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joelsgreys · 6 months

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strawberry

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (TW) daddy kink, lots of dd/lg lifestyle elements, reader is collared (day collar) age gap that is self indulgent, reader is mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but tweak that to your imaginations if you like. SMUT; p in v sex, rough sex (that reader asks to try), spanking, possible overstimulation (if you squint??) Joel basically fucks reader too much and too hard. USE OF SAFE WORD. aftercare and lots of fluff, references to a pop culture film that i haven’t seen in forever but it’s fine. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF TAGS AND WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, no worries just scroll on by.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is totally self indulgent, all for me as someone who has dabbled in the lifestyle before. if this is not your thing, no problem at all but kindly keep any negative comments to yourself. huge shoutout to the lovely @swiftispunk for inspiring this with the snippets of her own upcoming series that i am oh so excited for, darling han thank you for not only inspiring this, but for listening to me talk about it and encouraging it! and also to sweet mya @cavillscurls because truth be told her own fic brought back so many memories of a time in my life where i was genuinely so happy, in love, and felt safe with a partner. okay, i am gonna run away to the gym now to listen to 1989 tv (again) and pretend posting this is not nerve wracking as hell.

He’s fucked you plenty of times before.

But never like this. No, never, ever like this.

He’s relentless.

His thrusts are coming quicker, sloppier, harsher.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense. Too intense.

Joel Miller is truly testing your limits tonight.

No, he was pushing you past your limits.

Because that’s what you’d asked him to do.

“Alright, sweet girl. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you before we get started. Are you absolutely, one hundred—no, one thousand percent sure that you wanna try this out tonight?” he had asked you beforehand, skimming the strap of your light pink, lace lingerie with his index finger, his feathery soft touch sending a plesant little chill down the length of your spinal column. Of all the sets you owned, it had to be Joel’s absolute favorite. Normally, it was him who would pick out what you would wear, but tonight he’d decided to let you choose for yourself and oh, you did not disappoint. He fucking adored you in the color pink; loved how sickeningly sweet, precious, and innocent you appeared in the hue as you did the filthiest things to him, with him. When you nodded eagerly in reply to his question, a sigh fell from his lips, the doubt written all over his face as he remarked, “I really don’t think you’re ready. I think we should wait just a little a while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you’d insisted, stubbornly. “I promise. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I thought I wasn’t. But I am, I promise, promise, promise I am.”

“Daddy knows what’s best for you, sweetheart—”

Fingers curled around his bicep, you’d batted your eyelashes, giving him those eyes that brought him down to his knees for you a lot more often than he cared to admit, those eyes that made Joel feel like he was learning his role all over again, despite over two decades of experience under his belt. He used to pride himself for his ability to stand firm against pouting lips, fluttering lashes, and pleading gazes. And then you come along and suddenly it’s like he is in his thirties again and he’s navigating this kind of dynamic for the first time. Even after a year and a half with you, he’s still trying to figure out how to completely unwrap himself from your little finger.

“Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Christ, you made things so goddamn difficult.

“You really think you’re gonna be able to handle it? You think you’re gonna be able to handle me when I get real rough with you, baby? Hm?”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Yes, Daddy. I can handle it. I know I can.”

You had been so certain that you could.

Confident, even. So confident that when he began going over the rules and reminded you to use your safe word if you needed him to stop, you’d giggled and stated, “I’ve never needed to use it before and I don’t plan on using it tonight.”

Oh, how very wrong you had been about it all.

You’d overestimated yourself, and underestimated Joel. Severely.

His hips snap roughly into yours without an ounce of mercy, over and over, again and again. Beads of perspiration start trailing their way down the sides of his face, the tip of his nose. His chest is flushed, red, and also slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

You’ve already shattered, unraveled, come undone all over his cock several times—every time with his granted permission, of course. Because you knew better than to come without Daddy’s permission.

Your cunt is swollen, sensitive, too sensitive and at a point where it could start aching if he doesn’t let up soon. However, it seems like Joel’s only getting rougher and rougher as he chases another release.

“Joel—Daddy,” you manage to correct yourself at the very last second through a slew of frantic little gasps for air. “Daddy, please! Daddy please—”

His large hand tightens around both of your wrists pinned to the mattress above your head. Surely he must think you’re begging him for more, when the reality is you’re about to start begging him to stop because it’s just too much and you can’t handle it; but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to stop, the part of you that doesn’t want to disappoint the man who means the whole, entire world to you.

The man you belonged to, the man you loved.

Even through the haze, you try telling yourself that it’s all mind over matter, mind over matter, mind—

“Stop,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I—can’t take it anymore, Daddy, I can’t take it—!”

Releasing your wrists, Joel pulls himself out of you and you breathe out in relief, until he flips you over onto your stomach without warning. You let out an audibly loud gasp when his hands reach down and take your hips, pulling them up off his bed, putting you on your hands and knees. He brings down one of his hands on your ass in a stinging slap. “That is just too bad, ‘cause Daddy ain’t done with you yet, darlin’ girl. Not even close to bein’ done with you.” Wrapping his other hand around his base, he grins to himself as he glides the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. When it grazes your clit, you jerk forward, away from him, and he tuts, bringing you back to him, his fingers digging into the pillow soft flesh of your hips. “Oh no baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But Daddy, I just can’t—”

You’re cut off by your own cry when you feel Joel’s length stretching your walls all over again. It’s just too much.

And you really, really can’t.

He leans over you and presses his lips to your ear. “You asked for this, didn’tcha? Asked to be fucked like a big girl, huh?” He bucks forward into you, eliciting another strangled cry followed by a string of pathetic whimpers. Bringing his palm down in a second strike, he demands, “Answer me when I’m takin’ to you. You wanted this, said that you could handle Daddy bein’ rough with you, ain’t that right now?”

“Strawberry.” You say the word so quietly, you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Joel spanks you for a third time, in the exact same spot—so hard, there was simply no way you would wake up without a mark in the morning. “I need’ya to speak up. You’re such a big girl after all—”

“Strawberry!” You grasp fistfuls of bedsheets and the signal for it all to end tears itself from the back of your throat. “Strawberry, Joel! Strawberry!”

It’s only a millisecond that he freezes, if that.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel curses under his breath, pulling out of you. The bed shifts as he climbs off of it and scrambles to pull on his sweatpants before he’s at your side—you’re still on your hands and knees, an unmistakable look of panic on your face. He puts a gentle hand on your back. “Baby, are you alright?”

Your heart is pounding, your breathing labored but you manage a small, tight nod of your head. “I-I’m fine. I just—” Stopping, you grip the sheets tighter, warm tears brimming your eyes. Shame over what you’ve just done is already creeping in and sinking into your bones.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

Joel’s voice is calm, but you can hear the concern that laces his tone.

“No.” Your own voice is small. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Is it alright if I move you?” he asks. When you nod your head, he reaches out for you and helps you to sit on the side of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he takes your hands and his and feels his stomach sink when he realizes they’re ice cold; he begins rubbing them between his own to warm them up. “Baby if I hurt you, you need to tell m—”

“I promise, you didn’t hurt me,” you reassure him, swallowing the thickness rising in the back of your throat. You clock the skepticism in his dark brown eyes and a tear slips out, rolls down your face, and splatters onto your bare thigh. “I’m not lying, Joel. I swear.” Tugging one of your hands out of his, you reach up and instinctively clasp it around the blue sapphire pendant hanging from the delicate, gold chain around your neck—he’d presented you with his birthstone last year, not only as a symbol of his ownership of you, but also as a beautiful reminder of your commitment to one another. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’m telling the truth?”

Joel’s expression softens. “‘Course I do, baby.” He cups the side of your face gently, brushing away a second teardrop with his thumb. “But I’d really like to know what happened so I can figure out how to best help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”

Embarrassed, you try turning your head away, but he holds your cheek in his hand, gentle but firm.

“S’okay. You can talk to me,” he encourages softly, his gaze meeting yours once again. “Tell me.”

“It was just too much,” you mumble, meekly. “And too intense.” Heat floods your face as you admit to him, “You were right. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for that yet.”

In an effort to lighten your mood, Joel lightly gives your cheek a delicate pinch and chuckles.

“Daddy’s got that real annoyin’ habit of bein’ right ‘bout a lot of things, don’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters. “Sorry for what?”

“For using the safe word—”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Y’know you ain’t supposed to apologize for needin’ to use your safe word, right? That ain’t how it works, darlin’.”

Dropping your necklace, you place your hand over his on your cheek. “But I feel bad,” you confess. “It makes me feel like—like I let you down, you know? And that’s the last thing I want to do. I just wanted to be really good for you.”

“Oh baby.” Joel lifts himself from the floor. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, brushing his lips against your temple. “You are such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“But I couldn’t take it,” you sniff. “I had to stop.”

“And that’s okay,” he assures you. He wraps you in his arms and gives your body a gentle squeeze. “It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed ‘bout. You’re still really new to a lot of this stuff, y’know? S’why I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

He winks. “You should always listen to Daddy.”

You offer him a tiny, watery smile. “I know.”

“And say we try this again one day and it’s just not somethin’ you like or that makes you feel good—or maybe you never wanna try it again at all,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s okay too. You are still my good girl no matter what—my perfect girl. Always. You understand me?”

“Really? You promise?”

Joel holds up his pinky.

“Oh, you’re being really serious,” you tease him.

“Sure as hell am, darlin’.”

You lock your finger around his and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur against his lips. You giggle again when he clears his throat and smacks your ass lightly, playfully. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Joel pulls away and touches the tip of his nose to yours. “How’s ‘bout we get in the bath and get all cleaned up? Hm?”

“A bath?” You instantly perk up. “With bubbles?”

“With bubbles. And I’ll even let you throw in one of those smelly ball things you fuckin’ love so much.”

You swat at his chest. “Hey! My bath bombs smell really good, thank you very much!”

Joel doesn’t particularly like emerging from a bath smelling like a petunia, but for you, he’s more than happy to bathe in a sea of them, glitter and all.

You trace his collarbone with your index finger.

“Daddy? After our bath can we just cuddle in bed? Maybe watch a movie?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly, adding, “Please?”

“‘Course. Pick any movie you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we have ice cream while we watch too?”

He pins you with a stern look. “Alright, now you’re just pushin’ it and takin’ advantage.”

You jut your lower lip. “Please, Daddy?”

There’s no arguing with that, not tonight.

Joel decides to let you have your way. “Alright.”

The two of you spend quite some time in the bath; normally a bath together ends with him inside you all over again, but tonight, all he’s doing is running a soapy wash cloth with your favorite shower gel—japanese cherry blossom—all over your body as he sits behind you, lips pressed against your ear. Joel washes you slowly, carefully, and all the while he’s whispering sweet, tender praise.

My good girl.

My perfect girl.

I’m s’proud of you.

I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.

After the bath, once you’re both dried and dressed in comfortable clothes—him in a clean pair of gray sweatpants and you in nothing but his t-shirt, Joel gives you the remote and instructs you to pick out a movie to watch.

“Make yourself real comfortable, baby,” he says to you, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be back with that ice cream.”

You shoot him a hopeful glance. “Strawberry?”

“You tryin’ to be funny with me, darlin’?”

“No! That’s just my favorite flavor, silly.”

Joel grins to himself as he leaves the bedroom.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

It’s why he always keeps a pint of it in his freezer.

You hop into bed and pull the blankets around you as your scan through the guide for a movie—you’d just decided on The Notebook when Joel appears again, a bowl and two spoons in his hands.

“You picked The Notebook again, didn’t you?” he asks without even looking at the flat screen that’s mounted on his wall over the fireplace.

“You said I could pick any movie I wanted.”

“Was just hopin’ you’d pick one we haven’t seen a thousand times,” he chuckled, sliding into his bed next to you. Joel places the bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap and hands you a spoon. “C’mere, my sweet girl. Come closer.”

You snuggle up to him, and the two of you dig into the frozen dessert as the movie begins to play.

“Baby?” Joel speaks after a while, just as Allie and Noah share a passionate kiss in the pouring rain.

“Hm?” you ask, your fixed eyes on the flat screen, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, you look up at Joel, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer honestly.

“‘Cause if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you…”

You purse your lips together and let out a tiny hum as you mull it over for a moment.

“You can hold me closer?” you finally suggest.

Joel shifts in his spot. “I can definitely do that—”

You stop him and point to the empty bowl.

“After you go and get us some more ice cream?”

He exhales an amused snort through his nose and shuffles out of bed, taking the bowl with him.

“Don’t get so used to bossin’ Daddy around,” Joel warns you playfully over his shoulder.

“Too late.”

divider credit to @saradika 🍓

#tw daddy kink #tw: daddy kink #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 2) | Part 1

WC: 7.0K / navi / preview / request

Summary: Eddie is happy to teach you everything he knows about DnD, he just wishes you weren't so goddamn distracting

Contents/Warnings: eddie n wayne, besties forever <3 very very fluffy lots of yearning and ridiculously cheesy moments, lovesick!eddie, reader wears a skirt and eddie's hellfire shirt from part 1, suggestive material, but still minor-friendly (part three will not be)

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

“Christ on a cracker, son,” Wayne swears, nearly pushed to the ground as Eddie slams the trailer door open, “Calm down.”

“Sorry Wayne!” Eddie barely takes a second to breathe before he flies through the space, feet pounding on the matted carpet of the trailer as he races to his bedroom.

“What’s the rush?” Wayne is well aware of his nephew’s recreational habits, as well as his business endeavors, and shudders to think that there might be some drug-crazed lunatic after the boy.

But Eddie pops his wide-eyed face out from his bedroom only seconds later, shirt and pants torn off to leave him in his boxers as he darts for the shower, “There’s a girl coming over.”

That’s a new one. Wayne has heard a few feminine voices outside the trailer before, when they’re out of stock and need replenishing, but Eddie never showers for them. He probably should, Wayne always tells the boy that if he stinks any worse he’ll have to move out, but he’s never shown an interest until now.

“And,” Wayne peers into the bathroom, seeing Eddie frantically combing out his hair, the plastic nearly snapping under the pressure he’s putting on it, “This is a special girl?”

“I- I don’t know,” Eddie huffs, his crazed panic still alive as he whirls around the bathroom for a clean towel, “Sort of. I don’t really know her yet.”

“Y’know ‘er enough to care.” Wayne prompts him, and Eddie deflates slightly. He’s looking in the mirror, trying to part his hair neatly so that he can wash it easier. He stops, his hands falling from his head to his sides as he stares hard at his reflection.

“I want to impress her.” Eddie admits, his usual self-assuredness now gone, “Or- impress isn’t right,” He puzzles for a moment, his eyes drifting over his features, “Just- I don’t want to scare her away.”

“Well I think it’s good you’re showering then,” Wayne lightens the mood, “‘Not sure she could handle your B.O.”

“Shut up,” Eddie takes the out, shoving at his uncle’s shoulder with no real force, “I’m gonna order pizza for us. She wants to learn how to play DnD.”

Wayne’s eyebrows skyrocket, “She wants to learn? Or have you kidnapped and brainwashed her like those basketball players tell me you do?”

“She’s under my control,” Eddie rasps, his voice thick in his throat.

Wayne snorts, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe, “Alright, boy. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need help getting ready for tonight, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Eddie breathes, flashing his signature grin at his uncle before he shuts the door.

Wayne watches the closed door with something light and airy filling his chest, maybe laughing gas at the way he chortles hearing Eddie drop the comb into the sink for the tenth time since he started. Then he turns, and the reality of their home hits him.

It’s messy.

Far too messy to accept company, which is why the pair hasn’t for years. Aside from Eddie’s trusted friends, all of whom are far too sloppy themselves to bat an eye at the general clutter around the trailer, no one has set foot in their space for five long years.

Now, he’s all for encouraging Eddie to be himself, that if someone doesn’t like who he is, then they’re not fit for a friend. But he’s sure that you’re far too important to Eddie for that test just yet, and he’s not sure he wants you to get to know his nephew as messy when there’s so many other qualities he possesses. That’s something you can discover later, when you’re hooked on his charm and wit and won’t mind stepping on a pair of boxers or two to get down the hallway. He gets to work clearing away mindless clutter, collecting shirts strewn over the furniture and paper plates tucked under the couch.

By the time Eddie finishes showering (and falling, twice), Wayne has the entire living room de-cluttered, although most of the loose papers and items have made their way onto the kitchen table instead of being put in their places. Eddie steps out of the bathroom, towel tucked around his waist and a hand in his curls, dragging his fingers through the wet tangles, and he stops dead in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Shit,” He breathes, watching his uncle crouch to tug an empty beer can out from behind the door and stuff it into the trash bag he’s got going, “Wayne, what are you doing?”

“Cleaning up,” Wayne states the obvious, raising an eyebrow unimpressed at his nephew’s cognitive skills, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Are-” Eddie stops combing through his hair, standing limply in front of his uncle, “Are you doing this ‘cause Y/N’s coming over?”

“That’s her name?” Wayne smiles, “‘S a pretty one.”

“You are,” Eddie marvels, “Uh, thanks, Wayne.”

Wayne’s hands and knees burn against the scratchy carpet, the beer can in his hands sharp from being crushed. He stands, the worn fabric of his flannel falling limp against his distressed jeans. He stands there, tattered and messy, looking at the way Eddie’s cleaned himself up.

He’s wearing a tank top, a KISS shirt that he was gifted on his tenth birthday. It’s got tour dates on the back, one of which Wayne took Eddie to as a present. Apparently it didn’t look good enough as a t-shirt though, because the boy had taken scissors to it a few years back, carving out holes the size of craters that expose part of his side.

His hair is bundled up in a bun atop his head, scrunched up and crimping itself while it dries. He always tells Eddie not to do that, to leave it down so that each strand can dry individually, but Eddie hates the feeling of wet hair on his skin, so he pulls it up and leaves it sitting until he can blow-dry it.

The same ripped jeans he’d worn to school are back on his waist, belt cinched tight around him with his handcuffs pinned there. Wayne always tells him he’ll confuse someone, make them think he’s an undercover cop, but Eddie only laughs at him. There’s a chain hooked through his belt that rests on his hip, dipping close to his knee and gleaming in the artificial light above them.

There’s two necklaces bouncing against his chest as he walks over to help Wayne with the overflowing trash bag, his typical guitar pick and a dog tag he’d found in the street one day. It says Sprinkles on one side, but Eddie swears that it looks metal if he turns it the other way, the owner’s number stamped across it.

He has an earring in. Eddie almost never puts an earring in, because his at-home ear piercing hadn’t produced the most sanitary results. He says it burns when he wears earrings, but here he is, a heavy silver hoop through one ear and a black cuff pinched tight at the helix of the other.

Wayne looks at his nephew, his boy, and pride surges through his chest. Pride, a little bit of awe, and happiness. He cares. This is something Eddie really cares about, you are something Eddie really cares about, and it’s obvious by the things he’s done for you before you’ve even come over. Eddie has always cared, perhaps a bit too much, and it’s easy to tell when he does from the little things he pieces together to show it.

“You look good, boy.” Wayne breaks the careful silence the two had slipped into, watching Eddie tug the straps to the garbage bag. He reddens slightly, his cheeks flaring in color, something akin to the shade of the tomato soup he’d managed to botch for last thursday’s dinner. How the boy had undercooked a can of soup, he’d never know.

“Thanks, Wayne.” Eddie mumbles, forearms flexing as he ties a knot into the strings of the garbage bag, “I’ll take this out.”

“We should start on your room,” Wayne points out as Eddie tries making his frantic exit, spooked by praise. Eddie nods once, and Wayne lets him escape to the dumpster to process the emotions he’s got swirling inside of him.

He knows the boy gets shy around praise, which is why he tries not to overwhelm him. But today is different, today is a bigger step than he’s seen Eddie take in a long time, and it’s hard not to burst with pride.

When Eddie comes back inside Wayne is already tiptoeing around his room, dodging suspicious socks and cassette tapes strewn about. Eddie gets to work stacking those, a comfortable silence falling over the pair as they set to work.

“Wayne?” Eddie’s voice is timid, meek.

“Yeah?” Wayne reaches under his bed, pulling out a magazine that he shouldn’t have and a sock, something Wayne doesn’t want to think about as a pair.

“Do you.. Do you really think I look nice?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s stammering, shaking his head so that his bun wobbles dangerously, “I- I mean, like- not like nice, but do you… you think she’ll like it?”

“Son, if she asked you to teach her about your game, I’m sure she’s not scared of you.”

“But is that enough? Shouldn’t she,” Eddie abandons the cassettes in his hand, scratching bashfully at the back of his neck and combing through the stray hairs there, “I dunno, like me? Not just not hate me?”

“Well I’d give her some time if I were you,” Wayne chuckles, reminded of the restlessness of youth, “You’ve only known her a day.”

“Right.” Eddie nods frantically, eyes glued to the tapes he busies himself with again, “Yeah, I will.”

“Hey,” Wayne reaches out, bracing a hand on Eddie’s knee that’s bouncing frantically, “You’ve got this, boy. You can do this. She’ll love you.”

The word love has Eddie’s cheeks flaring the color of it, a deep red that Wayne sees most often on valentine’s day cards. He chuckles once more at his nephew’s crush, shaking his head and getting back to sorting through clutter.

By the time Eddie’s watch beeps, a tinny, mechanical sound that has him leaping onto his feet to rush for the door, they’ve gotten his room mostly under control. There’s a pile of dirty laundry stull bulging out of the closet, but that can’t be avoided, as the hamper is broken from a rather unfortunate sledding endeavor a few months back. You’ll just have to live with the sight of yesterday’s t-shirt in the corner, they decide.

“Okay, uh- thanks, Wayne.” Eddie brushes his hands on his pants, already sweaty from nerves, “I’m gonna go pick her up now.”

“Right,” Wayne stands, trash bag in hand with all of Eddie’s discarded food wrappers and beer cans, “Good luck, son.”

The term flares up Eddie’s blush again, but Wayne doesn’t comment on it, offering him a quick hug, a simple pat to the back. It’s all Eddie can handle right now, already a bundle of nerves that he doesn’t want spilling out.

“There’s a $10 on the fridge,” Wayne calls out after Eddie bounds down the steps of the trailer,tugging the rubber band out of his hair and letting it spill over his shoulders, “Use it for pizza!”

“No, no,” Eddie waves his uncle off, plunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, “I got it!”

“Eddie,” Wayne glares at the stubborn boy, “Use the money on the fridge.”

Eddie balks at the aggressively kind gesture, but a wry smile curves over his lips, “Whatever. I’ll just sneak cash into your jacket while you’re asleep.”

“You will not,” Wayne huffs, but Eddie’s already taken off for his van, slamming the door behind him with a hearty laugh at his uncle’s grouchiness.

When Eddie pulls up to your house, having checked the little slip of paper buried in his pocket, oh, around a thousand times, one of the upstairs lights is on. It’s the only one on, the rest of the windows pitch black, and Eddie worries that maybe something is wrong. Your house looks near abandoned, but at the rough chugchugchugging of his engine, a downstairs light flicks on. He catches your silhouette thumping down the stairs and sees the outline of a skirt over your hips. His stomach flips and he shuts off the van, hurrying out so that he can beat you to the door. It seems gentlemanly, something he’s never been too concerned about, but it feels right in the moment.

He’s inches from the door as you wrench it open, a fist raised to knock while you step out of it, not expecting him there on the other side. Your eyes widen but you can’t stop your momentum, stumbling clumsily into his chest despite your efforts to slow down.

“Oh!”

“Eddie!” You speak in unison, your voices mingling just as your limbs do. His arms wind around your waist, laying over his hellfire shirt that you’ve tucked into the waistband of your skirt. The material is soft under his touch, but not as soft as your face, which hits his shoulder in your scuffle. Eddie feels a burst of warmth flood through him at the skin-on-skin contact, and holds you steady as you right yourself against his chest. Your hands brace themselves frantically on his stomach, your chest heaving as you gape at him, “I’m so sorry! I- I wasn’t paying attention, I just heard you coming, and- and,”

“If you were that excited to see me,” Eddie doesn’t know how he’s being as suave as he is, because his heart is practically hammering through his ribcage to affix itself to you like a lovesick leech, “You could have asked me to come earlier.”

You feel your cheeks flare with heat as you slump forwards, the crown of your head hitting Eddie’s clothed chest, “Stoooop.”

Eddie chuckles, adjusting the pitch of his voice to your own, “Stoooop.”

“You’re mocking me!” You shove at him lightly, making him stumble a step backwards, “You’re the worst.”

“Hey,” Eddie finally lets you go, his skin instantly cold where it had once touched yours, “You gotta be nice to me. I’m teaching you DnD, remember?”

“Fine,” You huff dramatically, “You get a pass, but only for tonight!”

“Deal.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with mischief, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You confirm, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet.

“Van’s there,” Eddie gestures to his van, nearly tripping over his own feet when you grab his hand, eagerly tugging him along, “Woah!”

“I told you I was ready.” You gush, the words coming out in a soft giggle that makes his heart burst.

You look out of place in his van, too heavenly to be wriggling comfortably into his worn seats. There’s a half-drunk water bottle by your feet that crunches beneath your shoe, and you apologize hurriedly for crushing it.

“‘S okay sweetheart,” Eddie snickers, reaching down to pluck it out from under your feet, “It’s, like, months old.”

“Eddie,” You chide, “It’s probably growing something!”

“It’s fine,” He urges, snickering at your horror, “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

He leaves you with that, shutting the door to your side of the car and jogging around to the driver’s side door. He wrenches it open, his hair bouncing against his chest as he sits down with a flounce. The radio that he has is already preloaded with the cassette tape he uses whenever he drives Wayne anywhere, his favorite metal artists and their less-overwhelming songs. Wayne always says heavy metal ‘makes his ears bleed’, he’s more into classic rock, but Eddie will be damned if he isn't listening to Mötley Crüe on any drive longer than two minutes. He figures that he’ll be courteous to you at first, just in case metal isn’t your thing either.

To his surprise, a minute into Merry Go Round, your brow dips in concentration.

“Mötley Crüe, right?”

Eddie swears he nearly passes out. His usual response to surprising information, a dramatic flailing of his limbs, doesn’t seem very safe just now, and you’re lucky he doesn’t jerk the wheel to the side.

“Yeah,” He grins dazedly, “You listen?”

“Sometimes!” You pick at a loose thread on your skirt, “I’m into a bit of everything. Really jus’ whatever comes on the radio.”

Eddie suddenly likes you more, if possible. Everything new that he learns about you only adds to the little list of Reasons he Cares, the first and most important being that you’re kind to him. He would never admit it, but he’s like a little lost puppy, trailing after the first person to scratch behind his ears.

“I like your van.” You muse, and it’s so genuinely sweet it nearly makes Eddie scream. You brush your fingers over a Black Sabbath sticker that’s peeling off of the dash, reaffixing the dusty backing to the smooth plastic. It doesn’t stay, it pops right back up again, but you’re onto the next detail now, a pair of old sneakers in the door, autographed by the patrons that watch him perform with his band.

“These are cool,” You marvel at the sloppy, mostly-drunken signatures scrawled over the canvas, “Who are they?”

“Our fans,” Eddie boasts proudly, even though he’s sure seven hammered 40 year olds aren’t the most impressive thing in the world when it comes to an audience, “They watch us perform, remember my band I told you about?”

Eddie watches your eyes light up from the rear-view mirror, but you’re lucky he doesn’t take his eyes off the road completely to see them unfiltered.

“That’s right!” You remember your earlier conversation, “That’s so cool, Eddie, you’ve got fans!”

“We do,” He chuckles, fingers sweating against the steering wheel as you near his trailer, “You should come to one of our shows sometime.”

“If I do, do I get to sign the sneakers?” You’re far too excited to put your name on a pair of ratty old shoes, repurposed as a trophy, but Eddie would be willing to buy a new pair just so that your name can be the only one on the fabric. He thinks about that, about having your name displayed over him, and blushes. He hopes you don’t catch it.

“Of course you can,” Eddie promises, turning much more carefully than he normally does into his typical parking spot, the van sputtering to a stop when he removes the key. He turns to you before you open the door, “How about this saturday?”

“Next,” You compromise, “My parents get back Saturday night and I can’t be out without them knowing.”

“Your parents are gone?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, crimped hair bouncing as he does.

“They’re getting the last of our stuff from our old house,” You nod solemnly, “We don’t even have mattresses here yet.”

“No shit? What have you been sleeping on?”

“The couch,” You recount sadly, “It’s not very comfortable, but it’s better than the floor.”

“Damn,” Eddie sympathizes, yanking on the latch of his door and hopping down, “Well, babe, I’ve got a mattress inside, if you’re interested in staying the night.”

It’s bold, brazen, uncouth, but he tops it off with a teasing grin, so it’s okay. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, happy that it mostly filled the empty van as he slams his door, rounding the front to open your own for you.

“Very gentlemanly,” You praise him, slipping your hand into his to step down from the lifted van, “I’m impressed.”

“Well don’t get used to it,” He teases, squeezing you against his side with a hand that drifts suspiciously low, “I’m not usually this nice.”

“I must be special.” You concur, giddiness in your grin that sends Eddie’s stomach into a cartwheel.

You are, Eddie nods once at you, afraid to voice his thoughts in case they somehow ruin the unspoken adoration between you, More than you know.

Eddie’s pleased to find nothing but a slight oil stain in Wayne’s usual parking spot, his uncle having predicted that Eddie would want alone time with you. He’s half expecting to find a box of condoms on the kitchen counter when he walks in with you, but flicking on the light of the trailer reveals only a spotless living space, junk shoved in drawers to be dealt with later.

“I like it.” You decide with a curt nod, eyes landing on the array of DnD paraphernalia stacked on the couch, “Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you this.”

You reach into the waistband of your skirt, the slim paperback book you were reading earlier neatly molded to your side. It doesn’t retain the curve of your side, flattening back out into its shape as you hold it out to Eddie.

You swear you catch his eyes wandering towards the spot that you’d just pulled the book from, but they snap up to meet your own before you can verify it. He takes the book from you with an eager grin, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Y’wanna swap?” You stride over to the couch, plucking a book titled Players Handbook: Compiled Information for Players and Dungeon Masters out of the pile.

Eddie falters slightly, surprised that you’re so eager to get into what might be the least exciting part of learning DnD: the rules.

“Sure,” He nods carefully, taken aback, “Lemme just clear the couch.”

He bends over to do so, and you can’t help that your eyes trace the newly-exposed skin of his chest. The shirt he’s wearing already reveals his side, but as his arms stretch to grab boxes and papers off of the cushions in front of you, it shifts to show his stomach.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he stops in front of you, an eyebrow raised that you don’t catch because you’re ogling him.

“Everything okay?” To your horror, there’s a twinge of amusement in his voice, and you’re certain he’s caught you.

“Yes!” You scramble to act casual, thumbing past the cover of the book to appear busy, “Yes, let’s get started.”

Eddie sits before you do, surveying you with that same cocky gaze. It makes you nervous, your stomach churning slightly, and you perch on the end of the couch that he’s not spread out over.

He lets out a scoff, reaching out, “You can get comfortable, Y/N, I don’t bite.”

He does, however, grab, which you find out when he yanks your legs out from under you, tugging them outwards so that they rest over his lap. He’s reclined against both the arm of the couch and the back cushion of it, looking far too composed for the rampage of butterflies against his stomach.

You melt into your new position so naturally that it scares you. It feels right, cracking the spine of the handbook while your legs are draped casually over Eddie’s lap. Stretching out and getting comfortable on Eddie’s couch seems just as casual as it does on your couch, and you can’t help the dizzy grin that spreads over your face as you realize this.

“Somethin’ funny?” Eddie’s brow quirks at your expression, and you bury it behind the book, shaking your head.

“Right,” He sets a hand over your ankles, locking your legs into their position on his lap, “Lemme know if you’re confused, babe, I’m here to help.”

Though the DnD handbook is informative, and slightly exhilarating to peruse, you hope that the actual gameplay is less complicated than it sounds. You’re barely twenty pages in, a good 40 minutes gone by, and you’re not sure you can keep all of the information straight in your head. Hopefully Eddie cuts you some slack, or else you might seriously slow down their game.

"Page?" Eddie glances up from the pages of your novel, peering over at the handbook in your grip.

You look to the corner of the page from where you'd been reading up on character classes, "23."

"The Fighter." He speaks in a low voice, raspy and dramatic. You giggle, half amused by his theatrics and half impressed that he's managed to memorize the 130-page handbook in front of you.

"What about you?" You glance pointedly at the book in his hands, shifting your feet in his lap slightly. You don't realize it, but they press against a rather sensitive spot, and Eddie hunches slightly, his stomach caving in as he tries remaining composed.

"Uh," His eyes frantically skim the page, wide and panicked until they lock on a familiar name, "Weylin- Weylin is just, uh, crossing over the Bridge of Lost Souls."

"Ooh," You wriggle slightly in your place on the couch, consequently burrowing your feet further into Eddie's lap, "I love that part! You meet Ionia soon, you'll love her!"

He can’t take it anymore.

“Uh,” He shoots off of the couch, lowering your feet carefully back down to the cushions where he was sitting, “I’m getting kinda hungry. Pizza time?”

“Pizza time.” You nod jovially, flipping a page in the handbook, seemingly unconscious of Eddie’s predicament, “Pepperoni?”

“And sausage.” Eddie nods, “Be right back.”

When he comes back, tugging a crumpled bill out of his pocket to use for the food and pointedly avoiding his uncle’s money, you tuck your legs up under you to set him sit down. He peers over the top of the handbook, eyes drifting to the words appearing upside-down in front of his face.

His nose hooks over the tops of the pages, and you can’t help it: you giggle. He glances up amusedly at you, his own sweet laugh filling the air as he crumples into your lap. You raise the book over your head so that he doesn’t have to slip under it, and his eyes meet yours from where he lays on your legs.

You stare down at him, entranced by his features. His soft cheeks, his sloped nose, the tinge of red that spreads over his skin. His eyes, shiny and smooth, like melted chocolate that you can taste on your tongue. You brush a hand over his forehead, gathering up loose flyaway hairs that have gathered there. They’re malleable and wiry in your grip, and you twirl them around your finger once, twice, thrice, until they form a spiraled curl.

His eyes follow your finger, doe-like as they cross to track your movement. When you let the hair go it springs off of your finger, bouncing down to rest over his nose, and his eyes dart inwards to follow it.

Apparently it tickles his nose, because he scrunches it up, miniscule wrinkles etched like waterways on a map into his skin. You smooth the terrain, running the soft pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose and marveling how his face relaxes as your touch waves over it.

He shivers slightly under your finger, and you notice a bridge of freckles, the lightest you’ve ever seen, dotting his nose. They stand strong over all of the rivers you have yet to flatten, stretching down towards his mouth in beautiful smile lines.

“You’re pretty.” You muse, your voice barely more than a whisper as you trace his features. He lets his eyes flutter shut when your fingers brush under them, his lashes tickling your skin.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He coos, the softness of his voice gaping that growing sinkhole of adoration that’s been tugging at your chest ever since you met him. His pretty face, his sweet words, his kind actions, all of them mark him as safe, as good, as loveable.

With his eyes closed, you’re allowed to be as obvious as you want when ogling him, not that you were very subtle before. Your eyes latch onto his lips in a similar fashion as you want your own to do, roving over every crease, mark, and indent in the soft, pillowy muscles.

Before you can think about it, you touch them. Your fingers, their pads soft and hesitant, prod gently at his lips. That has his eyes shooting open, carmeled brown irises meeting yours in shock.

Though you feel his gaze on you, you don’t stop. You let your hands linger on his face, soaking up every second of dazzlingly intimate contact you can get with the man. He studies your face while you study his, the both of you barely breathing while watching the other sit pretty. You swear you feel Eddie’s lips shift under your fingers, puckering ever-so-slightly to kiss the tips of your fingers, but then-

The hollow, sharp knock on the door of Eddie’s trailer shatters the intimacy of the moment, plunging you back into reality from the serene haze you’d been trapped in. You both fall from the clouds you’d lounged atop, plummeting back to earth with the thump of your hearts in your chests.

“I’ll get it,” Eddie scrambles up from where he’s draped over your lap, rushing to the door and snatching the cash off of the counter. You straighten yourself out while he grabs the pizza, cheeks aflame as you look around the room to avoid looking at him. You see a stack of vhs movies in the corner by the television set, and your eyes catch a familiar title.

Labyrinth.

“Okay,” Eddie sets the pizza on the counter, grateful for the paper plates the place provided you, “One slice or two?”

“Two,” You grin eagerly, reaching for the tape, “Are you the reason this was missing from the video store yesterday?”

He laughs at the sight of the VHS in your hands, “Yep, ‘had it since it came out.”

“Rude,” You scoff, “I wanted to watch it last night!”

“Bummer,” Eddie scrunches his brows, faux-sympathy written on his face, “‘Guess you’ll just have to come over whenever you wanna watch it.”

“Well I’m here now…” You push, clutching the case hopefully.

“Pop it in,” Eddie laughs, gesturing towards the machine, “‘Should be rewound already.”

You kneel by the VHS player while Eddie brings your plates over, and your back faces him. It gives him the perfect opportunity to ogle you, only feeling slightly guilty when his eyes trace the curve of your ass.

You turn before he can admire how the Hellfire shirt exposes the angles of your shoulders, abandoning its post and leaving your neck bare. He watches the skin there shift, muscles beneath the surface tensing as you crane it downwards to slide the tape into the receiver.

“We’ll work more on DnD later,” Eddie promises as the main titles roll, music filling the otherwise silent trailer, “We’ve still gotta get a character figured out for you.”

“‘M excited,” You speak through a mouthful of greasy pizza, pepperoni sticking to your lip, “Thanks for the pizza, Eddie.”

“‘Course sweetheart,” He grins at you, then hides his blush in the red tomato sauce on his bread.

Eddie truly believes that you’ll go over more later for the game. But when you finish both slices of your pizza, hands covering your stomach tenderly as he’s sure it’s stuffed, and curl up against the arm of the couch, he knows nothing else is getting done tonight. Your eyes are glued to the screen, Sarah’s dress glittering as her hair flounces with every movement of the couple. He’s never been a Bowie fan, but he reckons you are by the way your eyes shine whenever he’s on screen.

He’s jealous of David Bowie.

Oh, fuck, he never thought he’d sink this low. But he feels something unfamiliar and sharp prod at his chest whenever you pay just a little too much attention to the man on screen, and he prods at your feet with his own.

“Hoggin’ the couch,” He chides you, with no real scorn as he tangles his legs with yours, “Stretched out like you own the place.”

“Sor-ry,” You huff dramatically, clocking his teasing grin and knowing he’s just messing around, “It’s not my fault your couch is comfier than mine.”

Eddie remembers your admission, that you’ve been sleeping on your couch for god-knows-how-long, and his stomach sours. He studies your face, the way that your eyelids droop even though you’re clearly enjoying the movie, the wrinkling of your chin as you yawn. You’re clearly exhausted, and his space is the comfort you need.

He feels something akin to pride at that. You not only feel comfortable enough around him to curl up on his couch, but you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. He might be new at this, the whole relationship thing, but he knows that’s big.

Suddenly he doesn’t feel such a large blade of jealousy stabbing at his heart anymore, because you’re not cuddled up to David Bowie on David Bowie’s couch, are you? No. You’re curled up with him, on his couch.

Take that, Bowie.

It’s around the one-and-a-half hour mark, only ten minutes before the movie ends, that he realizes he’s the only one watching. He’s been glancing back and forth between the screen and you for ages now, but when he checks up on you this time, you’re asleep. He can see your chest rising and falling, his shirt still worn proudly over your frame, and a sleepy smile curves over his face. Your lashes kiss your cheeks, casting shadows down your face that look like spiderwebs. It looks cool, and he makes a mental note to ask you if you’d let him put eyeliner on you to see if he can turn it into a spiderweb. It’s a design he’s been meaning to do on himself, but if he needs a model, why would you turn him down?

The end of the movie isn’t so entrancing to him anymore now that you’re snoozing, and once more he lets his eyes drift over your frame. Your skirt is tucked neatly under your bum, but your thighs peek out of it, soft and plumped by the way you’re laying. Then his eyes rove over your shirt, the familiar, hand-crafted design looking better on you than it ever has on him or his friends. It’s odd, seeing the shirt on anyone but the boys in his friend group, but he quickly decides that it’s his favorite outfit of yours, and that nothing in the world could top it.

The end credits announce themselves in an encore of the film’s soundtrack, and Eddie reluctantly parts from the cozy embrace you’ve found yourself in. He ejects the tape, stuffing it back into its case and tucking it carefully back onto the stack. Now that he knows it’s his ticket to time spent with you, he’s much more reluctant to take it back to Family Video tomorrow like he’d planned. Maybe he’ll keep it, late fee be damned.

“Y/N,” He hates the thought of waking you, but he hates the thought of inconveniencing his uncle even more, and you’re curled up on what will become Wayne’s pull-out.

“Y/N,” He tries again, soft and soothing as he taps your shoulder gently, “Wake up, we’ve gotta get you home.”

The clock only reads 10:23, but he’d feel guilty getting you home at an indecent hour. Typically, Eddie’s philosophy is etiquette be damned, but he has a feeling you wouldn’t be too happy about being dumped on your front porch after two in the morning.

“Y/N,” He slips a hand under your torso, his other sliding under your legs, “C’mon, wake up.”

You don’t. You must have really had trouble sleeping on your couch, because now that you’re dozing off, you don’t seem to wake up easily. Worry gnaws at Eddie’s chest as he hoists you into his arms and you don’t wake, only sighing contentedly and curling closer to him.

His eyes widen and his cheeks burn as you snuggle up to him unconsciously, your cheek pressed against his KISS-clad chest. Your nose nudges into his neck and he swears he sees stars, his knees weakening at the intimate contact like you hadn’t just been touching his lips hours beforehand.

“‘Gonna be the death of me,” He mutters, voice devoid of any real anger as he trudges down the hall to his room. His bed is neatly made, pillows stacked at the head that he reaches up and kicks down with one of his socked feet. It flops flat onto the mattress with a thump, and Eddie lowers you as carefully as humanly possible onto the bed. You aren’t too keen to let go, though, because your arms stay tightly wound around his neck. He tries straightening but you come right back up with him, brows scrunching in displeasure at being jostled around.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs, lovestruck, “‘Gotta let go.”

“Eddie,” You mumble hazily, sound far too much like a lover he’s just accidentally jostled by getting out of bed to get ready for work in the morning, “Don’ go.”

“I can’t leave you here,” He reasons, returning your favor and smoothing out the wrinkle in your brows with his thumb, “I’ve gotta grab my keys and shoes, then we’ll take you home.”

“Nooo,” You whine, sleep tugging at your voice, “‘S too cozy here. I don’t wanna leave.”

“But no one knows you’re staying here,” Eddie’s afraid that your parents might come home early, discover their child missing, and storm his trailer with pitchforks, “Don’t you wanna head back home to your own bed?”

"Couch.” You mumble grouchily, “My parents aren't home," Your voice is groggy and weak, but Eddie swears it's more angelic than any hymn he's ever heard, "'S okay."

"Are you sure?" He reaches up, smooths a hand over your forehead then down your cheek without thinking, but before he can panic over the intimate gesture you're leaning into it, letting out a contented hum that quite reminds him of a kitten's purr.

"'M sure," You promise, already curling up cozily beneath his blanket, looking far too natural and perfect in a space you'd never occupied before, and Eddie feared, never would again.

"Okay." He's breathless and weak as your eyes drift shut, his hand lingering against the curve of your face, "G'night sweetheart."

He isn’t sure what to do from there. He could move his hand, he probably should move his hand, so that he doesn’t stand there for hours holding you, but that seems all the more tempting with every passing second. He marvels at his luck, how he’s managed to get to heaven without dying. Unless he is dead. But he’s almost certain he’ll be sent to hell for the sheer amount of drugs he’s sold to high school students, so he’s sure it isn’t that.

You must be an angel, he decides, one that isn’t afraid of the devil everyone says he is. He gets a brief vision of matching halloween costumes to that effect, a wiry halo perched on your head while devil ears adorn his. The scene’s unfiltered domesticity stuns him, along with how perfect it feels. It doesn’t feel awkward or forced, instead like something you’d come up with on the phone at ungodly hours and commit to months before the holiday.

He’ll bring the idea up to you tomorrow.

For now, he has to figure out where he’s sleeping. He’s not taking Wayne’s bed, but you’re in his, and that would be wrong.

Right?

Eddie studies the way your body is laid out on his mattress, knees tucked towards your chest and arms bundled up below your face, clutching the blanket he’d thrown over you. You take up a fraction of the mattress, the side that he normally sleeps on still unobscured.

Would it really be that bad if he laid opposite you? He wouldn’t touch you, he wouldn’t throw an arm over your waist, he wouldn’t tangle his legs with yours, he wouldn’t press a soft kiss to your forehead before drifting off. He wouldn’t.

He wants to, though.

He gives into another temptation, hopefully his last for the night, and lets himself indulge in your presence. He slides onto the end of the mattress, careful not to disrupt you as you slumber.

It feels weird, having someone in his bed beside him. Weird, but good. He decides, in fact, that there’s no better feeling aside from your fingers on his lips, than you in bed beside him. He stares up at the ceiling, willing the urge to kiss your nose away before he can screw up the best thing that’s happened to him in years.

One single, cautious glance thrown your way, and it’s all over.

Your hand is bared towards him, the smooth skin on the back of it in perfect kissing-range. He would be an idiot not to, right? That’s what gentlemen do, after all, they kiss the back of their lady’s hand. Typically not without her knowledge, or while she’s in bed with him, but it’s the principle of it, not the specific scenario.

He reaches for your hand hesitantly, and once his skin brushes yours he sees fireworks that light up the dark room. They nearly short out his vision, and when he sees clearly again, your hand is poised directly in front of his lips, his own hand still clutching it securely.

“Sleep good, sweetheart.” He whispers, near-inaudible in the darkness, then his lips press delicately against your hand.

Such unimaginable warmth and giddiness fill his chest, that he’s sure he’ll explode. There’s going to be Eddie Guts on the walls and ceiling, rotted sickly sweet from how infatuated with you he’s become in such a short time. Kissing you, albeit only your hand, feels like something he wants to do for the rest of his life, and he can only hope you’re gracious enough to grant him that privilege.

That’s a discussion for the morning, though, or never, Eddie reminds himself. He’s just kissed your hand in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping like a creep, he might not be too eager to admit that to you in the morning in a desperate plea to do it again. He refrains from peppering the rest of your skin in adoring kisses, but keeps your hand clutched in his own, marveling at the way that you can warm him up completely from a single touch.

It must be an angel thing, he decides, as he drifts off into a happy slumber, tomorrow he’ll ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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fettuccin-e · 6 months

Text

Think About It

Kinktober Day 23: Dirty Talk

Tags: Santiago Garcia x Reader, talk of Frankie Morales x Reader x Santiago Garcia (ie. talk of threesome), unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life I beg of you), dacryphilia, plenty of dirty talk like it's a lot, light degradation, breeding kink whoopsie, Santiago Garcia is a filthy motherfucker do Not blame me for this (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: So this may have gotten out of hand a tad so do Not fucking look at me okay??? Santiago Garcia the man that you are I love you sm and also there are so many Frankie mentions in this fic so it could be a prelude to this fic I wrote earlier this month where they actually have a threesome (For Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

Santiago Garcia doesn’t get overwhelmed easily. He’s a soldier; he’s been conditioned to withstand the harshest conditions, brave horrible situations without breaking, without letting his hard exterior crack.

But fuck, when he’s with you like this, that exterior shatters like fragile glass, all over the floor in front of your shared bed.

You’re so fucking tight and wet around him as he keeps a hard grip on your hips, yanking you back on his cock, plunging himself as deep as he can fucking get.

“God damn it, baby, taking me so fucking good,” he grits, yanking your hips up further, your face pressed into the pillows as you scrabble at the sheets, clinging for purchase against Santi’s onslaught. “This pussy’s so goddamn wet, she’s fucking leaking around my cock, baby. Making a goddamn mess.”

“Santi,” you whine, “You can’t just-”

He lands a swift smack to your ass, watching as your skin recoils against him. It’s hypnotizing, makes him want to fuck you into these sheets for hours, just to watch your gorgeous body react to him over and over.

“What, baby?” He growls, leaning close and fucking into you hard enough that the headboard smacks against the wall. “Can’t what? Can’t tell you how fucking tight your little pussy is? Can’t tell you that she’s fucking sucking my cock in like you can’t get enough?”

You whine, loud and high-pitched, burying your face in the pillows. Santi snarls in return, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanking your head up until you’re gasping air into your lungs. He fucks you harder, slamming into you violent and fucking reckless. His careful control has burned to ashes before him, lost in the heat of your body.

“Look at you, fucking desperate slut just sobbing on my cock. It’s spreading you so wide, honey, ‘s gonna split you apart,” he snarls, and you hiccup over your moans. “Think this is enough for you baby? This needy pussy just needs more and more and more.”

Your hips will probably bruise under the strength of his grip, but God, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think you do either, with the way you moan, high and wonton every time he buries himself so deep.

“Should get Frankie, fill you up even more, get you all fucked and loose on two cocks,” he grits, and Christ, the way your cunt clenches around him has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from busting inside of you right fucking now.

He chuckles darkly, and you squeak softly when he leans close to you, covering your back with his warm body. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” he grins, and you shiver beneath him.

“Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know,” you whine, pushing yourself back and fucking yourself on Santi’s cock.

“I do, baby. I know you want it,” he growls, leaning back up again to fuck into you hard enough that you scream. “Could get Fish and we could both fuck you so good, hermosa. Get him buried in this sweet little pussy while I,” he pulls your asscheeks apart to expose that little hole buried between. You jerk and moan when he brushes a finger over it. “I could take this sweet little ass.”

You sob into the sheets, humping involuntarily back into Santi’s harsh thrusts into your heaving body. Tears are dripping down your face and landing on the pillow below you.

Santi groans, fucking lost to it, rambling as he fucks into you like a man possessed.

He leans over you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pulling you up until you’re only pressed against him, your tits exposed to the air while he humps up into your cunt.

“I could eat your pretty cunt while Frankie fucks this mouth, show him what a good little cocksucker you are,” he murmurs into your ear, and you gasp his name.

He pulls his arms tighter around you, holding you so fucking tight as he gets so deep into your hot cunt. You’re dripping all over his thighs, his thrusts making lewd snapping noises when his thighs stick to yours every time he shoves his hips in, in, in.

“We talk about you, baby, me n' Frankie,” he mutters, and you can’t do anything but let your mouth gape open as he forces little moans out of your mouth. “Talk about how pretty you look, how good you fucking taste. Frankie needs a taste baby, wants to bury his tongue in this sweet pussy still you’re fucking drowning him.”

“Jesus, Santi, fuck- ah, oh my God,” you slur between labored breaths, and you can feel Santi’s cocky grin against your neck, before he bites sharply into it.

“My gorgeous fucking girl, can’t believe you’re fucking mine,” he snarls snapping his hips up, up up. You dig your nails into his forearms as he breaks you apart, jamming the thick head of his cock up into that little spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him.

“Gonna knock you up, just like this, baby, wouldn’t you like that?” he says, and you hiccup a little yes that has him growling, one of his hands coming down to clutch over your stomach, pawing at your skin.

“I’ll pump this sweet pussy full of my cum, make sure it fucking takes.” You sob like you’re dying, blinking fat tears from your eyes. “And if it doesn’t,” he continues, “I’ll keep fucking you, over and over, flood this cunt till you’re dripping everywhere, leaking down your fucking thighs.”

“Santi, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

Santi talks like he can’t hear you, maybe he fucking can’t, too lost in the heat and wetness and the need to hold back his own orgasm brewing deep in his bones. “I’ll fuck this pussy everywhere, I’ll make sure that you have a baby, watch you so round and goddamn beautiful baby, you’ll fucking glow, I just know it. Shit, I’ll fuck you in the kitchen, the goddamn shower, keep you nice and full of me no matter what. I’ll make you nice and loose so you can take my cock all the time, no matter what, just give me the word, sweet girl, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

You scream, wordless and overwhelmed, when you cum, your pussy gushing all over Santi’s thighs even as he ruts into you like a goddamn animal. He growls, littering your neck with kisses and bites and licks. The guys will give him shit when you see them next, but he can already picture it: the way Frankie will eye the marks, his pupils blown wide, and Santi will fucking know.

“Please cum, Santi, please fill me up, give me a baby,” you whimper as you shake through your orgasm, and who is Santi to refuse you?

He groans, shoving himself hard into you, as deep as he can get, and floods your cunt with his cum. He hopes the first time will take, that he’ll be able to see the way you get rounder and rounder, carrying your beautiful baby.

When you’re both finally wrung dry, he keeps you hugged tight to him as he lowers you both to your sides. He keeps himself buried deep inside, not wanting a drop to slip out.

“Fucking Christ, Santi,” you mutter, running your hands over his forearms as he buries his face into your hair. He groans, but stays mostly quiet. “Gonna blow your knees out if you keep fucking me like that,” you giggle.

“Worth it,” he mutters, and grins into your hair. “But if I do, we can always call in Fish to keep you satisfied.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, but Santi doesn’t miss the way you clench around his soft cock at the prospect.

He files the thought away for later.

#santi has absolutely no fucking control #feral man love him to death #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier x you #triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader

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zepskies · 9 months

Text

Love Actually - Part 2

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: You and Ben steel yourselves in order to meet your crazy family for Christmas dinner.

AN: Here’s the requested Part 2! It got too long, so I had to break it up lol. There will be a Part 3 after this (final part). I also tried really hard to find an image/gif that would match this chapter better, but alas, there are only so many pictures of this scruffy guy. (And none in a real suit. 😂)

Read Part 1

Remember, this story is set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Word Count: 4,800 Tags/Warnings: Tense situations, bit of angst, lots of sexy fluff

Part 2: "Season’s Greetings"

Ben checked his watch again.

He’d lost count of how many times, how many minutes, how long he’d been waiting for you to come down the goddamn stairs so he could get this night over with.

You’d been getting ready for this dinner with your family for four hours. How long did it take you to slap on some makeup and throw on a dress?

Finally, he heaved a sigh and got up from the couch, adjusting the watch on his wrist. He stayed by the foot of the stairs and called up to you.

“Hey. What’s taking so damn long?” he asked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in an aggravated frown. “I already told you. I’m not planning on being at this thing all night. So if you don’t come down here in the next ten minutes, I swear to fucking Christ—”

Ben stopped short, as he heard your footsteps at the top of the stairs. When he looked up with expectant, pursed lips, his face subtly froze.

“What? What’re you gonna do?” you teased. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grasped the guardrail and carefully made your way down the stairs. These heels were no joke.

You had a black suede clutch tucked in your other hand, but Ben was drawn to the bright red of your dress. The color alone appealed to him. It called back a memory of a musty club, rich whiskey, and the dulcet tones of your voice.

But now, this dress was shorter. It also hugged your every curve and stopped just a few inches above the knee. He noticed a tantalizing little slit in the back, at the hem, leading his eyes down your sheer pantyhose and down to the tall, black heels.

His lips formed a teasing smile. “You sure you can walk in those?”

But you could see the truth in his eyes; he liked what he saw. They raked back up your body, taking in the short sleeves, the slight plunge of the neckline, the red lipstick as bright as your dress, the soft sweep of eyeliner and dark lashes—and you hoped he noticed the way you’d painstakingly done your hair into soft, ‘40s style waves.

“Do I look shaky to you?” you countered.

Ben tilted his head slightly as he stared up at you. “Not one bit.”

He reached out for you on the last step of the stairs. You took his hand and gave him a grateful look, but your hand didn’t stop there. It grazed up the sleeve of his suit jacket as you took him in with a smile.

Not often one to don a simple black suit, Ben went with a charcoal gray against a crisp black undershirt. No tie though, leaving the first couple of buttons casually open.

“Look at my man, all sharp and modern and sexy as hell,” you purred. He accepted the praise with a pleased quirk of his lips.

Normally you wouldn’t try to feed his peacock-level pride too much. He knew he was a damn fine-looking man. However, you also knew he wasn’t totally into meeting the rest of your family tonight. You knew you needed to give him a (well earned) ego boost.

“Gotta match my girl,” said Ben. Though he fingered the ends of your softly curled hair with a more genuine glint to his smile. “Though you’ve gone a bit vintage.”

“Compromise.” You grinned, and you leaned up for a soft kiss.

He met you there, even pressing his luck when his tongue begged entrance against your lips. You held his cheek and brushed your thumb there tenderly, but you soon broke away.

“We’ve got somewhere to be,” you reminded him. Ben sighed through his nose, though his hands molded to your waist.

“I didn’t realize you were that kinky,” he said. His voice was deep and suggestive. Your face started to heat up, even as your brows knitted with confusion.

“What?” you asked.

“I know you’re not gonna make me wait all night to get a taste of this,” he said. And he leaned down to begin plying you with his heavy hands and his lips along your neck. “I gotta assume you want me to fuck you in your mom’s house.”

You uttered a shocked laugh. You batted his shoulder, even though it didn’t even make him blink. His lips curved as they grazed your neck. He inhaled under your ear, making a pleasant shudder run down your spine. He hummed in approval.

“Is that the perfume I got you?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “I like it a lot. Makes me feel all warm and spicy.”

Ben chuckled into your neck. He did pull back eventually to thumb around the edge of one of your earrings—the second part of his Christmas gift to you. The white stone and silver filigree shone in the light.

“They look good,” he remarked, giving you a charming smile. “Better on you than the catalogue girl.”

Now that was an image. Soldier Boy: browsing through a magazine of women’s jewelry. You smiled brightly at him.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied. “They really are beautiful.”

Then you glanced down to find your gift to him on his wrist: a new silver Rolex. You turned his hand over to make sure that it fit him right.

“Not too tight, right? Not too loose.” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s good.”

“Just good? Does it still need adjusting? We can go back to the store and have them fix it—”

“It’s perfect, sweetheart. Stop fussing,” he said. Your lips pursed as you looked up at him from the watch.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy with it, that’s all,” you said.

“I am,” he replied. But his smile, the hidden glint of something in his eyes, made you blush. Inside, you were warm and pleased.

“All right, let’s go then,” you said. “I’ve got the rum cake, and the actual rum ready to go in the kitchen. And the presents are lined up by the door. Can you load those up in the car for me while I get the food?”

Ben obliged you, though he soon balked at the army of presents waiting for him by the door. When did you have time to get all of these? He didn’t remember you buying all this shit.

Though he realized, this must’ve been how you filled your time after work, while he was gone for the past two weeks on that mission.

As he loaded the gifts into the car, Ben reluctantly remembered that it had been…strange, to be away from you. For the past few months, you two had fallen into a rhythm. Waking up to each other, busy morning routines before work, sharing your evenings afterwards.

You had also been making it your mission to find new things to do together. Like paintballing, of all things. Or comedy shows, new movies and restaurants, concerts, club nights with your friends. Though it was weird for him, sometimes, to go to a show without all the celebrity fanfare he used to get as Soldier Boy.

Well, he was still Soldier Boy. He just wasn’t getting paid anywhere near the same as he used to. (But let’s face it, he didn’t need the damn money. He’d earned plenty in 40 years of fame and family inheritance.)

People still knew his name, still worshiped him at times, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t part of Vought’s machine anymore. No one really told him what to do, but if he wanted this life—here, in upstate New York—he was forced to make efforts to color within the lines of the law (mostly). Hell, he actually worked for a living. Even if it was for the government.

The point was, he was part of something. And it wasn’t totally shit, even if he was surrounded by morons on a daily basis…

By the time you opened the passenger side door to interrupt his musings, Ben remembered to actually start the car.

“You okay?” you asked as you clicked in your seatbelt. You were keeping a close eye on him tonight, trying to gauge his shifting moods.

Ben hesitated, but when he glanced over at you, he reached over and thumbed at your chin, under those ruby red lips. It made you smile.

“Yeah,” he replied. Though he let out a subtle breath as he faced the road and took the wheel of the car. Ever perceptive though, you sent him an assessing look.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” you asked. His brows furrowed slightly.

“Why would I be?” he asked, his voice a bit sharp. Defensive, you interpreted.

Instead of answering, you leaned over and laid a hand on his thigh.

“Look, my mom already likes you. Louisa’s going to come around,” you said. Your mouth edged into a smile, of sorts. “I just need you to stop me from killing my aunt with a ladle.”

Ben snorted in response. “All right.”

When the two of you arrived at your mother’s house, she opened the door to her home and greeted your boyfriend like a long-lost son.

“Oh, Ben! Come in, please,” she beckoned, grabbing his arm and guiding him inside. “You look so handsome, my goodness!”

Ben couldn’t help offering a smile. It was infused with his usual charm.

“Marie,” he greeted with a nod. You shook your head, despite your own smile. Ben liked attention—along with a bit of praise and fanfare went without saying. And you knew your mom wouldn’t be the only one to play into that tonight.

“Hi, Mom,” you said pointedly, with a hand on your hip. Marie turned to you with a bright smile.

“Oh! Honey, there you are. Merry Christmas!” She brought you in and hugged you tight. She then fairly gushed as she took in your dress and touched your hair. “Oh, you look so beautiful. I wish you’d come earlier though. I need you to help me and Trina. Come on.”

Marie glanced up at Ben again. “Oh, you too, hun! We can introduce you to everyone.”

Ben nodded. He followed your lead behind your mother, and you inwardly steeled yourself on the way to the kitchen. The familiar smells awaiting you brought you back to the better parts of your childhood. Ones that were filled with music, laughs, and good food.

And if there was one redeeming quality about your Aunt Trina, it was that she could cook her ass off. Since your mom had always been more of the “boxed meal” variety cook, Trina always took over at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and just about every other family gathering.

She was putting the ham in the oven while your sister sat at the kitchen table with your Grandpa George, peeling potatoes. The bigger table in the dining room was currently set up with appetizers and wine.

But the sounds of chatter and pots and pans and cabinets closing—it all stopped when you and Ben entered the kitchen. You felt his hand at the small of your back, and whether he meant it to or not, that familiar touch stabilized you.

Even Trina stopped giving Louisa directions on how to correctly peel and cut the potatoes for boiling. Her mouth opened when she took in the sight of Ben, from head to toe.

“Good evening,” he said, if only to break the silence.

But you knew the rest was up to you. You curled a hand around his solid arm and gave him a smile, before looking to your family.

“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas!” you greeted. “This is my boyfriend, Ben.”

Trina squealed in excitement. She came over (with a wooden spoon in hand) to give you an enthusiastic hug and kiss. She held your arms and looked between you and Ben.

“Your mom said you were dating a superhero, but I had no idea…” she twittered. “I mean…it’s Soldier Boy. He’s in my kitchen!”

“It’s Mom’s kitchen, actually,” you muttered. Trina’s excitement dimmed slightly as she rolled her eyes at you.

“Ever the smart mouth,” she said, playfully whacking you in the ass with her spoon.

Ben smirked. He certainly agreed with your aunt’s assessment. He turned to her to offer something in greeting, but before he could, Louisa’s voice cut in from across the room.

“What should we call you? Ben, or Soldier Boy?” she asked dryly.

You frowned, gave your sister a look. Meanwhile, Ben didn’t quite make it to a smile, but he was civil when he answered her.

“Ben’s fine.”

You remained in the kitchen to help out, while Ben migrated to the living room with your grandfather. Ben grabbed a large glass of wine on his way there, along with a few mini quiche to tide him over until dinner.

He then noticed an old woman sleeping on the leather recliner.

“Who’s that?” he asked George.

“Oh, that’s Great Aunt Sylvia,” George said. “She just took an oxy for her hip. She’ll be passed out ‘til dinner.”

Ben blinked at the casual mention of oxycodone, but he wouldn’t mind a few of what Sylvia was having. Oxy gave him such a nice buzz.

But instead, he and George sat on opposite ends of the couch while Sylvia snored away.

For a moment, it was quiet, save for the soft crooning of Nat King Cole playing (and Sylvia). The music came from a small round speaker on the coffee table, Ben noticed. You’d told him about Alexa and Siri and all those techno bitches out there now, controlling people’s houses. He didn’t trust it.

“You like baseball?” George asked as he turned on the TV. Ben nodded, and the other man put on a game. Mets versus the Cubs, three to one. The men were silent for a while as they watched the game.

Unfortunately for Ben, that peace couldn’t last.

“So,” George started. “You’re a supe, huh?”

Ben inclined his head, sipping at his wine. This was what he fucking hated. Small talk.

“I remember you,” George said. “My wife and I liked that movie you made…King of Kings. With Charlton Heston. What a classic that guy was.”

Ben smiled. “He was a good time. Drank like a fucking fish.”

George raised a brow. “Did he? Well, we all need a glass every now and then.”

Ben nodded, taking a pointed sip of his wine.

“Heston. One of the few celebrities I gave a shit about when he died,” George said with a shake of his head. “Wasn’t long before my wife’s passing.”

You’d told Ben a lot about your grandmother. When your parents got divorced, she’d insisted that you, your mom, and your sister live with her and George. She didn’t want to take any chances with your dad, who’d been more than unstable at the time in his drinking.

Ben didn’t often pray. But he drank then with a silent toast, that good ole’ Jon was getting hot coals up the ass right about now. In hell.

Ben then considered your grandfather’s musings, realizing he hadn’t thought about his old pal Heston in a long time.

“How’d he die?” Ben asked. George glanced over at him.

“Well, official case was pneumonia. But it wasn’t all that clear,” he said. “However, I think he had a flare up.”

“Of what?” Ben asked.

George gave him a wry look. “The fate that all men fear. Ass cancer.”

Ben raised a brow, his mouth twitching. He had a feeling he knew where your sense of humor came from.

“You probably don’t have to worry about that,” George waved a dismissive hand. “You’re still young. Well, sort of…I mean, being superhuman and all that. I’m sure that comes in handy with the normal stuff, like the sniffles and whatnot…and hey! At least you won’t have to worry about your asshole fallin’ out.”

Ben actually smiled. Now he knew you were related to this man.

In the kitchen, you were trying and failing to dodge a game of “Twenty Questions” with your aunt, while you and your sister finished cutting potatoes. All of the questions were predictably centered around Ben. Luckily, you had a plate of mini quiche, cheese, and salami between you and Louisa to keep you pacified.

“Well, you’ve done well for yourself, I’ll give you that,” Trina said. “But why on God’s green Earth didn’t you tell us you were dating Soldier Boy? How the hell did you even meet him?”

Shit. There was more than one reason you hadn’t told the rest of your family yet, and this was partly it. How the hell were you supposed to explain this?

Louisa shot you a knowing look, along with a raised brow.

“Well, I was actually assigned to find him after he…went missing last year,” you said, keeping things purposefully vague. “We met and…things just kind of took off from there.”

Your mom and your sister didn’t even know all the details, but they knew this much. After Soldier Boy used his nuclear power to end Homelander, he’d escaped in the aftermath.

You’d been working a year in Surveillance at Supe Affairs, but you’d been a private investigator by trade, previously working at your father’s firm. You’d even worked at Vought for a few years, before joining the S.A.

You were then recruited by Grace Mallory to track down Soldier Boy, along with Butcher and his team.

…And that’s where things got complicated.

“But isn’t Soldier Boy the one who killed Homelander?” Trina asked. She stopped in her stirring of the cranberry sauce to look back at you. And you met her stare directly.

“Yes. He was partnered with the CIA on that.” Sort of. You added, “Homelander wasn’t the hero you all thought you knew, remember? He was a raging psychopath.”

Trina huffed at that.

“So was your father. And you still worked with him for years,” she remarked, even off-handedly as she went back to stirring.

Your entire body stilled. Inside, your temper was a lit fuse, preparing to ignite. You stuffed a mini quiche into your mouth to stop you from exploding.

And your mom and your sister recognized the danger. Louisa frowned tightly and touched your arm.

She had been too young to form a true relationship with your father by the time your parents were divorced, and your grandparents (and later you) hadn’t allowed Jon to interfere too much with Louisa's life. So Jon’s death, a mere seven months ago, hadn’t truly affected her as deeply as it had you.

And that in itself was complicated.

Marie paused in preparing the sweet potato casserole to give her sister a warning look.

“Trina, that’s not fair,” said Marie.

Your aunt shrugged. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Slowly, you stood. You grabbed a hand towel and brushed the velvety remains of potato skin from your hands. You also took the plate of cheese cubes and salami with you.

“Honey, she just means—”

“I know what she meant, Mom,” you said. Your mother wasn’t confrontational. She would never tell her sister to shut the fuck up when she was being out of pocket.

But you had no problem doing so. You walked over to Trina, who saw the look in your eye and actually relented, realizing that there was, in fact, a line, and she had crossed it.

“Look, I’d like us to continue having a nice evening,” you told her. “Mention my father again, and it won’t be.”

After a moment, Trina nodded.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t mind me,” she said. But then, she smiled. “I’m really happy for you, sweetheart. You’ve got a superhero! Who knew you’d pull that one off, huh?”

Your flat smile remained. “Oh, yeah? How do you mean?”

Trina faltered. Apparently, she hadn’t expected that.

“Oh. Well, you know…”

“No. I really don’t. Can you clarify for me?” you asked, using the same even tone you employed with testy co-workers on the Surveillance team.

Trina sighed. “Oh, honey. You’re a beautiful girl, but…”

“What?” you challenged. “Just say it.”

Behind Trina’s coil of dark hair piled on her head, Marie looked worried. Louisa was also on tenterhooks, gripping the kitchen table. She slowly got to her feet though, in case she needed to intervene.

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Trina said. She gestured to you, after grabbing a cheese cube off your plate. “But your hips, hun. I mean, I enjoy a snack. A bon bon. A chocolate eclair. The occasional croissant, but the weight don’t come off easier as you get older, does it?”

You were officially burning like a tea kettle.

“And with a man like that…” Trina fanned herself with the discarded, empty bag of cranberries. “Mother of God. He’s gotta be beating ‘em off with a fucking stick.”

Your mom pursed her lips at the salty language, giving Trina a sharp glance (for multiple reasons).

Trina noticed, but she only popped another piece of salami into her mouth. “Sorry, hun.”

But then she turned back to you.

“And have you talked about kids yet? That’ll be some serious weight gain.”

You let out a sharp breath and raised your gaze heavenward, pleading for mercy.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“I’m just sayin’!” she said. “He might have forever, but you certainly don’t.”

Now that one struck a nerve. Perhaps not the one she intended, but it cut deeply into you all the same. You and Ben had agreed to pin that conversation for now, but the fact was, he would continue to age much slower than you.

At your steely glare, Trina again raised her hands. This time in placating defense. “I’m trying to help you, is all I’m saying.”

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter so tight you thought a manicured nail might break off. You’d reached the end of your tether.

“I’ve been here for all of five minutes—”

“Okay, you know what?” Louisa finally stepped in and grabbed your arm. “I need your help. Let’s find the red tablecloth so we can set the table.”

She led you out of the kitchen and into the hall, but you stopped short so fast that you skidded a bit in your heels. You took deep breaths and braced a hand against the wall.

You turned to your sister. “Why doesn’t she attack you like that?”

“Oh, believe me,” Louisa said, rolling her eyes. “I had my turn before you got here. I’ve been locked in with these clucking hens all morning.”

A grin twitched at the corner of your lips.

“My condolences,” you said. But then, you look at your sister a bit harder. “And you. What’s your problem, huh? How long are you going to give Ben a hard time?”

It took her a moment, but Louisa eventually sighed.

“I mean, Aunt Trina’s an asshole, but she kind of said it. He’s literally a century-years-old,” she said. “How do you not have a problem with that?”

You crossed your arms, though you knew you didn’t have a good answer for that one.

“Age is…relative.” You struggled against a wince.

“He lived through the damn Dust Bowl,” Louisa deadpanned. “He’s fucking ancient.”

You glared back at her. “Okay, enough. What’s your real problem, huh? I mean really.”

Louisa let out another sigh. Her hands went to her hips. You hadn’t had a chance to tell her, but she looked pretty tonight too in her black dress. It flared at the waist and reached her knees, and she’d paired it with some chunky red heels. She was a little taller than you normally, but not by much. As the older sister, you enjoyed finally being taller than her for once in your higher heels.

Still, you were annoyed with her right now. You sensed she had something deeper against Ben, and it wasn’t all about his age. When she eventually answered, it just confirmed your suspicions.

“He’s dangerous,” she said at last. “He’s so fucking dangerous.”

That disheartened you. Your lips pressed, and you held onto your own arms a bit tighter.

“Not to me,” you replied. Louisa’s frown deepened as her brows knitted together.

“Especially to you,” she said. “He kidnapped you.”

You gave a wan smile. “Not technically.”

That had been one of his subordinates, who’d taken you outside of Ben’s orders…

It was a long and complicated story, but basically, it had worked out for both of you in the end.

Louisa gave you a more incredulous look. “He’s got an atomic bomb in his chest.”

“He’s working on controlling it,” you insisted. “He’s gotten a lot better!”

Louisa threw her hands upward in exasperation and turned to leave you in the hall. You stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Look, I get it,” you said, meeting her gaze directly. “You’re worried about me. But here’s the thing…you don’t have to do that. I’m the one who looks out for you, remember?”

Once again, she frowned at you. “Why, just because you’re older?”

You gave her a teasing smile.

“Well, yeah.” Still, you grasped both of her arms, now crossed in front of her chest. “Lou, haven’t I always taken care of you?”

“Okay, yeah,” she said. “But who takes care of you? Who makes sure you’re all right?”

You gave her a patient, if knowing look.

She grimaced. “Oh, don’t you say it.”

“Honestly, Lou. He does take care of me…he makes me feel safe.” You bit your lip, and your eyes began to well up with the sting of tears, emotion rising in your throat. “I’ve never had that. Ever.”

Your sister released a heavy sigh. “I know.”

“Then can you actually try to get to know him? Please?” You rubbed her arms, pleading with your eyes. You wanted your family to like your boyfriend, but it was so much more than that. You didn’t want to have separate worlds. Everyone in this house was part of your family, and that now included Ben.

The longer she looked into your imploring eyes, Louisa’s grimace lightened, just a touch. “I’ll think about it.”

You smiled then, warmly as you hugged your sister. You then kissed her on the cheek, leaving the bright red imprint of your lipstick.

When you went back into the kitchen, your better mood was ruined pretty quickly by watching your aunt run your mother around the kitchen with demands and instructions. You decided to jump into the fray, taking a large serving bowl out of Marie’s hands before it tipped over.

“How’s the ham doing?” you asked.

“About half an hour or so, I think,” Trina said. “Maybe forty-five.”

“Okay, and what’s left?”

“Let’s get the desserts ready.”

While your help sorely relieved your mother, it was actually a terrible idea for your mental health. When you could take no more of Trina’s irritating, commanding voice in your ear, you had to take a breath (as well as down a full glass of wine).

You wordlessly asked Louisa to tag in for you before you traveled into the living room.

There you found Ben immersed in a baseball game with Grandpa George. Both men only looked up at you when you stood near the couch with crossed arms. Your nerves were on edge, your blood still just short of boiling, but you took pains to look pleasant.

“Who’s winning?” you asked.

Ben quirked a smile at the sight of you, while George gave his more freely.

“5 to 3. It’s close on the Mets,” he said. You realized then that you hadn’t even hugged your grandfather yet.

“Oh my God, Grandpa! I’m so sorry,” you said with a frown. You went over to hug him. “Trina has me all out of whack.”

George chuckled and patted you warmly on the back. “Why do you think I’m out here?”

You sighed with a wry smile. You then turned to Great Aunt Sylvia, who was still passed out in the recliner.

“Aunt Sylvia?” you tried. You went over to her and touched her arm.

“Leave her be, hun,” George told you. “Only the smell of food’ll rouse that woman.”

Your smile deepened. Then you turned to Ben, who’d been watching you with reserved interest. He’d never seen you with the rest of your family before.

You went to him on his side of the couch and asked, in a tone deceptively light, “How about a tour of the house? You haven’t even seen it all.”

He could admit, it was a fairly big house for just your mother, but he was more interested in the game.

“I’m watching this,” he said, gesturing at the screen. However, when he saw the tight press of your lips, he knew something wasn’t right with you. You were trying to tell him something with your eyes, he just didn’t know what.

You leaned down, subtly grabbing his thigh.

“I need you,” you whispered in his ear. “Now.”

The tone of your voice set his blood alight with new interest.

Ben’s resulting smirk was subtle, but edged.

“A tour it is.”

AN: Just when you thought you'd seen the last of my BMD cliffhangers. 😏

How'd you like Ben's introduction to his girlfriend's family? I also sincerely hope you don't have an "Aunt Trina" in your life. 🙄

Next Time:

He grabbed your arms and meant to kiss you, but you stopped him with your fingers against his lips.

“Two rules: this lipstick doesn’t come off. And no. Ripping. The dress.”

Keep reading: PART 3

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#Love Actually #Part 2 #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x you #break me down verse #Christmas fic #fluff #BMD verse #Break me down verse #zepskies writes

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liyawritesss · 1 year

Note

riri x reader going to a game or playing video games together late at night

ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀx ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ

Characters: MCU!Riri Williams x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble

Synopsis: Finals are here and you've been studying non-stop for the past few weeks. Riri gets you to unwind in the only way you can’t refuse.

Warnings: cursing, riri gets a bit upset cuz you're not taking care of yourself, one mention of the word 'depression'

A/N: a mix of a drabble + textfic style that I thought would fit for this request. It's also been a minute since I actually wrote for riri but I have engaged in a lot of the his floating around for her. Particularly the stud!riri ones....if you squint you'll def see the inspiration lmaoo.

Tags: @6-noir @playhousedistee @shuririsdefenseattorney @shuriszn @zayswriting @wrendermedone @writingintheshadowsforever @mbakuetshurisprincess @verachii @slytherin-34 @the_lesbian-fangirl @itsmaniiiiiiiii @strangefishflapturtle @cuddl3s4shur1 @shuriislut @dejaonline @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @inmyheadimobsessed @aaliyg @cafehyunji @chunkybabygorl @rosielovesfamily @lulu-network

Ten forty-seven.

That was the time on your phone, printed in white against the background of your lock screen. You had been studying for four hours, since the second you got back to your dorm after your last class ended for the day. There had barely been a moment’s rest for you, and after the realization hit that you had been sitting in your seat for four fucking hours rereading the same study guide and notes over and over, you became increasingly aware of the sting your eyes and the soreness of your butt in your desk chair.

Finals were around the corner, and quite frankly, you couldn’t afford to not study. This semester had been exceptionally hard course wise, with the materials for many of your classes being dense and intense. The professors as well were not the kindest, and would make it all too easy for a student to slip up and fail, and you refused to be one of those students.

Your phone buzzes against the wood of your desk, and against your better judgment, you choose to pick it up and see the notifications you have. As you suspect, ignoring your phone and all other electronics for four hours straight garnered you a lot of notifications from the various apps you used on a day to day basis for entertainment and communication. And the first to sit at the top of your notifications column was from none other than your precious girlfriend herself.

riri baby ❣️

babe

baaaaaabbbeeee

let me know you’re alive goddamn

Imyyyyy

like a lot

you know you wouldn’t be stressing like this is you just let me help you study

you know im a good teacher :D

pls answer your goddamn phone

you act like i wont spam your shit you know i’m crazy like that

…..now if i send you sumn imma be in the wrong

you

jesus christ ri

riri baby ❣️

wooooooowwww so you respond to the threat of me sending you nudes but not me being lovey dovey n shit

i see how it is

you

you know what they say

a tit pic a day keeps the depression at bay

riri baby ❣️

I wish my phone wasn’t fucked up so i could send that raven simone gif of her saying ‘ya nasty’

cuz that’s what you are

n a s t y

you

you offered??????

riri baby ❣️

pls tell me you’re not still studying

you been doin that shit since last week

did you even eat anything when you got back to our room

you

I can neither confirm nor deny either of those questions

riri baby ❣️

omfg

ikyfl

Really (Y/N)?

you

that's not my name :(

you make it sound like i’m in trouble or sumn

riri baby ❣️

cuz you are????

bae its finna be eleven at night and you aint eat or take a break since you got back

you

ik ik ik

i tried to take one i really did

but i was just starting to understand some stuff and I didn't want my stupid brain to forget it just as i was already beginning to relearn it

and I still have so much to go….

riri baby ❣️

put you sumn on

im finna come pick you up and we finna go get sumn to eat

then i’mma spend the night with you and make sure you chill tf out on that studying shit bc you gon fuck around and make yourself sick from all that stress

aight?

you

okay…..

can we get

idk

tacos?

riri baby ❣️

yes we can get tacos pretty girl

And baby?

you

Yes?

riri baby ❣️

i love you

you’re doing great

you

thank you….n I love you too

can we also play the game when we come back?

riri baby ❣️

yes baby we can play the game

im suppose to be teaching you how to play 2K anyway

i’m downstairs mama

hurry up campus security be out here actin shady n shit

You were thankful that Riri had texted you in the end. You probably would be past out in your desk chair right now if you chose to ignore your phone again, but knowing Riri, she wouldn't have let that happen anyway. The trip to your favorite taco spot wasn’t long, and the cashier there who had memorized your orders made the process swift and painless.

Returning to your dorm room, Riri wasted no time in shoving your study materials into the drawer of your desk to be forgotten about until tomorrow. You just sat on your bed, as you watched her move about your room with precision, cleaning up your discarded shoes, jacket and backpack, and turning on your gaming console, slipping the 2K23 disc into the game disc slot and loading up the application.

“C’mere,” Riri mutters as she takes you by your hand and pulls you onto her lap after you’ve finished eating. The warmth from her hoodie warms your body that's littered in goosebumps, and she all but ages you against her by wrapping her arm around her waist to connect with the other handle of the controller. You find yourself paying much more attention to her tutorial of the game than any of the course material from any of your classes, her soft voice coaxing relaxation into your mind. And of course, as the ever so appreciative girlfriend you are to her, you make sure to feed her as well while she’s teaching you.

You’d save study for tomorrow. For right now, you were content with your girlfriend holding you close while she played her game, and you watched attentively, delivering her a victory kiss for every match she wins.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

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nyoomfruits · 7 months

Note

Tag - you're it! 💙

Post a snippet of one of your works and send this ask to five other people.

CELINE thank you ;-; snippet from the landoscar fake married au because. literally what else these days lmao

“Hey,” Oscar says, walking into the living room “Have you-“ He pauses, looks at Lando, frowns. “Lando, Jesus, are you okay?”

Lando waves his hand and tries not to flinch too hard at how that makes his brain feel. “’M fine. Just a little under the weather.”

“Fuck,” Oscar says, dropping his briefcase – because of course Oscar is the kind of lawyer who has a goddamn briefcase - by the door and kneeling down by the couch next to Lando’s body. His fingers are cool on Lando’s face when he takes it into his hands, and Lando lets out a happy little noise and leans into the touch. “Shit, Lando, you’re like burning up,” Oscar says.

“Your suit,” Lando mumbles, letting his eyes slip shut as Oscar’s fingers move to his forehead.

“What?” Oscar asks, distracted.

“You’re kneeling on the floor,” Lando mumbles. “Is your good suit. Haven’t vacuumed today.”

“Lando, I don’t really care about my fucking suit right now,” Oscar says, a little sharply. “Have you eaten? Did you drink enough water? Christ, why didn’t you text me?’ Oscar seems genuinely distraught, which is totally unnecessary, because Lando is fine.

“Half a banana,” he says, because lying is no use. “Had a bottle of water uh… Earlier today somewhere. And I didn’t want to worry you.”

Oscar sighs, lets his hand run through Lando’s hair, and Lando is way too tired not to let himself lean into the touch, make a please sound at the feeling of Oscar’s fingers scraping against his skull. “Next time just text me, yeah? I would’ve gone home earlier.”

“Y’don’t have to take care of me,” Lando mumbles. “’M fine.”

“Well, I did promise in sickness and in health, so, technically I kind of do,” Oscar says, and there’s a fond little look on his face, and Lando has to close his eyes because sick him is so not capable of dealing with his stupid dumb crush on top of everything else.

“Bleh,” Lando says, and buries himself deeper in his blanket.

“Glad we agree,” Oscar says, getting up. Lando tries valiantly not to immediately miss the feeling of his fingers in his hair. “How about I’ll make you some soup and get you some tea, and then you crawl back into bed, yeah?”

Bed does sound nice. Their couch is comfy, sure, but the bed has so many more pillows. And a duvet. So Lando nods, mumbles a, “Thanks,” and drags himself off the couch to start the long uncomfortable trek towards the bedroom.

#landoscar #drabble #already home #mctwinks #twinklaren

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redwolf17 · 9 months

Text

A timeline of going feral about Persuasion

(or, how I suddenly turned into a starry-eyed, obsessive sixteen-year-old girl again with zero warning, goddammit Jane Austen you've done it again)

———————————————————

Saturday: Read Persuasion. Deeply enjoy it while also feeling like one has been hit over the head with a club made from the essence of yearning and catharsis. Look up gifs of the movies; decide the 1995 looks most promising, and the 2022 should be doused in holy water and exorcised because how goddamn dare you

Sunday: wake up early specifically to watch Persuasion (1995) while the bf is asleep. Squee to oneself the entire time. Finish the movie, and rabidly descend into the Persuasion tag on Ao3. Read most of the day. Find out the bf is slightly disappointed he wasn't included in the morning movie time; watch the movie again in the evening while trying not to scream because Amazon Video keeps messing up the audio syncing and ruining the experience.

Monday: Continue going through the Ao3 tag. Consider rewatching the movie, but resist due to lack of time. Briefly scold oneself for fixating on the romance and not the fantastic prose and social commentary. Consider buying the Annotated Persuasion to better understand the historical context; instead add it to the Christmas wishlist and keep fixating on the romance

Tuesday: Finish going through the Ao3 tag. Lament the tragic lack of additional fics. Vaguely consider a future Persuasion AU but discard it because there's really not a good immediate parallel in ASOIAF, and because more importantly, Anne/Frederick is the entire point, an AU with different characters wouldn't have them

Wednesday: Discover that the hyper fixation is not calming down, no, it's STILL going. Reread all of @amarguerite’s incredible figure skating AU where Frederick and Anne were once pairs partners, until Coach Russell forced them apart so Frederick could join the NHL. Feel way too many feelings about it.

Thursday: Reread the short side stories of the skating AU. Finally comment because oops, incredible work deserves comments, but the reading binge was so intense that no such deserved comments were given. Pray the fic authors are not bothered by the sudden onslaught of fangirling.

Friday: Decide to reread Persuasion tonight, because now one can really SAVOR it, really just go apeshit over every line and moment. And also because hopefully rereading it will get the brainworms to calm down, Jesus Christ, wtf?!?!?!! Stay tuned for the tag to be flooded with commentary, lol

#persuasion #jane austen #anne elliot #frederick wentworth

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nothorses · 2 months

Note

sorry to bring this to your inbox but i got nowhere else to bring it and i need a yell. I was going through the transgender tag for more information on the CEO's transmisogyny debacle and came across a post that started out by stating that transmisogyny has been on the rise on tumblr as a whole; reasonable and true. but they started their list of examples with "1. The entire concept of transandrophobia" and I just.

What the goddamn hell is wrong with you*? (not YOU you THEM you) Why the fuck are you throwing your trans brothers under the bus for the actions of a pissbaby CEO? There's a wave of false reports and deletions - TARGETING TRANS WOMEN - and your response is to try and shift the target to transmascs for... talking about their experiences? Your response to outside harassment is to try and spark more infighting? What's your fucking problem????? We need to be coming TOGETHER not picking a fucking target to spit on!!! Christ alive. And people wonder how it's so easy for terfs to turn us against each other. God.

Ok rant over thanks for listening

I just want to challenge your wording here a little bit; did you check this person's blog and how they identify? Do you know if they're a trans woman, a trans man, nonbinary, etc.? Even what they might have said on their blog about how they identify should be scrutinized- we don't actually know who this person is, and they could for sure be lying. It's really, really useful for people outside of our communities who want to stir shit up to pretend they're not outsiders at all.

The post you're describing is horrible either way, and you're 100% right that it's stirring up harmful infighting. I think it's really easy to see that kind of thing and think, "oh my god, people are falling for it! they're actually fighting each other now!!"

It's a scary thing to see, and it's incredibly hard to ask critical questions when we're afraid, or otherwise emotionally activated like that. And there's nothing wrong with being emotionally activated, either; of course you are! That's some really hateful, really wrong, and really dangerous shit! Sentiments just like that one have caused so much harm to our community, and so much harm directly to individual, vulnerable people- probably people you know. Certainly people I know.

But it's reactions from that state of emotional activation that lead to the success of these kinds of infighting campaigns. We get activated, we make assumptions and act from that activated place, other people get activated and do the same, and the cycle continues.

What's worse, you're the only person who saw the post in question; I can only react to what you're telling me. I can't go look at the post, check OP's blog, and answer any critical questions about the nature of the situation. I have no way of knowing whether this person might be transfem, or just a TERF trying to stir shit up. I don't even know if the OP was an anon ask sent to someone else. I don't know how many notes the post got, or how big OP's audience is; I can't really conceptualize the amount of harm the post has done. I don't know if anyone has debunked it in the notes, or if OP has since posted an update denouncing that original sentiment.

Again, that's not to invalidate your emotional response, or even really question how honest you're being here. For all I know, you did check all of those things, and this is worse than I think it is. It certainly seems pretty realistic to me, just based on my own experiences with these kinds of conversations.

I just want to push back on that wording a little bit because like... as much as it is a real problem that a lot of transfems really firmly believe that Transmascs Talking About Cis People Being Transphobic To Us is the most serious & urgent form of transmisogyny facing the transfem community today, it's also a real problem that transmacs will jump on that same line of thinking in an effort to paint themselves as "one of the good ones".

Cis women will often throw transmascs under the bus in the same way in order to avoid Cis Guilt, oftentimes avoiding talking about their cis positionalities- which leads people to assume that, because they're talking about trans issues so much, they must be trans themselves! Which, again, perpetuates this illusion that "the trans community is full of infighting" and that much more dangerous to various trans people.

(Granted, this is a complicated issue; I don't think it's wrong for cis people to talk about these things, and I don't think trans people should have to out themselves in order to do so, either- but I have absolutely seen this pattern taken advantage of by hateful anons, TERFs, radfems, and cis women who revel in being called "honorary trans women" for bashing transmascs frequently enough.)

Is this post demonstrating the success of cis people's efforts to stir up infighting in the trans community, or is it just an example of cis people trying to stir up infighting? And if you know it's the former, how do I know? How do all of my followers know? Is it better to understand it as one vs. the other?

I'm sorry this got so long and off-topic; I'm sure this isn't what you were looking for when you sent me this ask, and I'm sorry for criticizing your wording over providing the emotional reassurance you probably needed a lot more than this. And also, I do feel a responsibility to think about the people reading asks before I think about the people sending them (particularly if they're on anon), and I felt this was the message that most needed to be received from anything I could say in response. I hope you're able to find the emotional reassurance you need regardless, and I appreciate you bringing this to me in the first place. 💙

#transunity #trans unity

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

Text

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader)

Note: I’m only on episode 5 of “The Bear” but uh they genetically engineered Carmy in a Lab and I couldn’t get this pathetic, high functioning but also traumatized baby girl out of my head.

Let me know if ya’ll want me to continue this because I probably could.

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Content: 18+. MDNI. Smut.

Warnings/Tags: cursing/foul-language, smoking, protected sex, enemies to friends with benefits (sort of), banter, rivalry, second person POV, Porn WITH plot, slow-burn, grinding, light edging, semi-public/car sex lmao

Synopsis: Your grandfather bought the building across from “The Original Beef of Chicagoland.” After his unexpected death, you found yourself shouldered with the immense responsibility of turning these four walls into something worthwhile.

It doesn’t help that the new owner of Original Beef, Carmen Berzatto, is up your ass constantly and trying to get you to shut down before you can become a threat to their business.

(Read on Ao3) |||| (Masterlist)

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

“Did you see that someone bought the spot across from ours?” Fak asked. “I wonder what they’re gonna turn it into.”

“I don’t know. Probably a fucking GAP or something.” Riche said while lighting his cigarette.

“Cousin, can you give me a hand with this shit?” Carmy asked while holding a milk crate – one of many deliveries – with an exasperated look to Richie.

Richie gestured with his hand, cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger, “I’m having a smoke break, cousin, give me a minute. Jesus Christ.”

“Fuck you.” Carmy muttered, rolling his eyes, and carrying the heavy crate alone.

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

You settled your hands on your hips, surveying the space of drywall and hanging working lamps, and a fine white dust clouded the air. You barely had a minute to catch your breath between the funeral and meeting with your grandfather’s lawyers and dealing with your over-zealous family. To call this place a “work in progress” would be an understatement. According to all your grandfathers’ files and notes, it had been a bitch to get around all the red tape and legal bullshit to avoid the building being demolished.

It was an older building which meant someone had to check for lead, asbestos, faulty wiring, and every single other goddamn possibility under the sun. Then, he went and did what all old fuckers do – he died. He died and left the shitshow to his favorite grandchild. What an honor.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. A tension headache pressed against your nasal cavity since brunch and now it demanded to be noticed.

“So, you see,” The foreman continued, “we will need to gut out the left side if that’s still where the kitchen is going to be. I’ve got plenty of guys working on it, though, don’t worry.”

“How long?” You hissed with your eyes closed. The bright workman’s lamps were aggravating your head.

“Huh, how long?” The foreman stroked his sweaty mustache with two fingers. He was a soft, pudgy guy with a weak chin and perpetually watery eyes. Upon first meeting him, you thought he’d be a better fit as a Mall Santa instead of the head of your grandfather’s multi-million-dollar project.

“I’d say we’re looking at two more weeks to finish up these repairs. The drywall won’t take long – I know a guy and he can have that done in a day. You still wanna open in June?”

It was less than three months away. It sounded impossible. But your grandfathers’ notes expressed the importance of a summer opening to gain the most income and foot traffic. Your grandfather had been a shrewd and hard-working businessman. After all, this wasn’t the first restaurant he opened, and it was kind of fucked that he left you this one and not the other ones (which were doing well).

You nodded. “Yeah, June.”

The foreman made a note on his clipboard. “Now, if you’ll follow me—”

“Actually,” You held up a hand, “I gotta – I need a smoke break.”

You hadn’t had a cigarette since…Jesus. This morning? No wonder you had a migraine from hell and your heart kept pounding erratically. The foreman (whose name you were pretty confident was Tom) nodded enthusiastically and gave you a sympathetic look. You stepped outside to the cold, early-March air and inhaled deeply while fishing your cigarettes out of the pocket of your black, leather duster coat.

You tapped the bottom of the cigarette package against your palm before pulling one out and perching it against your lower lip. Your reached into your other pocket for your lighter. Your fingertips met empty, silk lining and few mysterious crumbs.

“Shit.” You checked your other pocket, only finding your cellphone and wallet, and your heart plummeted. “Shit.”

You whipped open the glass door and popped your head back into your restaurant, “Yo! You smoke?” You asked the foreman.

He looked up from his phone with a jolly little smile. “No! Quit years ago, thankfully, you know it’s really been such a blessing that my wife and I--”

“Cool.” You released the door handle and let it swing closed. You paced in front of the building (your building) and sulkily kicked a crushed Sprite can off to the side. You glanced across the street.

As a teenager, you followed your grandfather in his walkthroughs of his restaurants. A golden rule of all food place establishments? Everyone smokes. Although, that rule might be less common in the world of vaping and electronic cigarettes. You checked the street both ways before crossing with your hands tucked in your pockets and the unlit cigarette dangling from your lips.

You ignored the front entrance and walked to the side, where the customer cars would be parked, and some Divine Benevolence must’ve been watching over you because a man with a blue apron was smoking while crouched near a door.

“Hey, man!”

He turned to look at you and you were momentarily surprised by his appearance. He wasn’t classically handsome, but his eyes were as blue as Lake Michigan during the summer, and his dark golden hair artfully curled around his face. He looked like he just rolled out bed while simultaneously looking like he hadn’t slept in 36 hours. A few tattoos scattered across his arms, but you didn’t bother to look closer at any of them.

“Hey.” A charged moment passed while he sized you up and probably made sure you weren’t here to try and shake him down for change.

You gestured to the cigarette in your mouth, “I lost my lighter. Do you mind?”

He reached into his pocket and held his lighter to you. Wordlessly, you took it, lit your cigarette, and tilted your head back with a euphoric exhale of smoke. The rush of nicotine to your head and bloodstream immediately eased your headache and anxiety. Small miracles and small mercies. At least now you could continue your meeting with Tom (God, you hoped that was his name) and figure out the rest of the restaurant bullshit.

All the family lawyers told you to sell it and give the headache to someone else and let them turn into a Starbucks or whatever. But you couldn’t sell it. For all the headache and stress, it was grandpa’s last project. His final legacy. You couldn’t just let that shit go.

“Thank fuck.” You muttered with intense feeling. You held out his lighter to him, “Thank you.”

“Keep it.” He said before standing and leaning his back against the wall. You shrugged and slipped the plain, gray lighter into your pocket.

He watched you curiously, then said; “We don’t open till three. What are you doing here?”

There was something defensive to his tone. Hell, maybe he suspected you were a co-worker’s crazy ex-girlfriend trying to stalk them. The thought of it made you smile - you never had time to be anyone’s girlfriend.

You chuckled, “I was across the street. I figured if anyone had a lighter, it would be a stressed-out restaurant employee.”

His eyebrows raised. “You bought that place?”

“Nah.” You flicked ashes onto the pavement. “My grandad did. I guess he saw some hidden potential or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it gonna be?”

You smirked. “Cat café.”

His brow furrowed and his jaw went a little slack, “You’re kidding.” You enjoyed watching the expression morph across his face. It gave him a boyish edge to his exhausted features. And – it was just fun to fuck with strangers.

“Yeah, I am. I’m fucking with you.” You said while laughing. You took a final drag of your cigarette and snubbed it out on the bottom of your boot. You’d throw away the stub into a drainage grate or a trash can on your walk back. “Thanks for the light, chef. See you around.”

He pushed away from the wall and followed after you for two steps, “Hey, wait.”

You looked at him expectedly. A light, cold breeze stirred your hair and a piece of trash skated across the pavement with a harsh, grating sound. You should’ve kept walking. It wasn’t like you to wait around, for anyone, especially not random kitchen dudes who you only needed to borrow a lighter from. While he looked at you, something unfamiliar fluttered in your stomach and it wasn’t nerves or anxiety.

“You know, most business fail in their first year.” He said, “I’ve seen all the workers going in and out of that place. You might wanna tell your grandad to cut his losses while he’s ahead.”

You scoffed and your mouth dropped open in surprise. “Wooow.” You said sarcastically.

Your hackles raised at the patronizing vibe of the statement. Most businesses fail in their first year? Yeah, no shit. As if you didn’t already know that. As if your grandad didn’t already know that after opening dozens of places and plan out a twenty-something step guide for success. You already had your family biting at your heels to sell and cut your losses. You didn’t need this random line chef who probably couldn’t tell parsley from cilantro to tell you how to run a business.

In some twisted, backhanded way, you could how he was trying to be nice and offer unwanted well-meaning advice. Yet, as soon as the thought entered your mind, a more ruthless follow-up thought was born: Is he being nice? Or is he just trying to get rid of the competition?

“You know what?” You flicked your cigarette stub onto the ground near the front of their restaurant. Fuck them, they could sweep it up if they were such experts.

“If I ever figure out a way to speak to the dead - I’ll let him know.” You said with heated venom in your tone. You spun on your heel and briskly walked toward your restaurant without looking back. You threw yourself into listening to Tim (apparently his name was not Tom) and making suggestions while carrying your grandfathers’ impressive ringed binder of notes. The later half of your evening was spent sitting outside on the curb making phone calls while balancing the notebook on your lap.

Every time you felt like going home and calling it quits—you thought of him. That blue-eyed, self-righteous, cocky bastard. You worked until your mom called with a threat that she’d send you an Uber if you didn’t get on the L right now. You closed the notebook and stared across the street at the now-dark, empty Original Beef of Chicagoland. What a stupid name. It’s way too long. You scowled and grabbed your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. You pulled out the lighter he gave you and stared at it with enough heat to start a housefire. Whatever. Fuck him.

You’d find a quickie-mart to buy a new lighter from on your way home.

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

“Did you see the absolute smokeshow that’s working across the street?” Richie asked, leaning against the counter, “I swear to God, I thought they were shooting a commercial over there or somethin’.”

Syd frowned at his statement.

“She works there?” Fak asked. “What does she do? I’ve only seen construction guys.”

“Behind!” Carmy announced while maneuvering past Richie and setting down a container of relish. He glanced at Richie and Fak talking even though they both were supposed to be doing other things. Like prepping for their fucking lunch opening in the next three hours.

“Dude, I dunno, but she’s there like all fucking night.” Richie said, “I’m gonna talk to her tonight and see what’s up.”

“No way! She’s way out of your league.”

“Fuck you!” Richie aggressively pointed at Fak, “I’ve got more game than you, alright? You wanna go fucking talk to her and see if she’ll go out with your fatass?”

“Hey! I’m a nice guy and I have a lot to offer! Aren’t you technically married?”

“Don’t bring my fucking marriage into this! You fucking asshole!”

“I’m stating facts!”

“Yeah, here’s another fact for you—"

“Would you both shut up and get back to work!” Carmy snapped, “we’ve got three hours till lunch service.”

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

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to this.” You said while holding onto a brightly wrapped birthday present on your lap. “I have work to do.”

“You always have work to do.” Your mom replied sternly while flexing her hands on the steering wheel. “Jimmy was a good friend to your grandfather.”

“So that means I have to give a shit about his kid?”

Your mom snapped your first and middle name at you.

You put the present on the floor near your feet while your mom talked about your grandfather and his connection to Jimmy – you heard the story a dozen times. Jimmy gave your grandfather his first loan to open his first business, a restaurant that focused on quality waffles and signature pancakes, and ever since then Jimmy has been at every opening (blah blah blah). She claimed that before her divorce to your dad and your subsequent move to Cincinnati that Jimmy made an appearance at your tenth birthday party. Despite all her reasonings and explanations, you couldn’t see how this was an optimal way to spend your day. You needed to sign work orders, and paint the walls, and re-tile the flooring, and a thousand other things. June would be here before you could say “Chicago Bears.”

You pulled out your phone to answer some emails before your arrived at Jimmy’s house.

You stepped out of the car and heard a chorus of screaming and laughing children echoing from the backyard.

“I already hate this.” You muttered while slamming the car door shut.

Your mom sidled next to you and held out a tube of lipstick from the depths of her big, pink Valentino bag and you stared at it, dumfounded.

“You’re serious?” You made a sweeping gesture to your bare legs, “I’m already dressed up.” You said to the floral, knee-length dress that ran like liquid across your skin. Hell, you even spritzed some light perfume behind your ears to mask any lingering scent of plaster and drywall. This wasn’t one of your business school schmoozing events created to network and leverage clients. It was a fucking children’s birthday party. (Unless your mom suspected you were going to find a DILF to snatch up or something).

“You look exhausted, darling. A little color to your cheeks and lips won’t hurt.” She nudged the lipstick closer, expecting you to take it, her thin eyebrows raised into her pulled-back hairline and her mouth set in a severe line.

“Fine.” You spat.

You snatched the lipstick up and passed over her birthday present, “I’ll find a bathroom, shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, you shouldered your way into a house full of noisy, obnoxious guests and blindly found your way upstairs. You knew you were being a bitch and you’d need to apologize later. But why couldn’t your mom understand that this wasn’t a priority? It was her dads’ restaurant that you were trying to build! Why didn’t she care more?! Why couldn’t she acknowledge that you were busting your ass for a June opening? It wasn’t like this was easy.

You locked the bathroom door and leaned your forehead against it. “Fucking…shit…fuck.” You faced your reflection like a woman walking to the executioner’s block. You ran your fingers through your hair, mussing it lightly, and then applied the lipstick with care. There. It was decent enough.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah! One sec!” You tucked your mother’s lipstick into your small clutch and opened the door wide. Your heart dropped and your eyes reflexively narrowed. The fucking line cook! This party just went from bad to ‘I am in Hell, actually’. Unfortunately, he must have recognized you because his jaw went slack and his stupid, blue eyes widened in shock. You could already see the apology forming in the lines of his mouth.

“You’re--“

“Nope.” You went to brush past him, and his arm abruptly shot forward and grasped the doorframe to block you. Your nose nearly bumped into his bicep, but you caught yourself and glared at him. Why was he in his dumb fucking blue apron? Was he Jimmy’s personal chef too?

“Do they not teach manners in culinary school?” Just in seeing him, everything came back in a whirlwind rush. His aggravating tone, the pressure of your grandfathers’ legacy, and his nefarious so-called advice for you to close your goddamn business. Anger, white-hot and claustrophobic, burned inside your chest.

“I owe you an apology.” He said. “It was none of my business.”

You scanned his face and felt a hot flush at the nape of your neck. It bothered you that he actually didn’t say ‘I’m sorry’. In terms of apologizes, this one felt like a lukewarm frozen dinner in the microwave.

“Be honest. Are you sorry that my grandfather is dead, and you sounded like an asshole? Or are you sorry for telling me to close?”

“Twenty percent of businesses close in the first year. That’s just fact.” He said.

“Actually, it’s higher than that for restaurants. Thirty percent close in the first year.” You said with all the arrogance and haughtiness you could embolden into your voice after four years of business school and interning with your grandfather. You weren’t a child. You were a capable, intelligent adult who could do fucking anything.

“Look...” He finally brought his hand away from the doorframe, releasing your cage, and carded his fingers through his hair. That explains why his hair always looked like he just rolled out of bed. You thought with a wry smile to yourself. You folded your arms over your chest and waited for him to continue with his ever-so-wise, thought-provoking statement.

“I don’t have time to argue about this.” He said.

You clicked your tongue. “What a coincidence. Me either!”

“But!” He cut in and stepped into your path before you could walk away. “Whether you’re making it into a fucking cat café, or a Mexican spot doesn’t matter, because you’re betting on losing dogs. That street doesn’t get foot traffic. This isn’t New York.”

This close, he smelled a little like charcoal and sweat. Didn’t your mom mention something about hot dogs? Wait. Was he catering the birthday party? Incredible. He had this birthday party locked down and had the audacity to argue with you about your business’ future. It was more obvious than ever that he wanted your restaurant gone just to save his own profit margin. Typical.

“I seem to recall a restaurant that’s right across from mine that’s open.”

“Because we’ve got regulars.” He sounded almost desperate when he said it. Regulars could still go somewhere new. A new plan unfolded in front of you. You wouldn’t just make your restaurant the best to honor your grandfather. You’d make it better than any other restaurant on the street. You’d have lines to rival an Apple Store on release day.

“You know what, thank you so, so much.” You clapped your hands together in a prayer in front of your chest, making your sarcastic tone thick and obvious. “God, thank you! Wow. I cannot believe I didn’t know you needed regular customers and a steady income to make your business succeed! I’m soooo relieved you were here to guide me.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Alright. You always have this fucking attitude when someone’s trying to help you?”

You side-stepped him. “Go fuck yourself. Enjoy the party.”

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

You dodged a kid running past with a NERF gun and found Jimmy in the loud kitchen. “Hey, Jimmy, who is catering your party?”

“Who is? Oh, it’s Carmy and Richie.” He pointed outside the sliding glass door to the grill. “You know them?”

“Nah.” You glared at the backs of their heads. “Which one is which?”

“Carmy is the short one. Richie is the asshole.”

“They’re both assholes.” You mumbled, though Jimmy caught you and laughed. Richie stopped by your restaurant-in-progress a few days ago. He asked a couple benign questions about the place, and then started criticizing the work that your employees were doing. He kept saying shit like ‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have used that type of plaster’ and ‘well, if it were me, I would’ve gone with the other bolts here because these strip like a motherfucker’. You ended up telling him you needed to lock up just to get him to leave. You suspected, especially after that conversation with Carmy upstairs, that he came over to spy on you.

“You’re right. Oh! Oh shit!” Jimmy noticed someone across the room and suddenly ducked away to go outside. You grabbed a fistful of chips from the kitchen island and ate them out of your palm while walking around. You were not going to eat whatever Carmy, and Richie cooked up. Hell No. You’d rather starve on potato chips and cans of fruity seltzer.

You found your mom in one of the sitting rooms and hand signaled to her that you were blowing your brains out with a gun. She waved you off. Great. Time for Plan B – call an Uber and deal with mom’s wrath later.

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

Your clothes were paint splattered, but at least the restaurant looked nice. You decided for an earthy tone and painted the walls a greenish gray. According to the paint swatch – it was called “Bitter Sage”. You thought the name was fitting considering your mixed emotions about the restaurant. Most days, you were filled with the fortitude and passion to complete the project no matter how many roadblocks got in your way. There were many, many roadblocks.

Other days, however, you angrily wept into your cereal bowl at three in the morning because it was Hard, and No One was Helping, and Why The Fuck Did Grandad Leave You This Place!

Mostly though, you were fine even if you were behind schedule. You weren’t planning to paint this on your own, but Tim’s employees got stuck at another job, and he couldn’t send anyone out until tomorrow afternoon. Rather than wait, you came here and painted it yourself. Easy-peasy.

You pulled your hair out of your sweaty face and pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your back pocket. You frowned at the weight of it. It felt off. You’re fucking kidding. You stared at the empty pack like it personally offended you. Your arms and shoulders trembled from exhaustion. You were sore right down to the bone. The idea of walking to buy cigarettes felt impossible.

“Hey, God, yeah – it’s me.” You said to the ceiling, “Did I kill a bunch of nuns in a past life or something?”

You checked the time on your phone and 11:13PM stared back at you. You looked out the large bay window across the street. No, no way. You’re not gonna go bum a cigarette from him. Your fingertips twitched. He’s probably not even there. Just walk to gas station. Come on. Power through the pain.

“Wait…” You said out loud, “who says I have to talk to him? I can ask literally any other chef there.”

Richie smoked. You smelled it on him beneath his overly powerful Pine cologne. You locked up the restaurant behind you and jogged across the street with your heart in your throat. This was so stupid. You were going to give yourself an aneurysm from stress. You should turn around. Your legs and thighs ached with discomfort from all the crouching and stretching you performed while painting. You should definitely turn around and walk to a gas station. The closest one was only twenty-five minutes on foot.

You turned the corner. Carmy was sitting on the trunk of someone’s dark green car. Fucking shit. You froze like a rabid racoon. You were in the middle of the parking lot behind the restaurant. It wasn’t like you could hide and it wasn’t like you could turn around like “Oh whoops! I took a wrong turn!” He saw you instantly and you caught his jaw clenching in the low, fluorescent light of the streetlights. You hated the prickle of awareness that flushed across your skin beneath his glacial gaze.

It wasn’t too late. You could turn around and run with your tail between your legs.

It’s too bad you never ran from anything a day in your life. You lifted both your hands in a placating manner. “Truce.”

“You’re the one fighting with me.” He said plainly. You disagreed with that. Just because he wasn’t telling you to ‘fuck off’ didn’t mean he wasn’t planning and hoping for your downfall.

You shrugged. “You struck a nerve.”

The smoke from his cigarette circled around his head like a misty halo. You stood there, a few feet away from him perched on the trunk like a throne, the pavement slightly damp beneath your paint-dotted sneakers from rain earlier today. You were painfully aware of the sweat glistening off your skin and the frizzled mess of your hair. Not that you cared what you looked like in front of him. It’s not very intimidating if your business rival sees you looking like a wet rat.

“So, what do you want?” He asked, resting his elbows on his knees while his feet balanced on the back bumper. “You already have my lighter.”

Shit. You couldn’t even claim to have forgotten about it. You carried it with you every day and ultimately, stupidly, thought of him whenever you used it.

“How much will you despise me if I ask to bum a cigarette?” You fished his lighter out of your front pocket, “I will give you your lighter back as a trade.” You stepped forward and extended your arm to him. He looked at the lighter, then at you, with a whisp of smoke curling in front of his blue eyes. He plucked the lighter from your fingers without touching you.

You accepted his proffered cigarette, but before you could ask for the lighter back, he held it alight in his hands—with one hand cupping the tiny flame. You leaned forward, finding yourself closer than expected between his knees, with your heart thundering through your eardrums. You peered up at him, his face awash in orange flickering light, his long eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, before the cigarette caught flame and smoke unfurled around your mouth like a dragon’s exhale.

Your exhale shuddered, both in relief and in something else, and you yanked your gaze away from his though your body remained frozen in place. You could practically feel the heat of him radiating off his body. You weren’t sure why your first impression of him was to call him unattractive. He was handsome if you liked your men sweaty and muscular with exhausted, doleful eyes. Which maybe you did. Maybe.

You swallowed and listened to the distant sound of police sirens. It shouldn’t matter what he looked like. He was your direct competition. He told you to shut down every time you spoke to him. You saw him, sitting on the bench outside his restaurant, looking at your place with disdain. You weren’t friends. You weren’t even close to friends. All your friends lived in Cincinnati.

“Why’re you here so late?” You asked. Because you said truce and also, because you wanted to know. You had your reasons to stay up late – you had a restaurant to build. His place already existed. It didn’t make sense to burn the wick at both ends if you didn’t have to.

“Do you actually care why?” He retorted drily.

“Well now I fucking don’t.” You said while laughing, “Forget it.”

Something rippled across his face too quick to catch. You assumed it was anger based on the tenseness of his shoulders and the muscle flaring in the line of his throat. He hopped off the trunk, forcing you to take a small step back, but you were still chest-to-chest. Your heart flipped. So, it was going to be like this, was it? You refused to step back further. He could awkwardly shuffle by you if he needed to leave and see how he liked it. Dick.

“Do you even give a shit about anyone except yourself?” He hissed, “Every time I see you, you’re always a fucking asshole to everyone.”

“You really waste time thinking about me? I’m honored.” You narrowed your eyes up at him, “because I don’t think about you at all.”

Your chest heaved, your lungs switched gears from calm and regular to very much not calm and irregular. You weren’t sure what it was about him that got under your skin so easily. Fuck, maybe it wasn’t him. Lets not give him all the credit. You might feel this way about any hot-blooded guy who looked at you like…like this. His dark pupils nearly engulfed the whole sky of his eyes.

“Yeah?” His nostrils flared.

You licked your lips. “Yeah.”

The tension rippled between you like a rubber band stretched too thin. It would snap. It was destined to snap. You’re not sure who surged forward first. Probably him. One moment you were staring each other down with heat-filled gazes and in the next moment, his mouth was on yours, lips parting and tongue delving behind your teeth. You groaned and fisted your hands into his thin white t-shirt. His arms encircled you in an unyielding grip and one hand lifted to clutch the nape of your neck and stop you from squirming away. Your world spun for a second and then you felt your back bump into the trunk of his car. Someone moaned. (Again, it was probably him). You suckled softly on his tongue, this kiss wet and obscene, smearing salvia on your chin. It felt too good. You pushed your hands up his shirt and were rewarded with the hard, muscled planes of abdomen beneath your fingers.

Carmy hissed and brought your lower lip into his mouth, biting, and you whined into his mouth with wanton abandon.

“You like that?” Carmy grumbled. His thigh shoved between your legs, and you lifted your hips, grinding yourself onto the wedge of his thigh. A shockwave of pleasure rolled through your lower abdomen. His mouth skirted along your jaw before his teeth met your neck. Your fingernails dug into his stomach in response. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, seeing stars, while Carmy’s mouth latched over your skin and sucked hard enough to bruise. Your hips canted, rocking back and forth, riding his thigh like a horny teenager who was afraid to take it past second base.

You were too tightly wound. It had been too long since you took someone to bed. It was embarrassing. The way he had you panting in his ear and scratching your nails into his back. The friction of your jeans and panties rubbing against his jeans was rough but electric. As long as he kept his fucking mouth shut, you could ride his leg, come, and then go home and pretend this never happened.

“You’ll think of me now.” Carmy whispered harshly into the shell of your ear and his breath ghosted over the wet spot he left on your neck. “Whenever you see that.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You whimpered, one of his large hands covered your breasts and squeezed, the sensation only slightly deadened by the fabric of your t-shirt and bra. You weren’t going to let him win. You slipped your hands out from underneath his shirt and grabbed his face between your hands, crushing your mouth to his, and plunging your fingers through his soft, curly hair. You were already so close. Your skin flushed with heat, body burning with unresolved desire, as your cunt squeezed and pulsed.

“S’close.” You whined into his mouth, feeling your orgasm about to crest and take you into oblivion. He slid his thigh away from you, taking away your source of pleasure and enjoyment, and you wanted to scream. You groaned in frustration, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten and wet.

“Fuck. You.” You spat.

“Yeah?” He braced his arms on either side of you and tilted his hips away so you couldn’t grab him and pull him closer. A quick glance to his jeans at least revealed that he was hard, and your ego purred in satisfaction. If he gave you blue balls, then you could just do the same to him and walk away right now. “We could fuck in my car right now if that’s what you want.”

Absolutely, yes. However, You were not going to reveal that little secret right away. You made a show of thinking about it, crossing your arms in a way that made your breasts lift, and looking to the heavens with a perplexed expression.

“You fuck a lot of girls in your car, Carmy?” You teased.

“You’d be the first.” He breathed.

Your heart fluttered and you ignored it. Obviously, it meant nothing. He just wanted to get off. Same as you. Tomorrow, you’d go back to hating his guts for all his arrogance and cocky advice and you’d create Chicago’s best restaurant across from his little one. Everything would be right with the world.

You tilted your head to the side, “Unlock it then.”

Carmy did not – to your surprise – unlock it right away. Instead, he kissed you again and held your face between his hands while pressing the full length of his body against yours and pinning you to the car. You could feel every muscled inch of him and the hardness in his jeans. You awkwardly snaked your hands between your bodies and palmed his cock, earning a surprised grunt from Carmy. He rocked his hips into your hand for a second, maybe two, before pulling your hand away and dragging you by the wrist to the backseat of his car. Your head felt dizzy with anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t a very big car. Carmy spread his legs out while sitting in the backseat and began unzipping his pants. You looked around briefly to ensure you were alone before taking your jeans off outside the car and climbing within.

The second you were kneeling on the beige upholstery, Carmy’s hand came between your legs and cupped between your legs. You gasped and bit your lip at the firm, almost possessive grip. You braced one hand on the upper backseat headrest and the other clung the driver’s side seat and met his eyes blown-wide with desire.

“You’re soaked.” He mumbled, before pushing aside your wet panties and sliding his index finger into you. Your entire body quaked and the sound that escaped your lips was nearly a sob.

“Shut up.” You swallowed roughly while he pumped his finger in and out of you. Again, Carmy took the upper hand. You couldn’t have that. You looked down at his waist. He had unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down to his knees, though his boxers were on, and you could see the bulge of his cock straining against the cotton. In the confined space, you lowered your torso to the seat with your legs still kneeling and pulled his cock free. Carmy’s breath hitched. You refused to give him time to recover, before your tongue licked along the thick length of him. His hand remained between your legs, playing with you, while your mouth enveloped the head of his cock.

You moaned around him. His hips jolted. You kept one hand on the base of his cock, the other you used to stead yourself and rested on his knee, as your mouth worked over him. Your tongue swirled around the tip before you swallowed him as deeply as you could go and gagged.

“Fuck!” Carmy shouted.

A trail of saliva drooled from your mouth and down your chin. Your hand twisted, squeezing, and pumping as your lips followed it. Your lips were tingling and starting to go numb, but you couldn’t stop. Stopping would be mean he wins. But you could feel yourself edging closer again, and wouldn’t it be nice to come while sucking his dick? The inside of your thighs felt slick, and your walls pulsed as your orgasm rapidly approached.

You moaned around him again, thighs squeezing together and clamping his wrist, as fireworks lit off at the base of your spine. You felt Carmy’s hand suddenly come to the back of your head and his hips jolt upward, hitting his cock against the back of your throat, and you gushed over his fingers as you came. Your body, previously tensed in rolling desire, relaxed and you slowly lifted your mouth from him. You wiped the back of your mouth with your hand.

“I need to fuck you. Please. God.” You didn’t even have time to respond, because Carmy was grabbing you, and pulling you over his lap. You were spread open above him, cunt weeping, and muscles quivering. You braced your hands on his shoulders and looked at him. His face was flushed, a curl fell over his forehead in an almost picturesque nature. You waited with bated breath, unable to form a sentence if you tried, as he rolled a condom over his cock.

If you spoke, you’d probably say something stupid like: I need you too.

Carmy leaned forward, pushing your t-shirt up, toward your collarbones so your breasts were exposed. He nibbled across your skin, hands on your hip, guiding you forward as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. Carmy released an extended, pleased moan. He felt better than you expected. Better than imagined. (Not that you had imagined it. Definitely not).

“Fuck, fuck.” He panted, before he flicked his tongue against your nipple. “God, you’re so good. You feel so good.”

Your arms encircled his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair, as you shifted your body above his. You shivered as the length of him slid in and out of your wet, aching cunt. There was no decorum or grace to this. The interior of the car grew muggy and humid, the windows fogged with perspiration, as sweat shone across your skin. Carmy kissed your chest, your neck, your chin. You avoided kissing him, hiding your face in his shoulder, biting him softly, or tilting your face away. Kissing before sex was foreplay. Kissing during sex was intimate.

He licked the sweat from your collarbones and pulled your hair while dripping scattered praise across your skin. You lost all thought, all feeling, and found yourself reduced to a puddle of need. You gripped his shoulders, your breasts bouncing, as you rode him, and he squeezed your ass in tandem. The entire world blurred into a watercolor painting. There were no stresses, no worries, no needy banks, or over-bearing lawyers. It was just you and Carmy, skin to skin, sweat-soaked and delirious.

“Don’t stop.” You panted even though you were in control. “Please.”

“Fuck – I’m about to—” He cried out your name. His entire face and neck were flushed bright red. His eyes screwed tight, and his worried brow furrowed. Your walls squeezed him. He pulled you in, pulled you closer, as his head tilted back onto the seat. The moment he was about to come, you dropped your mouth down onto his and kissed him. Carmy moaned into your mouth, his breath puffing out through the corners of your lips, with the faint taste of cigarettes on his tongue.

Joined like this, you could feel your rapid heartbeat against his and you pressed your flushed, hot face against his warm shoulder. His large hand trailed along the bumpy knobs of your spine in a tender caress. You trembled against him, panting, and feeling him twitch inside you.

Reality came crashing down a second later. You drew away from him and blinked to clear the fog from your mind.

You and Carmy spoke at the same time.

“I left my pants outside.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

He blinked several times, eyebrows raising, and his lips quirked upward into a smile. “You left your pants outside?”

“Yeah, I took them off outside and didn’t bring them in here with me.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, awkwardly swung your leg over his hips to climb off him and readjusted your underwear. Carmy looked at you. And OK – maybe it was the sex. It was probably the sex. But you suddenly felt way more naked than you actually were. He looked at you like he wanted to say something.

Even worse than that, he looked at you like he wanted to touch you in a non-sexual way. You could see it in his eyes. He was going to do something cheesy like brush your hair out of your face. You cleared your throat and opened the driver-side back door to collect your pants off the ground with an exclamation of relief.

“Good! No one stole them.” You said while shimmying them over your legs with difficulty (in part due to soreness, but it was mostly because of the confined space of the backseat). You smoothed your shirt and ran both fingers through your hair before climbing out of the car.

Carmy leaned forward and stopped you from shutting the door behind you. “Are you even gonna answer my question?”

You squinted at him. In the near dark, you could see a hickey blossoming on his left shoulder. A flare of pride ignited in your chest.

“I’m gonna just catch the L.” You gave him a two-fingered salute. “Thanks.”

You walked away, toward to your restaurant, so you could get your purse and coat. You heard his car start and smiled. Good, he gets it. You needed your phone to check which station you needed to get to. You still weren’t adept at knowing which was closest. Worst case scenario, you try to find an Uber at…whatever time it was.

You rubbed the back of your neck, thinking of a hot shower, and what Take-Out you’d order for dinner when Carmy’s car suddenly pulled up next to you with the windows down. He leaned across the center console to look over at you.

“Get in.”

“My mommy told me not to get into cars with strangers.”

He said your name, followed by a very impassioned - “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s past midnight.” He said, as if that meant anything to you, “let me drive you to the closest station if you’re gonna be this fucking stubborn.”

You stopped walking and stood on the sidewalk with a perturbed expression. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t how the world worked. You and Carmy were rivals. He shouldn’t care if you got murdered while walking to the train station. It would be good for his business if you were gone—what the hell was he doing? What game was he playing? It made no goddamn sense.

“Just because I let you see my tits doesn’t mean you need to look out for me.” You countered, “Go home, Carmy. I can take care of myself.”

His jaw clenched and he looked away from you to the front windshield. “Alright, fuck it. Fine. I tried.” His tires squealed as he pulled away and you smiled at the retreating sight of his car. Your heart, however, pressurized like a boat capsizing underwater. You rubbed your hand over your chest. Weird.

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

After your shower, you wiped away the condensation from the mirror and caught sight of the angry, red-purple bruise on your neck. Your fingertips lightly touched it and a surge of emotions swelled up inside your chest. His hands, his mouth, the needy sounds he made and the ones you made in response. Then, came the realization that you never actually saw him smile until after you slept together. And his smile was, in retrospect, very nice. He had a dimple in one cheek and not the other and his eyes – which you generally considered cold – crinkled with warmth.

Your hand dropped from your neck.

“Fuck.”

> Part Two ||||| [Fic Master List]

#i have brain rot #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #its funny because the reader is just WRONG throughout this holwe thing ldsfjkljfld #shes like >:( hes a pain in my ass #meanwhile my man just out here working #my fics #the bear fic #fic: nothings gonna hurt you baby

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joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

not a thing

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part ii

summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. implied smut, but no actual smut. grumpy Joel, Ellie is a little shit.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! poor Ellie for being subjected to what i am about to subject her to lol. Edit: holy shit, i did not expect this to get much attention. thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging!

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so fucking stupid.

You knew that.

And Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had been—

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel fucking knew better than to be this goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not somehow woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Joel wide awake, his rifle in hand as he stood watch while you and Ellie had slept. You’d offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest too, but instead, a few minutes and many, many desperate, feverish kisses later, the two of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old white and blue Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He’d had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and also for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle right next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been no noise, not even a single whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to that rule in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just the week before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact the two of you had.

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself buried inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, and violence.

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready to continue the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

Obediently, you nodded and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch on the ground. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just fucking peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night and had trouble falling back asleep.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk widened.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face on fire.

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every single moment of complete and utter discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m really gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say.

What else could you say?

Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away in your sleeping bag?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Hormones. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really wanted to see him squirm.”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people—” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you.

What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel?

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“And you can deny it all you want. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What the hell are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us imagine #joel miller imagine #perdo pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction

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arwamachine · 5 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag, @discordantwords!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 18 fics, plus 1 collection of poetry

2. What's your total A03 word count? 1,032,993 (I am a wordy motherfucker)

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently only BBC Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Indefinite Lines

To Stand Before the Storm

Sleepwalkers

You Might Just as Well Be Blind

Matchmaking for Solitary Animals

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? When I'm actively posting a fic I do, but when I'm not posting I fall behind and then the inbox gets overwhelming so I avoid it and then it gets even more overwhelming so I avoid some more and now we've really reached critical mass and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I do read them all, though, and they make me happy in my heart

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? We don't really do angsty endings over at ArwaMachine, LLC. Monsters in the Woods come close (iykyk - I see y'all's screams in that last chapter), and Oh How the Ghost of You Clings ends with Sherlock still on hiatus, but we're all about that happy ending over here (...for now)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? They've all got happy endings; the heavier the angst, the happier the ending! I feel like Indefinite Lines has a pretty happy ending, and if you consider the Bonus Lines then we're really in Fluffy McFluff territory.

So Grant Us All a Change of Heart also has a pretty happy ending (and a hefty dose of angst in all the preceding chapters)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really, thank god. There's been a few frowny-face comments here and there, but overall folks have been lovely.

9. Do you write smut? HECK YES I DO! C'MON OVER TO ARWAMACHINE'S HOUSE O SMUT AND LOAD UP ON YOUR SPICE! WE SPECIALIZE IN TOPLOCK AND I WILL NOT BE APOLOGIZING FOR THAT

10. Do you write crossovers? Nah, not really my thing

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I have! Sleepwalkers has been translated into Spanish, and Storm has been translated into Russian! Always happy when fics get translated :)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, and let me tell you that I would be the worst co-writer in the history of co-writers. Nobody ever write anything with me ever--I am a fucking nightmare

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John, although these days I'm also feeling myself some Gentlebeard

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I have a goddamn post-fall fic where John develops panic disorder that I've been "working on" since 2021 and I AM GOING TO FINISH IT. I AM. I AM GOING TO FINISH THE MOTHERFUCKER IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I write the feelings well, and I'd like to think I can create scenes that bring out the intended feels in readers. I also think (/hope) I handle scene pacing decently--action scenes feel fast-paced but not rushed, slower scenes take their time but aren't slogs, etc.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Fight scenes. Dear christ do I hate writing fight scenes. I also really don't understand how commas work.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I have exactly two words in Russian in Lines and that is going to be the extent of it! Trying not to make an uncultured ass out of myself over here...

19. First fandom you wrote for? BBC Sherlock. I'm like that kid who married their high school sweetheart. That is to say, I make questionable decisions.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Okay, so I love all of my fics and my answer tends to be whichever fic I've most recently written, but I've got to say that I love Lines so much. I put my whole soul into that fic for, like, over a year of my life, I researched the ever loving fuck out of it (who's reading up on amputation procedures? this gal!), I created a working cypher for the motherfucker, I permanently changed my relationship with Brahms' lullaby, and I got to meet Rosie, who remains my favorite character that I've ever written, ever. So Lines is my favorite child. Good child.

I tag anyone who wants to be tagged, for I am bad at tagging!

#arwa writes about writing #fanfiction

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cockdestroyer32 · 2 years

Text

some plans...

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 2k

tags: SFW, bickering, violence, murder (they are assassins after all), tension, drinking, rivals to (not really) lovers

summary: after reluctantly teaming up in order to survive, you and tangerine disagree about what would be the best plan to use, leading to you having to save him.

authors note: I have a really specific taste in fics and couldn't find too many that fit those strict requirements so I just decided to write one and post it lol. english is not my first language so if some things aren't correct, I apologize. anyway I love this man so much I'm abt to repeat his name three times in the mirror at 3am to see if he shows up in my room cuz I need him

The bar area was washed by the neon green light descending from the ceiling. Due to the lack of people in the room, the compartment was mainly quiet, with only the sounds of distant passengers chatting and the speeding train to fulfill that tranquility. You stood in front of the bar countertop, one elbow leaning on it, supporting the weight of your body, impatient. When you got particularly bored, you took a sip of the champagne you gave yourself the liberty of pouring. You usually didn’t allow yourself to drink on the job, but due to recent circumstances, you decided alcohol was a much-needed aid. Tangerine was “recent circumstances” of course.

You did not, in any way, plan on teaming up with each other, but when the briefcase ended up being stolen by a third party, you found your goals aligning and decided to join forces for better chances of survival. But you truly did not expect Tangerine to be this much of a pain in the ass. You had always chosen to work alone, having control over jobs and only worrying about yourself had always been important, which is why this was so hard. Plus the fact that Tangerine was just incredibly difficult. Mainly that. Now you waited for him to return so you could continue on your little mission, and hopefully get off this train in one piece.

You finally saw the man walking in your direction, he approached you and leaned his elbow on the countertop, mirroring you.

“Six men. Two guarding the first door, two the middle, and two the last door.” He said, looking at the passing city in the window.

“And that’s not counting the guys in the surveillance compartment?”

“No, only two there.”

“Alright. I got the 6.” You take a sip of your champagne.

“Now hold on there, darlin’ I can get the 6 guys.”

“Okay, well, so can I.”

“Well no offense love, but I can get this done way fuckin’ quicker than you.”

You sigh. Here we go.

“Then what is your plan exactly?”

“What’d ya mean a fuckin’ plan? What do I need a goddamn plan for? Just get in there and take them on.”

“Really? That’s your plan?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He took your glass of champagne, allowing himself to take a sip, much to your displeasure.

“No offense, Tangerine, but going into a fight guns blazing isn’t exactly a tactic that works with six people, no matter how skilled you think you are.”

“Well, what is your brilliant fuckin’ plan? Enlighten me.”

“When you’re dealing with six highly trained guards all at once, your best course of action is to play a little pretend game, be obnoxious and separate a few from the rest of the group, therefore improving your odds.” You explained like an increasingly frustrated teacher on their 5th attempt at schooling a young child.

He then set your glass of champagne back on the countertop and slid it over to your side, as if saying ‘Mine, now…yours.’ “Oh so you’re gonna do some bloody theatrics is that right?”

“Yes. And they’re much more likely to believe the desperate young woman rather than the ‘Oi, now that’s bloody brilliant innit’ dude.” You mocked his accent.

“I don’t fuckin’ sound like that.”

“Beg to differ.” You mutter into your glass of champagne.

“Listen, we can stay here all night discussing what’s the best tactic to use but we are on a time crunch, and unless you let me do my fuckin’ part neither one of us is leaving this goddamn train because our corpses will be too busy being shoved inside some fuckin’ suitcases by some braindead White Death lackey.”

He’s not wrong, you could stay here arguing all night, but you know the fucker isn’t gonna back down and there is no time, so…this time he’s gonna be having it his way. You sigh, now leaning with both elbows on the bar countertop, facing away from Tangerine, giving him no reply. He notices this quiet surrender, which of course, amuses him thoroughly. “Don’t worry love,” He continued with a smile on display. You take yet another sip of your champagne, apparently smudging your red lipstick. “Some plans…” He brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth, cleaning it. “…are just better than others.” Then gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen in your life. This little shit.

You made your way to the surveillance compartment with determination and poise, holding the big champagne bottle you “borrowed” from the bar, which you grievously emptied in the sink. This was going to be over quickly, and hopefully so would Tangerine’s fight. You did not have time and the necessity for a dead Tangerine on this train, you could use all the help you could get, even if that help came in the form of an incredibly irritating man with a thick mustache and a somewhat funny British accent. You couldn’t fight the six men together in case one team decided to radio the other, if no one radioed back and they noticed something sketchy was going on, they could call for backup, the last thing you fucking needed.

“Excuse me.” You calmly announced yourself to the soon-to-be-dead men in the compartment. The room wasn’t very big, with only a small desk and a few shelves to the back and left side of the room— understandable, given all they had to do was sit and watch the security camera footage of the different parts of the train, primarily the dividing compartment, the one Tangerine was soon to be in.

“Ma’am, you cannot be in this area.” The shorter one snapped.

“Just give me one-second sir,” You requested, holding up your finger. You set the champagne bottle down on the floor to your left, and took off your low heels, setting them down neatly to your right. The men waited in confusion, most likely assuming you were just some drunk. You picked up the bottle with your right hand.

“Okay. Let’s go.” You launched the bottle on one of the man’s faces with as much force as you could muster, then ran to the second man, wrapping your legs around his head and leaning forward, dropping you both to the ground then punched the back of his head. You kick the ankle of the champagne-bottle-struck man who falls to his knees, then kick him again in his bleeding face, knocking him out. The man you were on top of pushes you off of him, leaving you lying face up, he gets a punch in, then proceeds to strangle you. You stick your fingers inside his eyeballs causing him to loosen his grip around your neck, you push him off of you, then roll your body on the ground positioning your legs so they’ll be next to his head, proceeding to strangle him with your thighs. You hold him in a tight grip until you hear his neck snap.

You get up off the ground and analyze the two men. Champagne bottle man was knocked out, still very much alive, so you pick up one of the glass shards from the shattered drink and stab him in the heart. Good, you’re done. You brush off your pants, adjusting them, and the screen gets your attention. It’s Tangerine, and he’s getting his fucking ass kicked. Whenever he tried to get a punch in, someone else behind him managed to strike him first. You sigh. Bloody theatrics. Those bloody theatrics could have saved you from this trouble. The men then take him to a compartment right after theirs, forcing him to sit down. The men talked a bit amongst themselves, and left him, thankfully, alive. Two men stayed back in his compartment to watch him. That’s your cue to go save this damn stubborn man.

“Hello? Please, please help me!” You sobbed. I mean seriously, you were actually sobbing— tears were streaming down your face, your voice was cracking…you could win a fucking Emmy with just how good your goddamn performance was right now. This was about to be the best bloody theatrics Tangerine has ever seen in his life.

“Ma’am you can’t be in here!”

“Please, please help me I’m begging you! There’s an insane British man chasing me and I think he’s trying to kill me!” The, now four, men exchanged glances with each other, knowing exactly who you were talking about and wondering what the fuck they would do with you now. “Please! I think he’s coming and I really need help, please!” You wailed, getting louder, they’re going to have to help whether they want to or not.

“Okay! okay lady, we’re going to hide and protect you okay?” One of the men seethed.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried some more. The man took you to a tiny bathroom next to the room you were in and shut the door.

“Alright ma’am, you’re gonna need to calm down a bit, then we’re going have to find another place you can hide in alright?” He stated, not even bothering to try and sound the least bit empathetic. Now expressionless, you turn to him, smudged black makeup under your eyes making you look even more deranged. His face drops and he doesn’t have time to react to the ceramic soap dispenser you strike him in the face with. It hits him with strength, so his head bounces back hitting the wall and he falls to the ground, causing a loud thud. You get his gun, which thankfully has a silencer.

“Hey! Is everything good in there?” Our number one out of three knocks on the door. You turn the handle slowly, then open the door as fast as possible, twirling Number One around and using him as a human shield. You shoot Number Two, then Number One who you throw in front of Three to block his view, when that’s done you also shoot him. You finish off the man in the bathroom before positioning your back against the wall, waiting for one of the men who were on Tangerine-watch to come out. When he does, you kick his knee, hit his head with the gun, then shoot him in the head. You hear Tangerine wrestle with the other man who was left with him. The fight quiets down, and you take a peek— Tangerine was, expectedly, the winner.

Now, you were the one with the shit-eating grin, not bothering to hide your smugness, and wearing your pride like a badge instead.

“Don’t fucking give me that look alright? If it wasn’t for the little shit hiding behind me every time I tried to make a move I would’ve won the fight.” He stated, seemingly trying to convince himself more than you. He was way more disheveled than the last time you saw him at the bar, his face sweaty and hair untidy, with wild curls falling in front of his face, much different than the slicked-back look he had beforehand.

“Mm, I don’t think so.”

“I’m a good fuckin’ fighter okay?”

“Oh I believe you, but like I said, it’s not about the fight, but the plan— my plan, which was better, and ended up saving your ass at the end of the day.”

“Okay fine, yeah. Your plan was much better and we should have gone with it from fuckin’ the beginning, is that what you want me to say, love?”

“Thank you, and you’re welcome, now you know you should actually listen to me,” You slowly approached him. He stood with his hands on his hips, knowing he couldn’t give you any reply that would successfully defend him from this. “But hey, don’t worry about it, ‘cuz sometimes some plans…” You take another step towards him and tuck one of his loose curls behind his ear with your finger, tracing it down the side of his face, then letting it linger on his jawline. “…are just better than others.” You smile and give him two taps with the palm of your hand. Now you can both continue on your mission, and this time you’d do it with a smile on your face, knowing you proved Tangerine wrong. You are definitely not letting him forget about this. Ever.

#bullet train #tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train fanfic #aaron taylor johnson

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bteezxyewriter12 · 1 year

Text

Kiss

Pairing- Mingi x Named Reader

Word count- 3k

Includes- daddy kink, oral, pussy eating, cum eating, rough blowjob, deep throating, choking, dirty talk, rough sex, sex from behind, desk sex, multiple orgasms, cum feeding, fucking until reader legs are sore, fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @yeosxxx @marsstarxhwa @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist

📝Mingi Masterlist

Mingi POV

"Waaaa", she whines, climbing in my lap

"Baby what are you doing?", I ask, pushing my computer chair away from my desk

"I want attention!"

I can't help but laugh

She's so adorable

"But I have lyrics to write baby"

"You been doing it all day Gi. I've sat on that couch all day, entertaining myself while you ignore me", she says crossing her arms

My god, her tantrums are so cute

And she's not wrong

We have been in the studio all day and I haven't been paying attention to her

"What does my baby want?", I play along

"Kisses"

I can do that

I love kissing her

I lean towards her but she pushes me back

Looking at her confused, I ask, "You said you wanted kisses"

She shakes her head

"Kiss me here", she says, her hand moving down her body to her pussy

I raise my eyebrow

She wants kisses there?

I can fucking do that no problem

But I'm gonna tease her first

"There baby? That's where you want kisses?"

She nods, biting her lip

Jesus Christ, that lip bite makes me hard

"Why do you want kisses there?"

"Cause I want them", she whines

"Baby, if you're gonna whine you're not going to get kisses there"

"I won't whine daddy"

Goddamn she knows what buttons to push

"Can I have your kisses?"

I smirk at her, "Say please"

"Please daddy. Please kiss my pussy"

I nod, "Good girl. Let's get you up on my desk"

Moving everything over, I pick her up easily and put her on my desk

I move my fingers to her sweat pants, "Up baby"

She lifts up her ass, letting me pull her pants and panties down

She sits up on her elbows, while I spread her legs wide open

Her pussy is already glistening with juice and I want to lick it all off her

"Daddy's baby wants me to kiss these lips?", I ask, touching her swollen pussy

"Yes daddy"

Moving closer, I kiss her lips quickly.

"Again daddy"

"What about up here?", I ask running my finger over her throbbing clit

"Yes daddy, there"

Pressing a kiss to her clit, I feel it throb against my lips

Fuck, I'm so fucking horny

"Please more"

"More?", I tease, kissing all over her pussy

She moans, her body trembling as I drag everything out

"Daddy please"

"What does my baby want?", I ask, kissing her faster

She moans and breathing hard

"I...I...I want ...I"

I chuckle at how fucked out she is already

"Want daddy to use his tongue?"

"Yes, fuck daddy yes"

"Oh so you want daddy to make out with your pussy. Not just kiss"

"Yes daddy, I want that! I want it so much", she whines

"Say please"

"Please daddy! Please"

"Good girl", I praise her, then give her a long lick between her lips

"Yes daddy", she moans, her body shaking

Her cunt gets soaked and I watch her juice leak on to my desk

So fucking hot

Moving my tongue between her pretty pussy lips, I listen to her whimpers

Still, I go so slowly, teasing her, licking up to her clit, then moving my tongue back to her hole, doing it all over

"Ddd...daddy more", she whimper

"Oh baby girl, I'm gonna lick your cunt the way I want to. You asked me to kiss you and I'm going to do it my way"

She whines and I slap her thigh

"If you whine, I'm gonna stop. Take what daddy gives you."

"Mmmm"

"I promise baby, daddy's gonna make you cum so many times ok? Right now I just want to lick my baby, taste you. Alright?"

"Yes daddy ok"

"Good girl"

I continue to lick her, making my tongue flat on her as I slowly move

God she's the fucking best

Even her juice tastes so fucking good

But her cum

Oh fuck, her cum is so good

Sweet, creamy and I love it

My favorite thing to eat

"Daddy", she moans, her legs shaking

"Gonna cum for daddy?"

"Yes"

"Good girl. Go ahead"

Her body shudders and I keep my tongue by her entrance, licking up her cum like it's fucking candy

Because for me it is

"Taste so good baby. Always tastes so good for me", I praise her

Moving my tongue to her clit, I lick her slowly listening to her moans

Her clit throbs against my tongue, the vibration shooting straight to my dick, making me fucking harder than I already am

Dragging my tongue over her again and again, she cums right away, screaming my name, her hands in my hair, pulling hard

I smirk while licking her cum up

I know where to lick, where to suck to get her to cum quickly and to drag it out

Wrapping my mouth around her clit, I suck softly

"Mingi! Oh fuck!", she cries, her body arching from the table, her hands pulling my hair

I keep my hands on her thighs, keeping her legs open for me while I increase the speed every suck

Her clit is pulsing so hard against my lips, the sounds she's making so fucking pretty

"Faster. Please faster", she whimpers, her legs shaking around my head

She's close

I suck as fast as I can making her explode in seconds

"MINGI! Fuck baby", she shouts

Tasting her cum, I swallow, then drive my tongue inside her

"Yes fuck daddy, don't stop"

I just smirk, fucking my tongue into her

My baby loves to cum and I love making her

I've never been that way with any other girlfriend

I never loved eating a girl out as much as I love doing it to her

Honestly I do it everyday

My sex drive has never been so high

I just want her all the time

Every day

More than once a day

And she is gladly up for it every time

I love making my baby feel good

Her pussy clenches around my tongue, making me moan from how good it feels

She's so wet it's all over my face, dripping from her creamy cunt

I just swallow, continuing to tongue fuck her pretty pussy

"Daddy I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum!", she cries

She pulses so hard, making me shove my tongue in harder between her tight cunt

"Mingi! Oh god daddy!", she cries, her cream coating my tongue

I groan, pulling my tongue out, swallowing and diving back for more

After I clean up her cunt, I stand, leaning over her

"Wanna make daddy feel good?"

She nods eagerly

I smile at her

She loves making me feel good just as much as I love making her feel good

"You can have my cock in your mouth or in your cunt. You're choice baby girl"

"Mouth", she says automatically

I raise my eyebrow at her

She gives me blowjobs all the time but she never turns down my cock inside her

"Wanna choke on your big cock daddy"

Mother of God, she's such a fucking turn on

She pushes me back, sitting up

Her hands move to my belt, undoing it quickly, popping the button of my jeans off and undoing the zipper

She moves her hands under my boxers, pulling them and my jeans down

She pulls me by my shirt, crashing her lips to mine

She kisses me hard and wild, her tongue in my mouth

And I fall into her kiss

I've never experienced kisses as good as hers

Never

And I want them all the time

All too soon she breaks away and I want more of her

She stands up, looking up at me in my eyes

Her brown eyes are so stunning, making me drown in them all the time

She slowly kneels down in front of me, her eyes never leaving mine

Fucking hell

Her eyes move to my dick, widening

"Daddy's so hard", she murmurs, "Leaking so much cum"

I nod

I am

It hurts and I need relief

"Can I taste?"

"Yeah baby"

Her tongue immediately touches my slit, licking my dripping cum

"So good daddy", she whimpers

Fuck, her teasing is driving me crazy

Leaning down, I lift her head to me

"No teasing", I growl, "Daddy's cock hurts and I need your mouth to make it better"

She looks up at me with her big innocent brown eyes that aren't innocent at all and I can't fucking take it

"Open that pretty mouth and daddy will make you choke"

Her mouth falls open, sitting back on her legs, obediently waiting for me

"Such a good girl", I murmur, moving my hand in her hair

Moving her head, I pull her mouth towards my cock, sliding my head in

"Suck", I demand

Her mouth closes, sucking hard and fast right off the bat, incredible pleasure and relief flowing into me

"Yes aegi, fuck yes"

I let her suck my head for a minute before I tell her to open her mouth again

I barrel right in, bottoming out and listening to her choke around my length

It's fine, she's used to it

She loves sucking my dick, learning how to deepthroat me within a month of us being together

And I learned how to eat her cunt just the way she likes it

"This is what you wanted right baby girl?", I ask, "You wanted to choke on daddy's cock right?"

She nods as I hold her down on my shaft, the sound of her gagging and chokes music to my ears

"Gonna fuck your throat now baby girl"

She nods, keeping her mouth open

Pulling back, I thrust into the tight warmth of her throat

The tight space of her throat opens for my cock and it feels almost as good as being in her cunt

Almost, because nothing compares to being in that tiny throbbing wet hole

Nothing

I thrust in and out, bottoming out every time, the sounds she's making so pretty, the sight of her in tears, the spit falling down her mouth, soaking her shirt is driving me insane

It's so messy, just how I like it

She's so beautiful with my cock down her throat

"Fuck look at you baby, such a big cock slut, letting me destroy your throat and moaning like a whore"

She lets out a pornongraphic moan, the sound beautiful

"Doing so well baby", I praise, "Swallow on daddy's cock"

Keeping my cock inside her throat, she swallows over and over, constricting against my cock so fucking pleasurably

"God baby, this throat is so good. Fuck. Keep your mouth open now for me"

She does and I grip her hair, moving her head along my cock

I pull her head down, almost off my cock, then back up, making her take all of me until her face is against my pelvis, holding her on as she swallows

"Good girl. Doing what daddy likes"

"Mmmm", she moans

Moving her head this way, over and over, sends massive pleasure down my spine

I'm so close, her mouth amazing

But right before I cum, I pull her off me and she whines so loudly

"Daddy no! Want your cum daddy. Please, I wanna swallow it"

I shake my head, grabbing her upper arms, helping her stand

Only to turn her around and bend her over my desk, her cute round ass popping out

"I'm sorry baby girl but daddy needs to be in his hole", I tell her, shoving my cock inside her in one shot

Her cunt opens for me, latching on my cock, so tight and sopping wet

"Oh my..gg...", she whimpers

I don't wait, fucking her mercilessly into my desk, her upper body pressed against it

"Don't worry baby. Daddy will make sure you get some cum in your mouth ok?"

She nods, moaning as I split her cunt on my cock over and over

Such a small, tight space that opens and stretches around my big dick so fucking well

I fill her up past the brim, always going deep inside her and all she does is scream for more

She's the only one who's taken me so fucking well, taken all of me in, letting me go so deep inside her

"God this cunt. My favorite place to be", I moan, speeding up my pace, the sounds of our skin slapping against each other and the pornographic squelching sound of her cunt taking my cock filling the room

"Daddy", she whines, her cunt pulsing faster around me

"Fuck baby, cum around my cock. I want to feel your cunt suck on my cock like your pretty mouth does"

Moving my hand around her body, I press my fingers into her clit, rubbing furiously

"Oh my fucking god!", she cries, coming immediately, "Daddy!"

Her cunt gushes around me, throbbing uncontrollably, pleasure slamming into me

"Oh god, aegi fuck. This pussy is so good when you cum. Fuck so tight"

Not stopping my movements, I fuck her through her orgasm, barrelling in, smashing her spot and making her scream louder

Holding her down on the desk, I watch her cunt cream my cock so fucking much, watching it drip onto the floor, a big white creamy ring around the base of my cock

God I love that sight

"Mm baby look at that cunt creaming my cock so much. God it's everywhere"

"Daddy more. Harder"

"Wanna be completely wrecked huh my little cockslut?"

"Yes, fuck yes"

"Alright baby. I'll split this cunt so good you won't be able to walk"

"Yes daddy. Do it. Please"

"Ok baby but remember you asked for it"

Lifting her right leg on the table, I fuck her mercilessly, her tiny hole trying desperately to hold on to my cock as I move

She opens up beautifully for me, my head destroying her spot

"Fuck this cunt is heaven. God I love it baby. Always so good for me"

She's clenching hard, trying to keep my cock inside her, sucking me back in over and over

"Gonna cum daddy", she whines

I know

I feel her

"Go ahead. Fall apart on my cock"

"Daddy!", she yells, her body shaking on the table as her oragasm hits her, cream free flowing from her pussy everywhere

"Fuck such a good pussy, sucking my cock", I praise, fucking into her, "I'm gonna fill this pussy to the brim with cum"

"Yes daddy please. Want your warm cum inside"

I know she does

She loves when I cum inside her

The constant tugging her cunt is doing on my cock, the sight of her cream shoves my body into ecstasy as I cum

"Joanne! Baby fuck yes", I yell, emptying into pulsing cunt, "Fuck that's it baby, milk my cock. Fuck, milk my cock!"

Her pussy does just that, sucking all my cum out and into her

I watch my cum leak out around us and drop to the floor as I'm still orgasming inside

I cum a lot and her cunt is small, leaking like this everytime we fuck

Another sight I love watching

Everything about sex with her is amazing

When I finish, I pull out of her incredible cunt, then pull her up, leaning her against me, her back to my chest

Sliding my fingers down her body, I dip them back into her cunt, scooping my cum on my fingers

"Open baby", I tell her, bring my hand to her mouth

She takes my fingers in, sucking my cum off my fingers

"Told you you'd get to swallow my cum", I whisper in her ear

"More", she whines

"More?"

She nods, "Please daddy. Want more of your cum. That's not enough"

"You want me to feed you?", I ask, nuzzling into her neck

She nods and I move my hand back down, getting more cum from her pussy, feeding it to her

When there's no more, she murmurs softly, "So good daddy"

"Fuck, you're the best Jo", I whisper to her, "I love you"

"I love you Mingi"

Kissing her cheek, I move back from her so we can get dressed

As I'm pulling my pants back up, I hear her gasp, "Shit"

I immediately look up just in time to see her legs wobble and give out as she falls to the floor

"Aegi!", I yell in panic, running and getting to her side in seconds, "are you ok baby? What happened?"

She sits up, shrugging, "You did say you'd fuck me until I couldn walk"

I gape at her

Yeah I said that but I didn't think it could actually happen

"I'm so sorry aegi", I apologize

"Don't baby. I'm ok. It was so much fun and it felt so good"

I'm a little confused

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"My legs are sore but it'll be ok"

I shake my head

I didn't mean to hurt her, I never wanted to hurt her

"C'mon aegi", I say, picking her up, placing her on the couch

Grabbing her bottom clothes, I help her put them on, then her sneakers

After that, I go back to my desk, save everything on the computer then shut everything down

"Uh Mingi?", she calls, "What are you doing? Don't you have to work?"

No, I need to take care of her

"It can wait"

"No it can't Gi"

"Yes it can aegi. You're more important"

She looks at me confused, "But I'm fine"

"No baby. You're legs are hurt"

"It'll go away baby"

I sit next to her, running my fingers in her hair, "It's fine aegi. We're gonna go home ok"

"But-"

"When we get home, we'll take a warm bath for your legs ok? Then I'll order food, we can eat and then go to bed and cuddle", I say, explaining my plan, "Ok?"

She smiles softly, "Yeah Mingi ok. As long as I can get you all to myself"

I nod, "You can baby"

"Ok then"

Smiling, I press a soft kiss to her perfect lips, then stand up, picking her up again

She giggles, putting her arm around my neck, "You're like a knight in shining armor saving a damsel in distress"

I laugh as I make my way to the studio door, "Yeah well you are my princess"

"And you're my knight", she laughs, "My hero"

"Anything for you baby"

"I love you Mingi"

"I love you Jo"

She kisses my cheek, then lays her head on my shoulder as I carry her to her car so we can go home

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