concerned with rinsing off the sand. As she closes her eyes and turns toward the shower head Kate feels Drake slide in behind her. It was a tight squeeze but Kate didn't mind having hot naked Drake pressed up against her back. Sweeping her hair off to the side, Drake kisses her shoulder, the water beating down on the back of his head. He slides his arms around her middle, his teeth nipping a trail up her neck. When his tongue traces the shell of her ear, Kate shivers despite the warm water beating down on them both. She tips her head to the side, reaching back to grab a handful of his hair. Drake groans, his hands sliding up to cup and squeeze at her breasts. Kate brings her hands down behind her ass, grabbing two handfuls of Drake, stroking and squeezing. With a growl he rocks his hips, intensifying his pleasure. “Turn around Kate, I want you right now.”

Carefully shuffling around to face him, Kate reaches up behind Drake's neck as he mashes his mouth hungrily down onto hers. Drake turns her toward the corner of the stall, lifting up her leg and forcing her shoulders up against the walls. Sliding his hand down between her legs he teases her clit and then tucks in two fingers.

Kate throws her head back with a moan, “Oh fuck Drake, quit teasing me.”

Drake grabs his cock and tucks himself into Kate. “Hold onto me, I'm going to lift you up.”

Kate nods, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he grabs her ass and lifts her up. The walls of the shower shudder and shake as Drake drives up into his wife over and over. Waves of pleasure crest and then crash through her body, causing her to cry out.

“Oooh..Yes, fuck yes! Drake, Oh my God yesss..”

Kate's cries of passion fuel his own, encouraging him to drive that much harder. Throwing his head back he growls as the tight wet sheath of her body squeezes and sucks at his swollen cock and balls.

“Fuuck, sweet Jesus Fuck, I love you Kate.”

Kate gasps, her thighs clenching tighter around him. “Oh God, I love you too..”

Panting heavily he slows down, making each thrust long and deliberate. Each push getting more difficult as Kate felt the pulsing ripple of her orgasm overtake her. As Kate throws her head back moaning loudly, she digs her nails into his back.

Drake grits his teeth against the stinging pain, thrusting up harder and faster, intensifying her orgasm as he feels his own release bubbling up out of his tightening cock and balls. With a shuddering gasp he erupts, his ass clenching as he mashes up hard against her.

Leaning into each other they both pant heavily as their limbs turn to jelly and Kate releases her grip around his waist. Drake kisses her trembling lips over and over as they struggle to catch their breaths. Stepping backward, he clumsily turns off the water as he pulls Kate with him out of the shower. Standing together on the patio, they rock side to side as their heartbeats come down to a normal rhythm. Nestling her head into his chest, Drake strokes her back. Kate's rubs her hands soothingly up and down his back as well, feeling completely at peace.

“I love you Drake,” she whispers.

Kissing the top of her head he mumbles into her hair, “I love you too Kate.”

…

After gently toweling each other off, they cuddle together on one of the loungers using the beach towel as a blanket. The warm breeze washes over them as they gaze up at the stars.

“I can't believe we have to leave the island tomorrow and go back to Cordonia, and home to Valtoria.” Kate sighs, gently stroking her fingers up and down Drake's arm.

“Yes I know, Duke and Duchess Walker of Valtoria at that.” Drake mumbles

Drake had never imagined ever having a title in front of his name other than Mister. But now he had become Duke Drake Walker, Guardian of the Realm. From nobody to Noble within two months. He wasn't sure how or when he'd ever get used to having such responsibility. Or if he'd ever get used to being called Duke anything. Being called Your Grace made him squirm.

Kate tilts her head back to look at his face. “I know you're not big on titles Drake. But there are two I think you'd be most comfortable with.”

“Hmm? Like what?” he mumbles, lacing his fingers with hers.

“Husband and Daddy.” She says smiling.

Drake smiles back, his eyes filled with love, “Yes those are my favourite too.”

With a happy sigh Kate sits up on the edge of the lounger, turning to hug Drake around the waist as she leans against him. She places his hand on her belly, stroking his fingers lovingly with her own. “I can't wait for the day when I get to call you Daddy Drake.”

Drake sits up, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her gently, “I dream about that day too, and of seeing you holding our beautiful baby wrapped in a blanket. I want them to have your beautiful eyes and your smile.”

Kate runs her fingers through his thick, dark hair, laying her hand against his cheek, “If we have a boy I want him to look like you.”

Drake leans his cheek into her touch, closing his eyes. Shifting his position on the lounger he tucks his head against her shoulder. Kate kisses him on the forehead, cuddling him to her like her 200 lb baby. Off in the distance she sees a streak of light blaze across the sky. A shooting star. Now this moment is perfect, she thought, closing her eyes too.

#long post #drake walker #choices #the royal heir #smut #n*fw

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ton-e · 4 years

Text

OOOF SUCH AN ANGSTY THOUGHT but I just watched this Euprhoria scene https://youtu.be/wNJ5sGL3vD4

youtube

AND ITS SO?? FUCKED??? UP?? Because I want this scene for Anthony and Virginia so!! Fucking!! Much!! Because one thing about Anthony's drug addiction is that?? Since it was indoctrinated into his being from such a young age, it's like a 3rd limb, a coping mechanism forced between his teeth and overflowing his system with a rush of blackness and delicious numb. Obie thought him how to swallow dry pills before he thought him how to read a contract.

He's a kid, dead mother, dead parent, ghost father. Only ONE authority and parent figure in his life, which something Joseph won't sleep over for longer than he hopes. He had a soothing voice, pills, a needle and dust. And Virginia knew about it.

She also knew there was such a brightness raging within Anthony, too bright to be contained, but too amazingly powerful to be let out. His touches are gentle, the tempo of his laughter demanding all attention in the room. He's got the kind of laughter everyone smiles when hearing, infectious and cheerful and what good things are made of. She fell in love with his smile, first.

The love for his intelligent came later, when she stood witness to the spark of the man christened the smartest man in the world. Anthony's mannerisms when he works is mesmerizing, has you praying to the way his hands talk in synch with his lips, clinging to every letter, syllable, and vowel of his energetic rant.

It's terrifying, watching that light die out when his pupils dilate and the blue of his eyes seem duller, brightness and thoughtless. It scares her. It scares her it's something so normal about his life, how no one comments on it. She did. Because she wants to spend as much unpromised time with him as possible.

Anthony is one in a million, a star that's painfully easy to reach but hard to see. A presence that simply comes into your life and stays there, even after he's gone.

"I've always wanted to have what my parents had. You know, they'd,-" she laughs, always happy to talk about her family. "When they were freshly married, they would schedule arguments, because they fought so often. Mama used to tell me fighting took most of their days, so daddy made a time stamp over what to argue over. She used to say "Bernard, I don't want to spend my life becoming the woman my mother was. I don't want to be bitter, and angry, and so busy arguing with my husband I forget how to love him."

So what my Daddy did when arguments went too far, was, he bought the biggest cake in the whole bakery and took it home. "Morgan, I'm not gonna be able to finish this by myself, you'll have to help me otherwise the money's gonna be wasted".

They grew old and turned to dust together. Fairytales have nothing on them."

She tells Anthony this when he's as high as the sky, head in her lap and emotional after an argument with his sly uncle with a ravenous glint in his eye that makes something ugly recoil at the core of her belly. Their fingers are interlaced, feeling more intimate than anything.

He blinks up at her with a new found sobriety. " Then our lives are gonna be nice."

It's hard to contradict a futurist. After all, only Starks match Starks.

The day she takes his pills away is when The armor is nationalized by the army.

"Please just open this door Pep. Pep! Pep, come on, Rhodey is being a DICK and uncle Obie is on me like the plague, and I really just- I really need those pills, Pep, so please just open this door. I just, I just need to be no one, nothing for a while. I love you so much, and you love me, and you understand why I need this so much. I promise, I'll just take one, one pill and that's it, please--"

"Tony," her voice seems faded to the drumming on the other side. Her heart beat increases, and so do the volume belonging to the fist digging in the wood of her door. "I can't force you to be good with yourself. But I can't let you kill yourself, either. You're throwing yourself into the gutter and I want no part in it."

"Pepper-- can we not,-- why do you suddenly want the high ground?! Why does everyone think I'm some pedigree bastard who can't take care of his goddamned self, because I did, after my entire family got their guts spilled on a highway and New York swallowed Howard. These are the only thing that make me feel okay. Uncle Obie understands that, why can't you?"

Her silence increased the desperation of his voice, raw and scrapping for a crumb of control. " Pepper. Pepper, please, just open this door. Please. Please, honey." The door quivers at the force of his thundering on the other side. Labored breaths keep her grounded till he walks away from the material, cheeks wet and tears choked.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"Pepper? Pep? Virginia I-I swear, you better open this door right now! IF, IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR, I WILL HATE YOU, UNTIL THE DAY I FUCKING DIE," every sob of his knives at her heart. "OPEN THE DOOR PEP! PEPPER,-"

The pounding of marble and the broken mantra of her name phantoms the apartment, covering the sound of her sobs and any other noise.

#earth 513 #BABIESSSS #Anthony stark #rupert rhodes #obie stane #Virginia potts #Joseph #Howie stark #scene #dialogue #fic #my writing #Youtube

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heyitsdoe · 3 years

Text

The Caged Bird Must Sing | One Piece | Chapter 22

Words: 5.8k

<- Chapter 21

Had she not known better, Summer would have assumed a hurricane had swept through her kitchen. For as adequate of a cook she actually was, her anxiety over what she'd been making left her nerves and her brain a little scrambled. Pots, pans, and different measuring utensils filled the sink, while most of the counter was either covered with flecks of flour or the various baking pans that had been required for the recipe.

Normally things didn't get quite this hectic or messy, but today was a special day, and she wanted everything to turn out just right.

Summer was making a cake.

Sure, she'd made cakes in the past before, just for herself. The boxed mixes were fairly cheap to purchase at the store and more than self-explanatory. Probably more times than what was actually warranted, she'd caved and decided to make a cake all to herself. It was no secret she had a weakness for sweets, and her cooking skills were more than satisfactory enough to make them. But seeing as it was Law's birthday, a prepackaged mix felt too impersonal, like she hadn't taken the time to really appreciate what the occasion meant, and so the blonde had gone through the ordeal of making one from scratch.

Knowing that Law had a particular taste, some of which she still had yet to be certain of, Summer had researched various cake recipes in an effort to find one he may like. Angel food, german chocolate, carrot, red velvet, marble, ice cream, bundt, pound…The list was endless. The sheer number of choices left her confused and lost as to where to begin for a long while, before finally selecting one that sounded appetizing.

Hopefully he's partial to coconut! She thought with a resigned shrug, grabbing her keys to go buy the ingredients at the store. Thankfully it was only ten in the morning when she started, leaving plenty of time to make the cake and prepare dinner for when he came over later that night.

One sporadic shopping trip later and Summer was stumbling through her apartment door with bags of groceries, ingredients, and birthday candles. It had taken a bit longer to get through the store than she'd originally hoped, and so was now a little bit behind. So saying, she pulled her hair up in a ponytail and threw on her apron, setting to work on all of the food.

Which is where she now found herself, putting the final touches on the whipped frosting and outward appearance of the dessert until she was satisfied with the result. Standing back to get a good look, she sighed in relief, happy it had all turned out alright in the end. A spot on her nose began to itch, and she scratched it with the back of her hand, unknowingly getting frosting on her cheek in the process. Nodding to herself, she went over to the sink and washed her hands free of the white colored frosting and stray bits of coconut that stuck to her fingers.

A quick glance at the clock above her stove told her it was still only about 4 o'clock, giving her a few hours to prep what she'd planned for dinner that night. With a forlorn look at the state of the sink, Summer resigned herself to cleaning the ones she'd already dirtied before starting on anything new. It would be embarrassing to have Law see it so messy, after all.

Halfway through washing the dishes, a loud buzz on the counter drew her attention away. Her phone screen was lit up, displaying that she'd received a message from Law. Turning off the water and drying her hands with a towel, she grabbed it and unlocked the screen.

Are you sure you don't want me to grab anything on the way there? I can get us some wine. He'd said, and she shook her head with an exasperated sigh, quickly typing out her reply.

Don't you dare! It's your birthday, after all. Just relax, I've got everything covered! She didn't want to mention there was a bottle of Chardonnay in her pantry, hoping it would be a surprise, but nope, Law had to go and start trying to pay for things on his birthday. Well, not if Summer had any say about it.

Alright, alright…sorry. He replied a few moments later, and she could just imagine his eyes rolling in both amusement and frustration that she was refusing to let him help in any way. Grinning to herself in pride, she returned to the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher one by one, until the sink was mostly cleared.

Max took that moment to wander into the chaos of the kitchen, his tiny paws making prints in the spilt flour that was dusted over the floor. "Meow!" He cried from down below, drawing Summer's attention from the last few silverware she was cleaning, as his fur rubbed up against her leg.

"Oh, Max, don't go running around in that!" She cooed, placing the last few dishes to the side to air dry, since the dishwasher was too full to fit anything else. Drying her hands again, she tried picking up the adventurous cat but he ducked underneath her hands and slinked away into the living room, tiny flour-coated paws tracking paw prints wherever he went. "Max!" She tried calling again.

The cat ignored her for the most part, ducking behind the couch where he could hide. Summer sighed, shaking her head as she stared at the line of white paw print that now littered her floor. At this rate, she'd never get started on dinner.

A quick sweep took care of the cat's little mess, and finally, finally, she straightened her apron and opened her fridge to search for the chicken breasts that had been thawing all day. Placing them on the counter beside the stove, she gathered up the rest of the ingredients she would require.

Summer looked back and forth between the cook book and her chicken, hoping that she was following it properly. It wasn't often she made Italian, though the results were normally more than worth the work necessary to prepare the dishes. It was one of her favorite kinds, a fact that Law had picked up rather quickly.

There weren't many ingredients to work with, and after chopping and seasoning and sautéing and marinating, most of the preparation was complete. While she had the chicken simmering in the sauce, she scraped in the chopped mushrooms and onions, stirring it all around to evenly coat the meat.

Time must have sped by much faster than she'd originally expected, because before she'd even set the table for their dinner, there came a loud series of knocks on her door. Summer practically jumped in place, eyeing the clock as if it had betrayed her. Damn, she hadn't even put her mascara on yet. Knowing it would be infinitely more rude to simply leave him at the door while she went to apply her makeup, she put down the wooden spoon she'd been stirring with and hurried to the door.

When it opened, a casually-dressed Law smiled and stepped inside as she gestured him in. "You don't really need to knock, you know. I keep the door unlocked." She said, laughing to herself as she shut the door behind him.

He frowned slightly, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack just inside the entryway. "That's not really safe. You never know when someone may be looking to break in." Depositing his shoes by the rest of her discarded ones, he missed the amused smiled she shot at his back.

"No, I meant when I expect you to be coming over. I unlock the door so you can just come in."

"Oh." He realized, feeling a little too literal for the occasion. "I'll remember for next time."

"Well, whatever." She leaned forward on her tiptoes, placing a quick kiss against his lips as way of greeting. "Make yourself comfortable! I'm almost done with dinner." She pushed him gently to the couch, but he was resisting, grinning down at her face.

"Were you eating sweets before I got here?" He joked, pointing to a particular spot on his face, miming the spot on hers where the frosting in question was at. She looked confused a moment, before wiping away at the spot he indicated.

"Ah, I was making dessert. But you don't get to know what it is until later." She smiled coyly with a single finger wag, then turned and returned to the kitchen where dinner was still on the stove. Ignoring her implication to sit on the couch and relax, he approached behind her and lazily wrapped his arms around her waist, peering over her shoulder.

"You really didn't have to go through the trouble of cooking for me." He said quietly, softly inhaling the scent of her hair as he closed his eyes. It had been a long day, between fielding phone calls from both Shachi and Penguin, and trying to get away from Corazon, who insisted he give him a present of some sort. It was exhausting.

It was one of the reasons Law never really looked forward to his birthday, simply because his friends had a tendency to try to blow it up into this big deal, which he couldn't really get behind. It was no different than any other day, really. Just marking the passage of time in his life.

But it felt nice to simply unwind with a quiet night at home with his girlfriend. Hmm…he hadn't really referred to her as that until now. Girlfriend. It sounded immature. Nevertheless, it didn't desist that spending the rest of the evening with her would be pleasant.

In response to his question, she looked up at him incredulously, but still leaned into his embrace a little. "Well, I wanted to do something nice for you on your birthday, and I couldn't think of anything else."

"You didn't have to-" He started, but she placed a finger on his lips to sop him.

"Nah-ah. Enough of that. Now go in the pantry and break out that bottle of wine! I've been waiting all day to have some." Removing her hand, she pointed to a cupboard up top. "The glasses are in there."

Hmm. Summer used to be a lot more shy around him. Now that they were closer than they ever had been, she'd really began breaking out of her shell. While she still blushed and got all innocent at times, she had begun defending her opinions and he was more than thrilled. It seemed her confidence had risen as well. Enough to start bossing him around without fear. He grinned. "Yes, Ma'am."

Placing a chaste kiss on the side of her temple, which she giggled sweetly at, he reluctantly relinquished his hold around her waist, before wandering to get the wine and glasses. The smell of the dinner Summer had planned was heavenly, and if the sight of it was anything to go by as well, it was sure to be delicious.

"Is there anything else I can help with?" He inquired, still hell-bent on doing at least something instead of just feeling doted upon. It was unfamiliar, honestly. Then, proceeding to uncork the win bottle with an opener, and pouring a few inches of the bubbly into each glass, he looked back over at her expectantly. She glanced around, pursing her lips.

"Hmm, well all that really needs to be done is to set the table, but I can do that."

"Summer, relax." He chuckled, picking up the glasses and setting them onto the table in front of the place settings. "Just because it's my birthday doesn't mean I can't do things to help."

"Hmph, but it's your birthday.." She muttered to herself by way of explanation, obviously not agreeing with his statement, but she didn't deny him the chance to help if he so wanted to. "Silverware is in that drawer. We just need forks and knives tonight."

Law smiled, amused by her admitting defeat with the issue, and gathered all of the napkins and silverware they would need for the meal. It was quick and easy, as expected, but Summer still seemed a little mad at herself that she hadn't had time to do it before he'd gotten them. She worried about the littlest things sometimes…

"So, how was work today?" She inquired lightly, turning off the stove and stirring the chicken in the pot a few more times before breaking out the plates from the cupboard. She sent him a glance. "How different is day shift to night shift?"

Law shrugged, allowing her to dish out dinner when she gave him a stern look. It read 'Sit down, mister,' loud and clear. At least he'd helped somehow. "I've done day shift before, and it's really no different. Just not quite as busy, and different regulars."

"Luffy covered for you tonight?" It was the only reasonable answer as to why Law was here with her on his birthday. Corazon must have changed the schedule up just for the occasion.

"Yup. He's been doing just fine on his own, but normally he has me at least nearby during the night shifts. This'll be one of the first times he's left by himself for the entire shift."

"Well," Summer stated, finishing placing the dinner onto two separate plates for them, turning and carrying them to the table, "I'm really glad Corazon gave him the job. With everything that's happened to him lately, it sounds like he really needed the opportunity."

"Hmm." Law agreed with a hum, looking down in anticipation at the food she placed before him. He sent her an appreciative smile before they both tucked into the food, even going so far as to both get seconds. Summer was rather proud of how it had turned out, and Law had made sure to pay his compliments to the chef.

They ate and talked, sharing wine together over their meal. It was all so domestic, something Law found he enjoyed immensely. Compared to all of his other birthdays previously, this one was turning out to be a lot less dramatic and overhyped. Not to mention, there was a lack of drunk people surrounding him, and that was entirely a good thing. Law recounted some of the more hilarious birthday celebrations Shachi and Penguin had tried to throw for him in the past, which made the blonde laugh with enthusiasm.

"I'm serious." Law chuckled, gesturing at her with a fork full of chicken for emphasis. "Don't ever let those two convince you to drink more than a few beers in the same room as them. I've learned my lesson."

Summer giggled with mirth, swallowing a sip of her wine. "Well, what happened?" He began to notice her cheeks were tinged in red, no doubt, she was a bit of a lightweight. Seemed the wine, especially after a few glasses, got to her head.

"Somehow, and I'm still not quite sure how," he shook his head, recalling the memory, "they convinced my drunk ass that jumping off the roof and into the swimming pool was a great idea."

She cocked a brow, having expected something a bit less tame. "Is that all?"

He deadpanned, sighing and rubbing at his temple. "No. I was naked."

"What!? Oh god, did anybody see?" She managed to ask between all the laughing and giggling, not doing a very good job of holding in her amusement.

"No, luckily. But I'm sure they have some sort of evidence it happened. That's just the way those two are."

"Hehehehe, I can't imagine you being a party animal, Law." She chuckled, leaning back in her seat to take another sip of wine. "You're always so serious and…adult-like."

"I'm honestly not that much into parties. They're the ones that drag me to them, then pretty much force me to drink." Law relayed, downing the rest of the wine in his glass. He reached over to refill it, and noticed the bottle was getting close to empty. Wow, he hadn't realized they'd been sitting there so long.

"Honestly though, if they didn't make me, I probably wouldn't have celebrated many of my past birthdays anyway." He continued, shrugging without a care. The statement seemed to sober her up a bit, because she stopped laughing.

"What? Why not?"

"I've never seen them as that special." And it was true. This must have reminded her of something, because she thought long and hard for a moment.

"I can't really relate to that. Growing up, for me, it was always the complete opposite." The blonde cocked her head, leaning her head on her hand, elbow on the table. She leaned forward, and he unconsciously drew himself closer as well. "I loved birthdays! They were one of those few times of the year when you really felt included by the family, like you were the same as the other children if there were any. Granted, it wasn't like that every year."

Law cocked his head, nodding for her to continue. He was genuinely curious, now that she was talking about her past again.

"While in the foster system, you didn't really expect to stay very long at any one home. At least, I never did. The most I stayed with any one family was a year, most being only six months or so. And, well, half the time they didn't even know when my birthday was, so we never made plans."

"If you never celebrated, why did you love them so much?" He raised a brow, slightly confused.

"That's not entirely true. There were several birthday I got to celebrate. My 16th was one, and my 10th. Oh, and my 18th. And a couple less significant ones in between. But the rest, I'd celebrate in private, even if the family I was with didn't do anything for it." She smiled with a small chuckle, recalling past memories. "When I was younger, I'd wrap my own 'presents' out of some of the toys we had, and then pretend to be surprised when I opened them."

Summer glanced to the side, remembering some of her other memories from the past, and therefore didn't see the expression of sadness on Law's face. The story had been meant to be funny, but it honestly just made him sympathize with her, even if he couldn't relate to the desire to celebrate his birthdays. To hear that hers were less than what every normal child got to have was…depressing.

After a moment, she laughed to herself and returned her gaze to his. "But enough about that, today is your birthday, not mine!" She grinned, and most of the feelings of sorrow lifted for the time being. It was relieving to see that she wasn't entirely brought down by the way life had treated her. Summer was strong-willed, and wouldn't let things get to her so easily.

They continued talking about much more light-hearted topics mostly, long past after having finished their meals, until all the wine had been consumed, and the both of them were tired of sitting in Summer's wooden chairs. She stood, a little shakily, grabbing both of their plates and bringing them to the sink. He offered to help her wash them but, predictably, she waved the thought away and pushed him back into the living room. "I'll do them later!" She explained.

Dinner was all that Summer had initially planned, and so she left it up to him for what to do next. The answer didn't come immediately, but after both of them wandered her living area for something to do, he spotted the box of Monopoly shoved into the corner of the front closet, high up on the shelf. He pulled it down, blowing dust off the top.

"How about this?" He asked, holding up the box to show her.

"Are you sure? We may end up hating each other afterwards." She joked, and he chuckled as well, walking back to the living room, game in hand.

"Of course. I'm not planning on losing, after all. I promise not to win too hard against you." He replied cockily, to which she gave him a mischievous grin of her own.

"Oh, you're going down, now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They played for several hours, the game swaying one way or the other, depending on the rolls they played. Summer had seized the Boardwalk early on, and Law seemed to be landing on it every sixth roll, much to his chagrin. Each time, she grin widely and hold out her hand for his money. "Pay up!" She'd say with delight, enjoying the way his hundred dollar bill pile was slowly dwindling.

Of course, the game quickly turned in his favor as soon as all of the railroads and yellow spaces were bought up by Law. Taking advantage of having all three, he'd began building houses on each one, causing the price to hike up immensely by comparison. All it took was a few rolls on her part to take back most of his lost cash. He smirked with amusement, only slightly guilty at the look of irritation on her face every time it happened.

They took a break half-way through to eat the dessert that Summer had made, enjoying the light taste of coconut after a slightly heavier dinner. Having their fill of dessert, they jumped right back into the game, intent on crushing the other into the ground by taking all of their money.

"God dammit…" Law muttered, landing once again on Park Lane, which had two houses now on it. That would cost him a pretty penny. Summer chuckled, holding up the title to that spot and kissing it dramatically.

"Thank you, sweet, sweet blue spaces!" She giggled, noticing the slight glare he directed at her. "What? Are you ready to give up now?"

"Hell no." He replied, cocking his head as he was counting out how much he owed her for rent. "I'm just wondering what it'll take for you to give that property to me."

"You want Park Lane?" She asked coyly, waving the little paper card in the air between them for good measure, and he nodded slowly.

"What would I have to do for you to give it to me? At this rate, I'll go broke in one more turn around the board." He cocked a brow, now noticing the devilish grin on her face. Normally it wouldn't intimidate him, but seeing as she was a little tipsy…

"Hmm…" She pondered to herself, the wine from before obviously fueling some of her actions. He doubted a sober Summer would be so suggestive and sly. He wondered if drinking the entire bottle of wine between the both of them was such a good idea. Even he was feeling a bit buzzed, though the food had helped to dampen his blood alcohol levels. Not enough to start making questionable decisions, but a little more than was probably wise.

"What do I want from you…" She trailed off quietly, eyes switching over to gaze at him teasingly. They lowered to light briefly on his lips, almost too quick for him to notice, but he had. He smirked, putting the money back in his pile as he leaned forward.

"Tell me what you went, then."

She stared confidently at him for a few more seconds, seemingly taking her time to make up her mind entirely, before closing her eyes and grinning, tapping her lips a few times. "I want a kiss."

"Is that all?" He chuckled, crawling over the floor in the feet between them to get closer.

She held up her finger in emphasis, opening her eyes to look at him again. "Ah! But it has to be a good kiss. Impress me."

Law needed no further invitation, closing the distance between the two of them and tangling one hand into her head of golden locks as he insistently brought their lips together. He started slow, intent on taking her breath away, angling her just how he wanted to he could truly enjoy the kiss. She hummed in delight, her free hand pulling gently on his shirt so he wouldn't stop, not like he planned on doing so in the first place.

Her lips were warm and soft, and she tasted faintly of the wine they'd both had, reminding him that he'd better not get too carried away with this. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't let things progress further than what she was comfortable with. And, seeing as how she was just a glass or two away from being drunk, he wasn't going to really trust what Tipsy Summer thought was ok and what wasn't. That wouldn't be fair to either of them.

Placing his concerns to the back of his mind for the moment, he focused back on her and the way she eagerly kissed him back, quiet hums and groans of pleasure escaping her mouth, and her cold hands settling themselves on his shoulders, drawing him closer. They caused an excited shiver down his spine. Gently coaxing her to lay down on the carpet beneath him, he followed close after her without breaking contact.

They broke for air, both of them with their eyes closed from the moment and breathing heavy from lack of air, before Summer caught her breath enough to continue, leaning forwards to seek his own mouth again. He eagerly complied, trailing one hand up her jean-clad legs, while the other propped himself up by the elbow beside her head.

Her fingers trailed upwards, until they clasped together behind his neck, wanting to feel him closer. He lightly bit her lip, earning him a quick gasp, which gave him just enough time to tentatively trail his tongue along her bottom lip. Her own peeked out in response, darting out only for a moment, but he took that as permission, and slipped in right after her, teasing her in her own mouth.

Her nails scraped against the back of his neck from the sensation of him exploring her, and he grunted from the pain. It was more pleasurable than anything, and pressed deeper into her, pinning her to the floor. The hand that had been trailing her legs hiked her left leg up against his hip invitingly, and she tightened it around his body, ever drawing him closer.

His mind was reeling, almost forgetting entirely why he had kissed her in the first place. Damn, he really did not want to pull away. But if it continued, at this rate, he wouldn't be able to stop himself, and, he sort of wanted to see the shock or irritation on her face if he cut things short.

The Park Place title card, which she'd dropped shortly after the kiss started, was snatched up in his hand, and he reverted back to normal kisses, getting lighter and lighter each time, before placing one last quick kiss against her lips, unable to hold back his wide smirk.

"I'll be taking this." He said proudly, sitting back up and flashing her the blue card. Her eyes widened, probably from her remembering where she was and what they'd been doing.

"Hey!" She cried, giving him quite the adorable pout face. "That wasn't fair."

"You said you wanted a kiss, and you got one." He countered, chuckling despite himself. "You never said how long it had to be."

She grumbled to herself but accepted the deal as it was. Technically he wasn't lying, she hadn't been specific or anything, though that didn't stop her from being frustrated that he'd stop. They continued the game, and it seemed his little stunt made Summer hellbent on taking him down, just as she'd first promised. However, after another hour or so of playing, it was quickly becoming clear that he'd gathered a larger stockpile of money than her, and bought many more houses on the properties than she had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After too much longer, Law noticed that she began to yawn at a much more frequent rate, until he actually glanced at the clock on the wall with shock. It was nearly one in the morning, the time having flown by so quickly he hadn't even realized how long he'd stayed over. They were having so much fun, it hadn't felt that late at all.

"Hey, it's getting pretty late." He mentioned, only for posterity's sake, not for the desire of actually leaving. Before long, Summer would simply fall asleep where she lay, and he wouldn't really know what to do after that. "Should I get going?"

"No…stay…" She muttered into the carpet, too exhausted to open her eyes. He chuckled, reaching over to brush some of the hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear.

"It's officially no longer my birthday, though."

"So?"

"Then what exactly are you implying?" He questioned, not wanting to assume things or overstep. If she was actually asking what she was subtly asking…

"Stay here tonight. Don't go." Came her reply, cracking open an eye as she felt his hand on her face. "You can sleep here…if you want."

He stared at her for a few moments, trying to determine if she was sobering up or if the wine was still influencing most of her request. But her eyes were a bit clearer than before, glazed over only by the heavily-increasing need for sleep. "Are you sure?"

"Mhmm…" She nodded slowly, finding the energy to push up from her place laying on the carpet. She rubbed at her eyes to clear them. "It's so late, I don't want you driving around."

He was about to tell her that he often got home at times much later than this, having to drive home from work in much the same conditions, but began to feel the lull of rest beginning to affect him as well. Too tired to care explaining, he simply nodded. "Okay."

She stood, groggily dragging him up from his seat on the floor, and began walking towards her bedroom. He paused, uncertainty flashing through him, and she turned back. "What?"

"I can sleep on the couch if you want…" He trailed, eyes glancing over to the one in question, not knowing if he should really be doing this. But the confusion in her eyes made him raise a brow.

"No, you can sleep with me. My bed is comfier." She smiled tiredly, pulling him once again towards her room. "Sorry I don't have anything for you to sleep in though."

"That's alright." He replied, figuring he could just sleep in his normal clothes for a night. It may be a bit uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to strip down to his boxers like usual tonight. Especially with what they'd been doing during their game of Monopoly. He idly remembered that they had just left the board and all the pieces laying in the middle of her living room, but inwardly waved it out of mind. They could clean up tomorrow.

He entered her bedroom right after her, and she gathered a few pieces of clothing from her drawers. She entered the connecting bathroom, he assumed to change. Feeling much more nervous than he probably should be, considering they'd been dating a few months now, though that wasn't too unexpected as this would be the first time either one of them slept over at the other's place, he simply stood off to the side of the bed, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to come back. It felt weird just climbing into the bed without her directly telling him he could. Like an invasion of privacy.

She emerged wearing a pair of batman sleep shorts, a tank top, and colorful socks. He gulped, eyeing her shapely legs shown off in the shorts, which didn't go much further past her butt than was necessary. She tossed her nicer clothes from earlier into her hamper, before climbing into bed sleepily. Seeing that Law was simply standing there, she patted the bed beside her silently. He obeyed, settling in beside her once she'd gotten situated.

"That doesn't look too comfortable." She murmured, seeing he was still in his casual clothes. "If you want to, you can take something off. I don't mind."

Biting his lip, because that caused a slew of things he probably shouldn't be thinking about right at that moment, he nodded and undid his pants under the covers, tossing them to the floor once they were removed.

"Better?" She asked, snuggling closer into him. His heart was beating a little bit harder in his chest, and he had to resist the urge to push her away. Not because he necessarily wanted to, but he really was pushing his limits with not just having sex with her right then and there. Her allowance to letting him do this was not helping at all.

"Yeah." He admitted, knowing that as difficult as it was going to be sleeping next to his girlfriend in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, the pants would have made it infinitely more uncomfortable doing so. She must have sensed his discomfort, because she scooted closer and place a kiss on his cheek with a quiet laugh.

"You don't have to be so nervous, Law. This is ok. I promise." She was aware of how reluctant he was to push things like this in the relationship, never certain of where her boundaries truly lie. It didn't help that she'd been drinking, she realized, but she was sober enough to know what she was asking, and still remember it in the morning. "Do you believe me?"

After a moment of staring at her, he nodded slowly.

"Good. Goodnight." She said, kissing his arm which was right beside her head. "And happy birthday."

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of just laying there beside her, humming a response, not knowing quite how long it took him to fall asleep.

Chapter 23 ->

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