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motherjoel · 1 year

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arms tonite (joel miller/reader)

summary: basically its YOU who gets stabbed by the baseball bat. joel isnt good with feelings. david does not exist david cant hurt anybody. a bit of angst and a bit of fluff. also LOOSELY based on arms tonite by mother mother

a/n: yawlllllll it has been a MINUTE but i am back for some tlou cause i just really wanted to write for these characters i love so very much. i apologize if the timing of their travel is fucked, i truly have no concept of geography so we can ignore that.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: just general tlou gore, nothin too bad

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Joel Miller. But as you lay here, Joel's hands soaked in your blood as he attempted to stop it from pulsating out of your abdomen, you knew it was love that you were feeling. It was supposed to be simple. After your brief stay in Jackson, the two of you were supposed to take Ellie to the fireflies. Yet, nothing seemed to be simple these days, especially not around this girl.

In the amount of time the three of you had spent together, you developed an unbreakable bond. Ellie became a sort of surrogate sister to you- you’d lost your family when you were just a kid during the outbreak and you never had the chance to become a big sister. At least not for long. And then there was Joel. You weren’t quite sure what he meant to you yet, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t die for him. For both of them, really- a life without them wasn’t worth living. Of course, you never planned on telling them that.

The day started fairly nice- with Joel allowing Ellie to make her own decision about who would be taking her to the fireflies. Sure, you and Ellie would be fine with Tommy, but Joel had failed to consider the bond the three of you shared when making this decision. He was thinking of only himself and his fear- this is what you had told him last night after his fight with Ellie.

“What the hell was that?” you asked him after he stormed out of Ellie’s temporary room.

“It was nothin’. Doesn’t concern you,” he replied, brushing past you as he made his way to the couch where he decided to set up camp for the night.

“Um, it sure as hell does concern me, Joel. Are you seriously going to abandon us? After everything we’ve been through, after how much that girl trusts you, Joel!” you raised your voice a bit, trying to keep yourself from alerting Ellie upstairs. Those words stung him a bit. He didn’t see it as abandonment- he saw it as protection. After everything you went through together, he never once put himself first.

“She doesn’t know a thing about what this means,” Joel turned to you. “She- she’s just a kid, she-” he stopped himself, trying to gather himself. “I can’t bring her. I’m not capable, I’m slowin’ down and I just can’t. Do. It,” he exhaled, dropping himself onto the couch.

“Wow,” you replied, softly sitting next to him. “You’re really underestimating yourself,” you sighed, Joel, lifting his face to look at you. “I mean, not only yourself but me, Joel. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve gotten myself through some tough shit. And Ellie? Man, she's the toughest kid I’ve ever met. Hell, she's one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” you said, observing Joel’s worn face. “I mean… don't you think she at least deserves a choice?” you asked, hoping to convince Joel to come to his senses and realize who he was.

“I’ll take the couch. Bedrooms down the hall,” he grumbled before turning his back to you and lying down. There was nothing left you could say at this point, so you decided to spare yourself and make your way to the bedroom. The bed was pretty big. It could’ve fit two people.

The moment you saw Joel in the stables the next morning, you could feel your heart soar. Before he said a word, you knew he had made the right decision. The three of you squeezed onto the horse, Ellie sandwiched in the middle, and you were off. You and Joel sat in peaceful silence for a while, occasionally responding to Ellie’s rambling to show you were listening. Before you knew it, you were arriving at the so-called firefly base.

“What the fu-” you started.

“Holy shit! Are those monkeys?” Ellie exclaimed, pointing at the crowd of animals before you.

“Must be from the old labs,” Joel muttered, a hint of interest in his voice

“Look at them go!” you giggled.

“First time seein’ a monkey?” Joel asked the two of you.

“First time seein' a monkey,” you replied in unison, both awestruck. A smile crept onto Joel's face at this- the togetherness he felt in rare moments like this is what kept him going.

You soon came across the fireflies symbol painted on a couple of signs, but no guards appeared nearby. You all dismounted the horse before making your way inside, guns drawn. You in the back, Joel in the front, and Ellie sandwiched between yet again. The building you came across was abandoned from the looks of it, with papers scattered about.

“They just left,” Joel said, coming across a packing list among the scattered supplies. You suddenly heard a clang from another room, drawing your attention.

“Maybe not all of them,” you replied as the three of you carefully moved towards the sound. Your heart picked up its pace- whatever was in that room couldn’t be a firefly. Maybe a raider, you thought, which didn’t help your anxieties. Joel put a finger to his lips before opening the door, signaling for your silence. Relief rushed through you as you saw the source of the noise was just a few stray monkeys. It was only moments later that you heard voices- voices that certainly didn’t come from an animal. Peering out the window, the three of you saw a group of men, presumably raiders.

“Shit,” you murmured, instinctively grabbing Ellie’s arm.

“Out the back,” said Joel, leading the way for the three of you to make your escape. You ducked behind some sandbags for a moment before making your break to the horse. As Joel untied the horse, you heard footsteps quickly making their way over to you.

“Joel!” Ellie screamed as the man swung his bat at his head, hitting it on a tree and breaking it in two. While Joel dodged his attack you jumped on the man and banged him into the tree behind him before he knocked you back on your ass, banging your head on the ground. You’ve had your fair share of concussions, and you knew that's exactly what just happened to you. Joel quickly recovered from the first attack before grabbing the man, a wave of anger in his eyes as you’ve never seen before. His arm tightened around the man's throat, unrelenting in its strength. Struggle as he may, it wasn’t long before his neck was snapped. You remain on the ground, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you look at Ellie, shakily holding her gun. Her eyes darken as they shift down to your stomach. Your eyes follow hers and you finally see what she’s looking at. When the man hit the bat into the tree, it must've snapped in half. One half was on the ground a few feet away from you, while, unfortunately, the other half was buried in your stomach.

“Shit,” Ellie said, lowering her gun and walking over to you. Your hand reached down, adrenaline still pumping through your body, and you instinctively pulled the wooden piece out of your abdomen. You barely even felt it. Joel was silent the entire time, and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. You threw it aside before noticing three more men coming your way. As fast as possible, Joel hiked himself up onto the horse and grabbed you while Ellie pushed from the ground before pulling herself up, you now sitting between the two. Joel didn’t let himself focus on the anxiety in his chest that blurred his vision- he needed to get you both to safety.

“Fuck,” you sighed, adrenaline wearing off a bit and pain seeping in.

“Go!” Ellie yelled to Joel as you began to move. She grabbed her gun and shot backward at the men- she didn’t have the best aim, but it certainly deterred them from advancing anymore. Ellie kept peering over her shoulder, on high alert. If you weren’t putting all of your focus on staying conscious, you’d have noticed her slight tremble. You would have noticed Joel's body tense when your breathing slowed, his occasional glance over his shoulder. His erratic heartbeat as he tried to keep you talking.

“We’re gonna get back to Jackson and we’re gonna get some help,” Joel said over his shoulder. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice- he was excellent at hiding how he truly feels.

“No,” you uttered, using all of your strength.

“Sorry, no?” Joel questioned.

“Get her to the fireflies,” you whispered before your vision began to blur. Your lifeless body crumpled off the horse, Ellie attempted to hold on but it all happened too fast. The cold snow was stained red, the warm blood leaving your body melting the snow directly beneath you. Joel and Ellie quickly hopped down, one on each side of you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ellie panicked, hands shakily reaching towards your abdomen.

“Ellie,” Joel said, voice laced with panic. He motioned for her to grab his pack while he placed his hands onto the wound, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. He had never felt so helpless in his life- at least, not since Sarah. That same shuddered breathing coming from a person he loves- he couldn’t bear it.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do,” she asked. Joel continued to silently work on packing your wound with an extra flannel he had in his bag.

“It’s ok,” you croaked. They immediately turned to you on the ground, almost stopping in their tracks. “Just help me to that house,” you said, motioning towards a house about 50 yards away. You were struggling to breathe under the pressure of Joel’s hands on your wound- it almost seemed useless, you were still losing blood like crazy. Joel tied the flannel around your waist to try to keep the blood from seeping out. Once he decided you were situated, he picked you up bridal style and led you to the house. When you arrived, they gently placed you at the entrance, Ellie staying with you while Joel made sure the house was clear. He returned to help you inside, lying you on an old mattress. You let out a small laugh as you got situated.

“What?” Joel asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. How could you be laughing right now?

“Don’tcha think it's kinda cute?” you asked as he fussed with your bandages.

“What’s that?” he asked gruffly, not exactly in the mood for your attitude.

“Oh, just that I might be dying in your arms tonight. I dunno, feels like a movie,” you said, your pale lips curling into a smile. He gave you a look, pausing briefly to peer into your eyes. You wordlessly pleaded with him to lighten the mood a bit, for Ellie’s sake. He didn't say a word.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do?” Ellie repeated herself in her panic.

“It’s ok. You guys go. Now,” you said. Joel's eyebrows furrowed at this. “You leave, go north. Go to Tommy.”

“Um, the fuck?” Ellie asked. “I don’t know what you think this is but we're not leaving,” Ellie said, frustration creeping into her voice. She looked hurt by this, and it broke your heart. Were you doing the same thing Joel had done just last night?

“The kids right,” Joel said as you turned to look at him. “You’re either comin' with us or we're all campin’ here for the night. No in-between” Joel finished. You pleaded to him with your eyes again, begging him to just give up on you. The two of them would be fine, you knew it. But you didn’t know the emotional toll it would have taken on the stubborn man in front of you. He was stubborn, but so were you. Only you didn’t get a chance to prove just how stubborn you could be before you couldn’t fight the darkness that crept into your vision.

You woke with a start the next morning. You often woke in a panic these days, but the feeling was only further cemented when you realized you didn’t quite recognize your surroundings. The only thing you could recognize was Joel’s eyes on you, which brought you some semblance of comfort. When he noticed you awake, he rushed to your side. As much as you could imagine Joel to “rush.”

“Hey, you uh, awake. You’re awake,” he said softly, trying not to wake Ellie asleep in the corner of the same dilapidated room you’d been in for a while now.

“It would appear so,” you replied, attempting to sit up a bit.

“Hey, hey, relax,” he put his hand on your shoulder, urging you to lay back down. “Your infections bad. We managed to trade for some penicillin but it's not gonna be enough. We gotta figure out how to get you back to Jackson,” Joel said, lightly lifting your shirt to look at the wound.

You cursed the heat rising to your face as Joel's fingers brushed your bare skin. You’d never been intimate like this before, though this was barely intimacy. He hadn’t ever touched your skin like this- with such delicacy. You were fragile to him at this moment, and you needed to be handled with care. You hated being a burden, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.

You were too busy focusing on your own reaction to this gesture to notice Joels. His hands shook as he cared for your wound, wincing as he saw that it really wasn’t getting any better. He didn’t know what this meant- he wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he knew this wasn’t good.

You were in and out of sleep throughout the next day or two, letting the dull, throbbing pain lull you into sleep. It hurt to watch Joel and Ellie worry about you, especially because there was nothing you could do to help. Your days felt numbered- the amount of penicillin was scarce and you weren’t feeling any better. You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open, much less speak.

“Joel,” you managed to croak- you couldn’t even spare the energy to seethe at the pain pulsating throughout your body.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replied, kneeling next to you. He only called you sweetheart when he needed something- what did he need from you now? To live? “Whatcha need?”

“You’re special, you know that?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“And why is that?” he asked, wiping the tear.

“You really know how to make a girl fall in love,” you smiled- this isn’t something you ever planned on telling him, but as you lie there, vision blurring around the edges as the darkness caved in on you, there was nothing else you wanted to say.

Joel felt panic consume him when your eyes closed.

“Hey, hey darlin’, wake up for me, okay?” he pleaded. Ellie stalked over, panic heating her chest. “Ellie, grab her legs,” Joel said. It was like he was kicked into a new gear- he was going to do whatever it took to keep you with him.

You didn’t know where you were. The walls were unfamiliar and white- stark and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the couch in the corner of the room, occupied by your two favorite people. Joel sat upright, arms crossed and eyes closed. His brows were furrowed like he was having some sort of nightmare. Ellie’s expression mirrored his, as she lay on her side with her head resting on his leg, arms curled into her chest. Your heart warmed at the sight- he was becoming a father figure to her, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. You tried to sit up, failing immediately as pain shot through your body. You winced, perhaps a little too loud, as Joel’s eyes shot open. Ellie remained in a deep sleep on his lap.

“You’re up,” he acknowledged, almost like it was too good to be true. He carefully shifted his body so he could move Ellie from his lap and onto the couch before he stood to walk towards you. “She hasn’t gotten much sleep, be best not to wake her,” he said, leaning down to brush a hair from her face. Seeing him be this gentle with her melted your heart.

“How, um, how long was I out?” you asked, lifting the sheets to see your wound. It was covered and clean, but you knew it was there from the way it throbbed.

“About a week. Scared the shit out of… the kid,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed. He bit back what he truly wanted to say- you scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t going to admit that you had that much of an impact on him. The second he lets others affect his life is the second he gets weak. There wasn’t a place for vulnerability in this world. “It was, a, uh, miracle that you lived.”

“Oh yeah?” your eyebrows raised. “Shit. I’m sorry for worrying… her,” you glanced at Ellie again as she snuggled into the couch. “How did I, um how did you guys get me here?” you asked. Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, but you tried to remain strong.

“We, uh, we gotcha back on the horse. Ellie led the way, I made sure you were safe, I mean, I just made sure you didn’t fall,” he replied, looking at his feet. “Took us awhile to get back, I… I didn't think you were gonna make it,” he replied, coughing to cover up the break in his voice. He was still in disbelief that you even woke up.

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” you laughed weakly. Then it was silent for a few moments, the two of you stewing in your thoughts. “You know, I think if it had been anybody else with me, I would’ve just died,” you remarked. Joel shook his head.

“Well, that’s not true. You’re strong” he said quietly.

“Well, yeah, sure I’m strong. But I can choose not to be. I honestly would’ve been fine to die if it was in your arms. But I couldn’t do that to you. Not… not again,” you paused, gathering your thoughts. “It’s just… you’re it for me, Joel. You and Ellie- you guys are it. And if I can’t have you guys, well, let's just say I wouldn’t mind staying asleep,” you confessed, avoiding eye contact.

“Ahem…” you heard Ellie clear her throat from her position on the couch. “Sorry, I have a habit of snooping, but holy shit you’re awake!” she squealed, bouncing over to you and plopping herself onto you in a hug. She knocked the wind out of you, and you may have cared if you weren’t so happy to see her.

“Hey, hey, easy on her now,” Joel said, pulling Ellie back from you a bit. He was still quiet, processing what you had just said to him.

“Ahhh, my sweet Ellie girl, how I missed you so,” you smiled, pinching her cheeks.

“Bullshit, you were definitely just dreaming about Joel the whole time. Must’ve been nice, sleeping that long,” she laughed. You ignore the first part of her sentence.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty well rested,” you smiled, ruffling her hair and pulling her into another hug.

“I’m gonna go get someone, a nurse,” Ellie excused herself from the room, leaving you with Joel yet again.

“I’m sorry if that was too mu-” you started before Joel cut you off.

“No, no, don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he said softly. It wasn’t a whisper- it was just soft. He’d been so soft with you. “I… I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” he looked down at his shoes.

“Oh, uh, you do?” you blushed. You felt so childish, like you were admitting you had a crush on him, but it was more than that. It was a partnership, a dependency- a loyalty to one another that didn’t need a label. Only, you couldn’t hide the way you felt anymore.

“Gosh, I can’t even tell you how it felt to see you like that. It should’ve been me, you know,” he said, disappointment evident on his features.

“Um, no, it shouldn’t have. Besides, how would we have gotten your big ass back to Jackson?” you giggled, grabbing his hand. His expression changed then as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Joel, what does this mean?” you asked.

He chose not to respond with words- they were never his strong suit. Without a word, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. It was soft and it was sweet and it was like nothing you had ever experienced before- not from someone you loved. You reciprocated, weaving a hand into his hair to pull him closer.

“Yeah, they’re just in here-woahhhhhhh!” Ellie yelled, giggling and running out of the room. Joel quickly pulled back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“That little shit,” he sighed.

“Well, she was gonna have to find out somehow,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

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sepherinaspoppies · 2 months

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Riding the Dragon- Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: after a great dinner with Aemond, he decides to give you a ride on his motorcycle, a Dragon T6.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, public smut, pussy on bike, cum play?, reader getting off on Aemond's bike, some tiddy succin, mentions of p in v sex, I think that it?

wc: 3,064

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click here for a tiktok that gives off aemond in this story lo

notes: this is my first time writing in reader's pov? the whole 'you' kind of perspective. I apologize if it sucks ass, I wanted to try something different. And can y'all believe I wrote majority of this when I was ovulating? HAHA

“I had a really nice time tonight.” The man in front of you says with a content and flirtatious smile on his pretty chiseled face.

Heat coats through your cheeks to the tip of your ears. Definitely not the effect of the two glasses of wine you’d drunk not too long ago. Wine hardly ever did a number on you to slightly fuddle your conscience.

You give him a sheepish grin, scraping the tips of your heels against the pavement, shying away from the intensity that his eye holds. “Same here. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

His face contorts in a way that clearly indicates that the feeling is in fact very, mutual. “Mind if I take down your number?” He asks, pulling out the latest new Iphone from his pocket. You only engaged in conversation through the dating app both of you met in and you thought it seemed only fair to give him your number after weeks of meeting him.

He taps a few things on his screen before you’re met with a white screen with only your first name and birthday typed. It is then when you wonder how he came about on knowing your birthday, if you had ever mentioned it in your electrifying conversations either on the app or this date. Most likely the second option.

You knew his name, well if you’d call it that, supplying you only his first initial. By his angelic looks, he was definitely of Valyrian descent. And you hate how much of a sucker you were for those blonde bitches. You knew he was in the last year of university, double majoring in political science and business here in the capital. You also knew he had a geriatric maine coon cat, Vhagar, who’d stuck with him since he was a child.

But that was pretty much it.

You nod, typing out the most critical information both of you needed in order to secure the second date. “Here you go,” you hand back his phone with such caution that causes his lips to quiver in a smirk.

He leans forward, too forward in a way you feel his breath steadily fanning your face and the warmth that radiates through his chest. You don’t pull away as his head lowers, keeping your gaze steady with his, admiring the amethyst hue of his lone eye that twinkles against the low street lights.

A snakes his hand around your hips, which normally you’d slap away if it was any other man. But he was different. A rare gentleman who bought you a single winter rose even when you were five minutes late, let you devour the fries off his plate, and hashed your steak without asking.

You wanted him to kiss you and perhaps even more.

You wouldn’t say no. If anything you’d whimper out a simple “please” if it came to that.

However, just as you expect his lips, it doesn’t come. He pulls away with a lupine smirk on his face, waiting for a response to a question you did not hear.

You cough away the slight embarrassment, “What?”

“I asked what your password was,”

Before you process how he did it, you see him wave the gray screen of your phone around your face, waiting for the six digit code.

Oh.

“I got your number but you did not get mine and you’re gonna need it when I take you out to dinner again.” The blonde in front of you points out.

True.

It almost feels too goofy revealing the code that multiple of your friends tease you for. Nevertheless, you stutter out the numbers: one, two, three, four, five, and six.

You hear him dryly laugh, shaking his head side to side as he types out the three sets of numbers. “Mmm, you need a better password, darling. One might think you want your personal information stolen,” He teases. You shift your thighs to a close at the term of endearment, already feeling the slightest tingles in a place where you desired him the most.

You make a sound of agreement making a mental note to change it later tonight. After he hands back your phone, he combs back the loose silvery hair out of his face into a neat bun that well flatters his face. “Take mine for example; it’s five, twenty-two, one-thirty. Easy to remember.”

“Is that your cat’s birthday?” You questioned.

“No. It’s the day we matched on Tinder.”

You are lost for words. Not even you knew the exact date you matched with him, only knowing it was around a few weeks ago. Judging by your reaction, he knew what you were thinking.

After a few more rounds of flirtatious conversations, you both decided to call it a night, waving each other goodnight as you watched as he sped up in a black, shiny Dragon T6, a vintage motorcycle that was the second most precious thing he owned. (The first being Vhagar). You’d be lying if that wasn’t one of the list of reasons why you swiped right. A tall Valyrian man, with long locks, that rode a motorcycle definitely modeled the countless dark romance books you’d spent hours reading.

To your frustration, the price of Uber had doubled the amount you’d paid for hours ago. Not even Uber Share happened to be near your price range. For ten gold dragons, you could buy a week’s worth of groceries!

So you sighed, turning off your phone. Your usual bus was still in service and way cheaper than the ridiculous prices of Uber. And while it was too late to be out by yourself, it was a risk you were willing to take.

As you rummage through your wallet for some copper coins, you hear a deep, rumbling sound of an engine revving up close to where you stand.

It’s him. Braking his bike on the side of the road where you are. His expensive Lysene suit coat no longer hugged his body, wearing only a white dress shirt that was half unbuttoned, giving you an impeccable view of his perfectly rounded cleavage and the multiple hidden tattoos you didn’t know he had.

“Hop in,” He says, pointing his head to the side. It was not a request but a demand.

You tilt your head, unsure whether to say yes or no. “Is it safe?” You ask. His chest moves, seemingly laughing as he opens the visor of his helmet. “Of course it is. I’m a cautious driver, never had an accident and I don’t think I ever will. I made sure to drink water after a glass of wine, so I’m not under the influence.”

He narrows his eye, observing the hesitation written throughout your face. He offers the spare helmet from his bag and hopes that it will coax the uneasiness.

“If you’re so dubious about it then by all means the bike is yours to drive.”

It’s your turn to laugh because the thought of you riding something of high value and rarity seemed absurd and silly. You were someone who did not have experience in driving in general whilst also being terrified of the narrow and steep roads of King’s Landing.

But there was no humor in A’s eye.

“You’re not serious are you?”

He powers off the bike before he scoots back from his seat. “I am.” He eagerly pats the spot he has saved for you.

“You do realize that this is a Dragon T6, right? They practically don’t make these anymore!” You gesture your hands around the expensive looking machine that was probably worth more than your left kidney.

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms on his chest. “What’s your point?”

You scoff playfully, “My point is that manufacturers don’t make these anymore and if I crash it–”

“–You should have a little more faith in yourself. Maybe this will come naturally to you but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

You can’t help but exhale in slight failure. This was a conversation you knew you couldn’t win with him. “Look, I’m not going to pressure you into something you don’t feel comfortable doing but I happen to be a great teacher. And if you do crash I’ll buy another, they aren’t that expensive anyways.” The Valyrian man shrugs as if thousands, or hundred thousands of gold dragons were nothing.

You mutter a “fine” under your breath which makes him all giddy with excitement and slides the helmet down your head. He double checks if it's secured before he lifts you to sit properly on his bike.

“Or I have one or two things in mind of how you could repay me.”

Every single piece of information he hurled your way was taken deep into your head. And you did your best to pay attention to it all under the sharp needles of nerves going through your spine. At some point he had given you little rubs up and down your back to soothe your nerves. The effect was anything but that, instead all you could think about was how his hands would feel against the bareness of your body.

Fuck.

You tried to push those lewd thoughts away as he demonstrated the anatomy of the Dragon T6. The ignition was a little red switch right below the speedometer, whilst the clutch was on the left hand side and the accelerator in your right. The gear shift was something you had to get used to as it was not on your eye level but rather a small little lever near your foot.

Once he feels you’ve gotten the grasp of how everything works it was time for the ultimate test. “Alright now we start. Are you ready?” He asked with an eager smile tugging his lips.

No.

You nod your head, adjusting the mirrors to match your height. You feel the tips of his fingers lift and turn your chin towards him, “Use your words, darling.” There it was that name again that made you clutch your thighs together. You audibly gulp, “Y-yes I’m ready.”

“Good,” His hands squeeze at your hip bones to bring you closer to him. Your eyes widen almost comically to what you assume is his cock pressing insistently onto your ass. It was hard, and through the thin material of your dress you could feel it throbbing full of want and need. Gods, how will you ever focus now?

A brief image flashed through your mind of how much and what was packing underneath his undergarments. The length and thickness and how it would feel wrapped around your palm as you’d stroke him from base to tip, or the taste of him as you’d take him inside your mouth, or having his full length stuffed deep inside you as he fucked you dumb.

Something tells you that he knows what you are thinking but neither of you speak about it.

Finally, he takes your hands onto the handles of the clutch and the accelerator and you, being a step ahead, check if the gear is on neutral before you release the clutch and to your satisfaction it is. The blonde behind you smiles at you proudly like a teacher would to their student.

“Now, you’re gonna slowly release the clutch and twist the accelerator slightly…there you go, good girl. You’re doing such a good job.” He coos at your ear.

The beat of your heart raced almost out of your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the excitement of a small accomplishment or the low timbre of his voice praising you but you welcomed it.

With confidence you didn’t know you had, you decided to drive the rest of the way to your apartment without complications and took up every tip the man behind you advised. The cool air kissing your skin and the adrenaline wildly pumping through your veins, awoke something in you and slowly you began to comprehend why A loved riding.

You had felt like a small bird taking its first flight through the skies.

When you both reached the parking lot to your apartment, you returned his helmet and a small part lingering inside you did not want to let it go. You enjoyed it and the freedom it brought you.

“That was so fun! I can’t believe it was that easy. Think I need to save me up for one of these,” You quipped patting the bike.

He throws his head back to let out an amused laugh, “Or I can just give you this one,” A tone of nonchalant laced through his voice.

You look at him baffled, “I was–”

“–But first we need to get you your license before I–”

“–Absolutely not, I was jesting.” You snipped, making him roll his eyes with a slight pout drawing out his lips.

“You’re stubborn and difficult, has anyone told you that?” You chortle thinking of the numerous times you’ve been called that.

“Plenty of times but I reckon this won’t be the last.”

He hums tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, “I guess I have to fuck it out of you.”

You blink.

The hue of your cheeks increased tenfold, your feet and body became paralyzed to what he had just confessed.

Had he just said that to shut you up? If so it worked.

You didn’t know how to respond to something as bold as that and to your inclination you lowered your head but the blonde behind you couldn’t have that. You felt the tips of his fingers roughly grip your jaw to meet his gaze. The amethyst hue of his eye turned into a darker shade of violet as he eyed between your eyes then your lips.

Every part of you screamed for him to kiss you or to do something to appease the longing.

You instinctively parted your lips when his head began to dip towards your lips. The tip of his nose brushed delicately against your own then it slowly trailed to sniff at your neck, the sweet smell of spiced peaches.

“Nyke jaelagon ao,” He whispered in his mother language.

“Pār emagon issa,” You said before you mentally said ‘fuck it’ and knocked the wind out of him with a kiss.

He lets out a mix between a growl and a groan as he feels your wandering hands tugging the roots of his hair. Something you yearned to do ever since you saw how long and silky his hair was.

And Gods did it meet your expectations.

His lips moved against yours most ardently and with equal fervor. It was hungry and needy the way your teeth clashed with his, tongues dancing for dominance until you hissed when he bit your lower lip.

You melted into his warm embrace, deciding to tease him by rubbing your palm on his clothed length, detecting a damp patch. You shot your eyes open, separating away your lips.

“Did you just cum?” You panted heavily.

A smirked, “I came when you first got on the bike and I was about to cum right now.”

You quirked a brow, “That’s what did it for you?” Redness coated his cheeks and before you knew it his lips were on you again and his hands lifted the hem of your dress, exposing the black lacy panties you wore just for him.

“Incase you get lucky,” Your best friend Sara teased just the day before when you and her took a shopping trip to a Lysene lingerie store.

Through some imaginary telepathic communication, you thanked Sara.

He groaned feeling the wetness that gathered through your folds. You weren’t just wet, you were dripping like honey on a hot summer’s day. A mischievous idea popped into his mind, something so lewd that made the head of his cock twitch with excitement.

You squealed as he swiftly turned you around and twisted the ignition switch on. Was he going to make you drive in this state?

“Move your panties to the side.” He commanded behind you.

You pushed away the curiosity and did what he bid you to do. “Good girl. Now lean forward a bit.” You shifted yourself forward until you could feel the warm metal of his seat pressing tenaciously at your bare cunt.

A gasp turned into drawn out moans as the blonde behind you revved the accelerator at a speed that made stars appear in your eyes. It felt good, so obscenely good that all thoughts about being in a public setting flew right over your head.

You began to grind yourself with the vibrations, creating as much friction to your bud as you could.

“That’s it, darling,” He encouraged behind you, increasing power to the accelerator just enough for your arousal to coat his bike. “Fuck yourself on my Dragon.”

You clenched around nothing, whining as you felt the pure waves of ecstasy slithering down your spine. It was unlike anything you ever felt, not even the vibrator you owned made you topple over the edge.

In ten seconds or less, you loudly moaned, not caring who heard or saw you, as your legs shaked and the coil around your stomach loosened, cumming absolutely hard.

Your limbs felt entirely spent as if you ran three laps around Rhaenys’ hill.

“Mmm, do not get too comfortable, now, darling.” He boasted smugly as his fingers scoop your honey to his lips, humming at the delicious taste. “I haven’t even fucked you senseless yet and after witnessing this I want nothing more but to ruin your ability to walk straight for week.”

A low whine escaped your lips at the thought of him roughly taking you. “Is that what you want?” He questioned, lowering the straps of your dress to expose your breasts to his gaze.

You sighed contently, feeling his tongue enclosing around your perk nipple. “Yes please,” You tenderly loop your fingers through his hair.

“I promise I will never make you beg,” He murmurs against your breast, “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

He had kept true to his word as he not only bent you over his bike as he fucked you raw, but took you three more rounds on your couch, bed and shower until you absolutely passed out in his arms. And for the rest of the week you couldn’t walk straight without limping. Thanks to Aemond Targaryen.

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @folksriddle @ficsandsin @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @qweencrimson @slytherized @qyburnsghost @tofujiji @saturnssrings @janeety @thought--bubble @theunburt @mandiiblanche @iamkookiesforyou @jeben196 @just-a-harmless-patato @moneypriestess @ladymoon666 @angelinap09

empty is who I couldn't tag sowwy besties.

#aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond #one shot #kinda smutty #aemond one eye #prince aemond #house of the dragon

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jobean12-blog · 2 months

Text

Color Me Yours

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky)

Word Count: 984

Summary: Whether or not he's busy with his work he always has time for you and whatever you want.

Author's Note: I had written a story about coloring with Joel and I just love the idea of doing something so simple with our fave guys and then I thought Mob!Bucky would be so fun to color with. This is just a snapshot of a soft and fun domestic moment where our usual no bullshit boss is really and truly himself with his most favorite human ever- his wife. I also mention a scene in the movie Ghost from 1990 and I referenced this scene. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: It's fun and fluffy and sweet and silly and ends with a bit of spice bc I can't help myself, established relationship, coloring bc yay!

“There you are doll face.”

You walk into his office with a smile, your hands kept neatly hidden behind your back.

“What are you hiding?” he asks as he leans back in his leather chair, legs spread wide and smirk pulling at his lips.

“A book.”

You stop just in front of his large mahogany desk. You’re wearing nothing but a tank top and panties and your skin warms as his eyes sweep over you appreciatively.

“What are you reading now?”

“Not that kind of book.”

He raises a questioning brow.

“It’s a coloring book.”

With an easy push he swivels his chair to the side and pats his thigh invitingly.

“Come ‘ere doll. Let me see.”

You come around the desk and perch yourself on the thick muscle, watching his reaction as you reveal your coloring book and colored pencils.

He takes it from your hands and starts to flip through it, smiling the whole time.

“These are beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He carefully places your things on his desk and wraps you in his arms. You rest your head along his shoulder and slip your fingers into the open buttons of his collared shirt.

“If you’re not too busy now, will you color with me?”

Your head tilts up to meet his eyes and you find him gazing down at you softly.

“I’m never too busy for you doll face. You know that.”

He sits up and pulls the chair toward the desk, caging you in with his arms around your waist and his chest pressed to your back.

“The only rule is you have to stay in my lap while we do it.”

He whispers the words against your neck, gently kissing the spot before he pushes the strap of your tank top off your shoulder and continues pressing his lips along your skin.

“One more rule…you can’t distract me until we’ve done some coloring,” you breathe out. “You’re very distracting.”

“Fine. I’ll behave doll…for now.”

You turn your head and chase his lips, sliding your hand into his hair and gently scraping your nails along his scalp.

“Tease,” he growls playfully against your mouth.

With a coy smile you peck his lips one last time then ask, “did you see any particular picture that you want to color?”

“You pick,” he answers, keeping his face nestled in your neck.

“Let’s color this one.”

You point to a page and then start sifting through your colored pencils. He waits for you to pick one then does the same, deciding on a cerulean blue.

“Almost as pretty as your eyes,” you purr.

He kisses your cheek and let’s his nose run along the column of your throat, whispering his thanks.

“This is relaxing,” he murmurs.

“I agree. I was going to try painting next...”

“I’ll build you a space for you to do your art. Any kind you want.”

“Can we get a pottery wheel?”

“Of course,” he answers.

You turn to look at him, smiling brightly when you exclaim, “then we can make something together like Molly and Sam in Ghost!”

With a squeal you go back to coloring, unaware of Bucky’s confused expression.

“Molly and Sam?” he asks.

“YOU HAVEN’T SEEN GHOST?” you nearly shout, turning in his arms again. “We are watching it tonight.”

“Is it a scary movie…about a ghost?”

His question makes you roll your eyes and you poke him with a colored pencil.

“NO Buck. It’s a love story and they totally have sex after he distracts her while she’s making her pottery…”

“What are you implying doll?”

“Oh nothing,” you sing song. “I’m sure you’ll love the movie.”

“I’m sure I will too.”

“You better…it’s so good.”

He lightly nibbles on your neck in response, causing you to squeal again.

“Nibbles laterrrrrrrr,” you half whine half giggle.

He relents but only after more soft kisses to any part of your bare skin he can reach.

As you go to choose a new color you pause to watch him, noting how his movements are precise and he stays within the lines, coloring each part of the picture with consistency.

“You’re really good at this,” you muse. “Have you been secretly coloring without me?”

He chuckles.

“Nah doll face, but you know I love to pay attention to every little detail.”

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you giggle.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say cheekily.

He nuzzles your neck, knowing his scruffy jaw tickles your skin and it makes you wiggle and squirm in his hold.

“Buckyyyyy,” you gasp.

He finally stops to let you breathe, securing you in his lap again and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

His right hand holds the colored pencil and his left rests on your hip and as time continues to pass in comfortable silence his fingers begin to trace circles on your skin, slow and light.

“Done already?” you purr.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about doll.”

His tone is incredulous even as his hand dips lower and teases between your legs.

You try to stay focused on coloring the picture but his touch is far too distracting and you drop the pencil with a sigh and lean back.

“What about my coloring?” you whisper as your hands slide down and grip his thighs.

He pushes your legs apart and slides his finger over your silky panties.

“This is all your fault,” he murmurs. “You came in here wearing almost nothing…”

“My fault?” you breathe out. “This is why I can never get anything done…you and your hands…distracting!”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you gasp, rocking in his lap. “But you aren’t getting out of coloring…or the movie.”

He takes your earlobe between his teeth with a gentle tug, drawing soft little moans from your parted lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby doll. You know I’ll do anything you want.”

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mob!bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #mob!Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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yandere-sins · 9 months

Text

Never-ending Pleasure

HC that Malleus likes ice cream because it soothes the magic-induced burns in his mouth. Also HC that his darling’s kiss has the same effect (;

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Yandere!Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Implied Sexual Content, Non-/Dub-Con Behavior (Kissing), Kidnapping, Possessiveness, Delusional Behavior/Thoughts

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

It was strange. Truly curious.

Nobody looked at Malleus and would have guessed the heir to Briar Valley's throne had a sweet tooth. That his freezer was always stocked with an assortment of ice cream for him to consume, nobody daring to touch what belonged to him. They had it wrong, though, as it wasn't the taste luring him towards the delicacy, the sugary sweet delightfulness of it, but its ability to soothe the heat collecting in his mouth when he used magic. His genes were remarkable, but the fire glands he had inherited were rather impractical for his the form he chose to present himself. Not that it was too uncomfortable to bear on occasion, but a nice spoon of ice cream usually managed to soothe the aftermath of any bad tastes or feelings left behind.

And yet, you, with your head tipped back, tears in your eyes, emitting sounds of displeasure and the loss of air, had the exact same effect on him as the ice did. Perhaps even more so, his whole body tingling from the tip of his tongue to his toes. Malleus couldn't help it, the comforting heat emitted between your mouths so very different from his beloved ice cream, yet almost better. It was exhilarating and new, and Malleus wouldn't be lying if he said he had never experienced a more thrilling moment, even when you shifted beside him, your fingers tearing at his clothes desperately. Thus, Malleus did the only thing he could think of in that situation:

Deepen the kiss.

Given, you were no vanilla-strawberry swirl or a deep, rich chocolate flavor, but there were benefits to your taste, too. In fact, you tickled more senses in him than he ever thought could harmonize at the same time. Be it the sensation of his tongue against yours making his eyelids flutter, pants tenting uncomfortably; the sound of your lips smacking against his running a shudder down his spine; or the way your body was so perfectly aligned with Malleus' while the wall in your back kept you trapped, leaving a feeling of a million fireflies behind in his belly.

Had he known about the benefits of a kiss before, he would have done it so much sooner. For months, he kept you waiting for that sweet, sweet confirmation of his feelings, assuring you only in words but never in actions while he kept you locked in the highest tower, trying to figure out how to best approach you. You had become desperate, downright crazy, locked up there all alone, crying and screaming hysterically despite his frequent visits to keep you company.

Malleus tried to honor your wishes. If you told him to stay away, he did. If you said he needed to leave, he sighed but obliged. If you didn't like the food, he sent Sebek or Silver to get you something different, and when you asked for better accommodations, he had them redecorate your room. Letting you go and leave forever weren't requests he could fulfill. But Malleus had paintings of your hometown made so you could hang them up and admire them when you got homesick.

But he ran out of options quickly, unfortunately. And when all of his expenses didn't help, he reconsidered how to keep you happy. It wasn't proper, not protocol at all. He should not have considered desires of the flesh to woo you, but it couldn't be helped when nothing seemed to please you anymore—nothing to shut up your panicked rambles just long enough for him to think of more and better ways.

With his tongue capturing yours, sucking and releasing it over the many sore spots he had acquired from his magic that day, Malleus couldn't help but think how beneficial this was—for both of you.

Sure, tears kept streaming down your pretty face, diluting your gaze. You were shivering, holding on to Malleus desperately. Still, at least your vocal cords had a moment of pause, your body recovering from the wailing and sobbing, not even having to stand on its own as he supported you. Really, what more could you even want in your life when enjoying this kiss was all that was needed to satisfy even Malleus?

But then again, as he pressed forward, wanting to sink deeper into the delicacy of your kiss, he frowned as you struggled, still so very displeased with him.

Perhaps it was not enough.

Perhaps you needed more convincing how wonderful your life was with him. How well you were cared for and loved. More actions that showed you how greatly he admired and desired you. A clearer sign that he loved you very much and would always be by your side.

And perhaps Malleus needed another taste of you. Another chance to learn how else he could soothe the magic burns in his mouth while being elated by the fact his whole body was reacting to yours as if you two were meant for each other. Meant to be together, to kiss, to love, to devour.

So when he pulled away, both of you breathing heavily, and you turned your head away, baring your neck, Malleus' mind began to wander, his mouth feeling terribly dry now that his tongue was so very lonesome without yours, missing the stimulation you gave him. He wondered what you tasted like elsewhere and how good it would feel once his tongue laid down on that bare neck of yours, driving down your shoulders, chest, and lapping at your stomach and legs until it would find the sweetest of spots, the forbidden aphrodisiac to his love-crazed mind.

You might have flinched when he caressed the side of your neck, but with thoughts so beautifully, who could have stopped him?

He just needed one more taste of you.

One lick.

And then only one more for good measure.

Never-ending pleasure just for him.

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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

it's a feeling that's fine - s.h.

Summary: You accidentally climb the wrong fence on the hottest day of May. It turns out to be the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, etc. reader is in a toxic friendship; she's slightly bullied in that indirect mean girl way, but the toxic friendship ends. reader cuts her finger by accident. drinking and drug mentions. fluff, humor, strangers to friends to lovers, summer vibes, so many princess bride references. steve is super duper sweet!!! post s4 volume 2.

A/N: so if you wondered where i've been for the last two months.... it was in a cave writing this fic. i'm really proud of this one; the reader is a little different than how i usually write, but i hope you'll like her all the same :) if you enjoy this fic, please please let me know through comments/reblogs!

divider by firefly-graphics

Today is hot.

Weatherman Dale had said this morning that today is a record high for May. It’s so hot, in fact, that Debbie Wellerman had called you this morning asking if you wanted to come swim in her pool.

You’d asked if you could dig for worms in her yard. She’d sighed and hung up. You hope that means yes. Joan has been in need of some company. Worms would be good for her.

You go around Debbie’s house and stop at the back gate. The Wellermans are kind of mean and they don’t like it when you take too many cucumber sandwiches. To avoid them, you’ve taken to going through the back gate whenever Debbie invites you over. It works pretty well.

Except today, the gate is locked. Which is weird, because Debbie usually leaves it open. It’s how her boyfriend, Brett, sneaks in during the day, and how Brett’s brother, Chet, sneaks in at night.

You’d asked once why the brothers come over separately. Debbie had gotten mad and kicked you out without giving you any ice cream. You don’t ask about Brett and Chet anymore.

The problem is that you’re wearing flip flops, which are not ideal for climbing fences. Or anything, really. You once climbed a jungle gym in flip flops and skinned both knees.

You slip off your flip flops and fling them over the fence. They land a second later, clapping against the ground. The fence is covered in climbing ivy and tiny red flowers you’ve never seen before. You wonder how Debbie made them grow so fast.

The street is empty, which is nice. Sometimes people in Loch Nora like to yell at people who don’t also live in Loch Nora.

The fence wood is hot but not so hot that you can’t touch it. You stick your feet in the little grooves and start to climb. It’s not too high of a fence, but it’s high enough to warn people who don’t belong here.

That’s never stopped you, though.

Getting over is trickier. You expect Debbie to see you by now, but there’s no sound. She must be inside, or maybe she’s out and forgot she’s invited you. She does that sometimes.

Wood dust clings to your fingers and the soles of your feet. When you’re a foot from the ground, you hop down. Then you turn.

There’s no sign of Debbie. There is, however, a boy.

He’s reclined on an inflatable blue ring floaty in the middle of the pool. He wears sunglasses and red board shorts with little white anchors on them.

He has very pretty hair, both on his head and chest. He also has pretty lips. And arms. All of him is pretty, really. You wish you could see his face properly. He probably has a nice face too. Symmetrical and kind.

The area around the pool is paved just like at Debbie’s—only it’s a lot larger than you remember. There's a patch of dirt next to the gate. You go and crouch at the edge. You don't see any worms. Probably because it's so hot. You'd stay underground too if you were a worm.

You stand and turn to look at the boy again. He looks like he might be asleep.

“Did Debbie invite you?” you ask.

The boy shoots up from the floaty. The shift in weight makes him lose his balance and he topples into the water a moment later. The floaty flips with him.

He resurfaces almost immediately, spitting water and rubbing chlorine from his eyes. You squint.

Yes, you were right. He does have a very nice face.

The water comes up to his waist. He pushes his hair back in handfuls, blinking. Then he fishes his sunglasses out with his foot and sets them on his head.

“Can you swim?” you ask.

He stares at you, blinking.

“What?” he says after a beat.

“Can you swim?” you repeat.

“Uh, yeah? Yes, of course I can swim.”

"It would be bad luck if you couldn’t.”

His brows furrow.

“Because I can't swim,” you clarify.

“I wouldn’t be in the pool if I couldn’t swim,” he says.

“That’s good thinking.”

You sit at the edge of the pool and dip your calves in. He wades closer until he’s about three feet away.

“How did you get here?” he asks.

“I walked.”

“I mean, how did you get in my backyard?”

“Oh. I climbed the fence.”

You peer closer. He looks familiar, but you can’t quite place him.

“Are you Brett and Chet’s triplet?” you ask. “You’re a lot prettier than them. Did their mother feed you extra vitamins?"

His eyes go wide. “Uh… Brett and Chet Kingsley?”

“Uh-huh. Debbie invites both of them over, but never at the same time.”

“Who's—they don’t have a triplet.”

“That’s good. Three’s bad luck.”

“My house number has a three in it,” he says.

“Don’t step on any sidewalk cracks,” you warn.

He tilts his head, tongue poking out like he’s sizing you up. You let him, focusing on his face instead. He has dark, warm eyes the color of black tea. His shoulders are toned with lots of freckles on them. He looks like a boy who’d like Debbie, not you.

“Is Debbie going to be back soon?” you ask. You don’t want to get attached to a boy who’ll just end up wanting Debbie instead. You've made that mistake before.

“Um… if you’re talking about Debbie Wellerman, she lives on the next block over. I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Oh. You’re the guy who fought the monsters.”

He eyes you warily. “Wh—how do you know about the monsters?”

"Who doesn't?"

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You can’t tell anyone," he finally says.

You shrug and kick at the water gently.

“I have no one to tell. Debbie doesn’t believe in monsters.”

“She doesn’t believe in giving you a key either, huh?”

“She doesn’t usually lock her gate,” you say.

“Well, this isn’t her gate.”

“Yeah. I like your shorts.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink.

“Are you getting sunstroke?” you ask.

That turns his cheeks pinker.

“No, no." He coughs. "I’m fine.”

“It’s a record high temperature for May,” you say. “That’s what Weatherman Dale said. The highest it's ever been since 1923."

“Yeah, I heard." He nods. "I didn’t wanna run the AC the whole day so, here I am. My friend Robin was supposed to come over, but I guess she bailed.”

“Robin is a nice name. Is she a bird?”

Steve smiles. “No, she’s a girl.”

“Oh. I thought maybe she was a bird you’d made friends with while fighting monsters.”

“Well.” Steve shrugs. “I did sort of make friends with her while fighting monsters.”

“Robins are good omens. They bring luck."

“Huh.”

You swallow. You’re probably talking too much. That’s what Debbie would say. That’s why boys sneak into her yard and not yours.

"So." Steve puts a hand over his forehead to block the sun. "Debbie Wellerman, huh? You don't seem like the type to be her friend."

"Friends can come from the most unusual places," you say. "Like under a tree or at the bottom of the ocean."

"Have you made many friends at the bottom of the ocean?" Steve asks with a smile.

You hesitate. Is he making fun of you? Sometimes, you can't tell. The people in Loch Nora are good at making fun of you without you knowing.

Steve’s hair has already begun to dry, a little crunchy from the chlorine. He doesn’t look like he’s making fun of you.

"Not many. But that's where I found Joan," you say.

"Joan was at the bottom of the ocean?"

"Kind of. I found her in a pond. Then I found her sister, but I lost her at sea and I couldn't swim out to rescue her. It was a sad day. Joan didn't handle it well."

Steve's brows rise. "Wow. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Joan has been on the incline. I think she's finally ready to get back out there. I wanted to find her company, but I didn't want to disturb your dirt."

“My dirt?”

“Mmhm. I'm trying to make a social club for her."

"Out of dirt?"

"Out of worms."

"Huh."

Steve rests his chin on his arm that's perched on the ledge.

"Your hair is wavy," you observe.

"What? Oh, yeah. I didn't put anything in it."

"Like what? Secrets?"

"No, like, gel. Product."

You nod in realization. "Your hair was so big in school.”

Steve winces. "Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't the best guy back then."

"You were in your chrysalis. You needed time to grow. But then you turned into a butterfly. Or a moth, if you prefer."

"Moths are spooky," says Steve. "They look like they have eyes on their wings."

"Yes. But they're actually friendly. Unless you eat them. Some are poisonous." You lean in, deadly serious. "Don't eat moths."

"Will do."

"No, don't. And warn your Robin too. She might think one looks delicious and meet her doom."

A smile creeps onto Steve's face.

"You're kind of strange," he says. "In the best way possible."

"Thank you."

"Do you want some lemonade?"

"Is it poisoned?"

"What?" Steve startles. "No, of course not."

"No, I suppose not," you say thoughtfully. "You hadn't expected me to climb over your gate, so you wouldn't have had time to poison the lemonade."

Steve stacks one arm atop his other, looking up at you. The ends of his hair have begun to curl. You like it so much.

"What if I pour from the pitcher right in front of you? Will that make you feel better?" he asks.

"You can still put something in my glass," you say. "Or you might have built a tolerance to the poison for this exact moment. Like in The Princess Bride."

"I'm only twenty-one. I would've had to start very young to build a tolerance. Besides, what would be my motivation to poison you?"

You shake your head. "There's no need for motivation. Violent delights. But you've fought monsters, and Lucas Sinclair says you're a good guy. So, yes, I will have some lemonade."

Steve pushes himself out of the pool with ease, dripping water all over the concrete. You stare at the rivulets that hurry down his legs and chest. He has a lot of hair everywhere. You like that too.

He offers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Your shoulder bumps his. Steve's skin is warm. He smells like chlorine and something sweeter. Pineapple, maybe.

"You would do very well as a knight," you say. "If I were a princess, I'd want you to commit yourself to me."

Steve makes a weird noise in his throat.

"Uh, th-thanks," he says.

"You're welcome."

"So you, uh, know Lucas?"

"Yes. He lives on my block. His mom gives me rides sometimes."

You step in through the sliding glass door, which puts you directly in the kitchen. The house is at least twenty degrees cooler. You shiver at the sudden temperature change.

"You don't have a car?" Steve asks.

"No."

"You walked from your house to Loch Nora?"

"I took the bus part of the way. Then I walked."

Steve takes two glasses down from the shelf. Then he opens the refrigerator. You sit at the large kitchen island while he pours.

"Debbie Wellerman has a car," Steve says.

"Uh-huh. A Porsche."

A money car, she'd called it when she got it for her sixteenth birthday. Boys love girls with money cars. Maybe that's why boys don't love you.

Steve hands you a glass. You take a long sip. Your mouth puckers and you scrunch your eyes shut as the acid coats your tongue.

"Shit. Not enough sugar?"

You swallow and open your eyes.

"It's wonderful, Steve," you say earnestly.

"You don't have to lie. I saw your mouth screw up."

"I'm not lying. It's the right amount of sour."

Steve takes his own sip. His lips pucker, and he shakes his head.

"Nope. Definitely needs more sugar."

You cradle your glass in your hands. "Don't take mine. She's perfect."

Steve breathes a laugh, returning the pitcher to the fridge. He sits beside you on the island. He's already developing a slight tan. You wonder if more freckles appear the longer he's in the sun.

"Why doesn't Debbie pick you up?" he asks.

"Why would she pick me up?"

"Because that's what nice friends do. And it's unfair to expect you to come all the way here when the buses don't go through Loch Nora."

"Debbie always expects me to come over," you say. "So I do. She doesn't like my house."

Steve frowns deeply.

"I don't mind the walk," you offer, trying to make him smile again.

It doesn't work. Steve takes another sip. His lips purse, red like cherry candy and shiny with lemonade.

"She should meet you halfway more often," he says, dumping his lemonade into the sink.

You trace shapes into the condensation of your glass.

"I wanted to go rollerblading," you say. "But…"

"But what?" he prompts.

"She didn't. Neither did Brett. They wanted to make out in the pool.”

Steve grimaces. “Sounds like a drag.”

“They make weird noises. Like goats at the zoo.”

Steve snorts. You smile and kick your legs, pleased.

“My friends go rollerblading,” he says. “The kids love to skate at the park. You could come with us one day.”

“You have kids?”

“No, I—” Steve shakes his head, chuckling. “Definitely not. No, they’re only a few years younger than me, but me and the other people our age call them kids. They’re part of our little monster-fighting group. Anyway, uh, y'know. Open invite. If you're ever tired of goat noises."

You stare at him for a minute. He seems nervous, and you can't make out why. Nobody's ever nervous around you.

"Okay," you say. "I'd like to meet your kids."

"Cool. Well, um, I can give you my number. We usually meet up on weekends, but once school ends, any day is game."

Your heart rate picks up. You know this part. Only from a distance, of course. But you know what it means when a boy gives a girl his number.

“You want me to call you?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to. I feel like it’s a little forward for me to ask the girl who climbed my fence for her number. So, um, you can call me. Is that cool?”

Steve looks at you and waits. You chew your lip and nod.

“That’s okay.”

He smiles. “Great! I think I have a pen around here somewhere…”

Steve walks around the table to a stationary caddy on the counter and takes out a blue Sharpie. You stick out your arm, palm up.

"Uh…" He looks at you. "I can find a notepad."

"This helps me memorize things better," you say and wiggle your fingers.

"I don't wanna give you ink poisoning."

"You didn't poison me before. You're not very good at it."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

You shrug. "Depends on your aspirations."

Steve hesitates for another second. Then he takes the top of your forearm and begins to write on the soft underside. He writes slowly, which tickles, but you remain still.

He's so close. You're reminded all over again of his hands and warmth and pineapple scent.

Steve caps the marker. You inspect the writing.

"Good penmanship," you say.

"Think so? Robin says it's chicken scratch. But she can't talk—hers is ten times worse."

"It's neat," you say. "But not serial-killer neat. If I were a graphologist, I would give you the all clear."

"Graphologist?"

"A handwriting expert. I would write in my report, 'not a murderer.'"

"Well, that's a relief," Steve says. "I try to keep the murdering to a minimum."

You hum and finish your lemonade in one gulp.

“Thank you for not poisoning me."

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Steve replies through a smile.

His smile makes you nervous. A good nervous, though, like you're about to sled down a big hill.

You push yourself off the stool. Steve gets up with you and opens the sliding glass door for you.

“A very stalwart knight,” you say, and walk over to where your flip flops are.

You throw them back over the gate. They land with a clack on the sidewalk.

You find your footholds on the gate and turn to look at Steve.

“It was nice to meet you, Steve Harrington. Don’t fight any monsters by yourself.”

“Whoa, hang on!” He jogs over and lightly touches your arm. It sears your skin like you've been kissed by the sun himself. “I’ll unlock the gate. You don’t need to… climb again.”

Steve pulls the latch next to you. The gate creaks open. You hop off and walk through.

Steve leans against the gate, elbow bent. His bicep bulges. You've never been this close to a shirtless boy. Your stomach flips.

“Are you sure you know where Debbie lives?” he asks.

Your eyes dart from his chest to his face.

“Yes.”

“Really? ‘Cause you didn’t exactly find it the first time.”

“Second time’s the charm,” you say.

“I thought it was the third time.”

“No. Three’s bad luck, remember?”

Steve runs his tongue under his molars, once again staring at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. You slip into your sandals while he figures you out.

“Well, um. You can come back if you get lost. Or you need help. Or you wanna look for rocks."

You tilt your head. “You’d look for rocks with me?”

“I don’t know how helpful I’d be—all rocks look the same to me. My friends would probably be better at it than me. But, yeah, I would.”

“Okay. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He grins. “Sure thing.”

You take his hand and shake it. It’s warm and slightly calloused. You wonder if he holds girls’ hands often.

"I hope Robin finds your house," you say. "Goodbye, Steve Harrington."

Then you go.

You do find Debbie’s house on the second try. You hide your Sharpie'd arm behind your back when you enter. Debbie doesn’t ask why you’re late. Brett doesn’t acknowledge you, and you wonder how you mistook Steve for his brother.

“There’s lemonade,” Debbie says as she heads in, Brett at her heels.

You don’t drink any. You know it won’t be the right amount of sour.

Movies are better in the summer. This is a fact you've learned to accept.

There's no dread of the cold after you finish a movie in the summer. The tape ends and you can go outside and still love the real world.

Sorry, we're on a break! the sign on the store window reads in loopy script. You sit on the hot curb in front of Family Video, your yellow shorts bunched around your thighs. Sweat sticks to the back of your neck, and you drag a hand across, then wipe your fingers on your shirt.

From here, you can just see the cement-filled cracks in the asphalt, where the earthquake split the main road two years ago. Because of the cracks, the bus stops three blocks from the plaza, so you'd walked three blocks in the heat.

You hadn't been lying to Steve, though. You really don't mind the walk.

Beads of sweat drip down your forehead. One slips into your eye and burns. You make a fist and press it into your eyelid.

Okay. Maybe you mind a little.

"Hey, neighbor!"

You look up, squinting through the sun. Lucas Sinclair waves at you. You wave back. A girl with two red braids is next to him.

"Hi, Lucas," you say, standing as they approach you on the curb.

"This is my girlfriend, Max," he introduces proudly.

"My congratulations. Getting a girlfriend is no easy feat."

Max studies you for a moment. "I think I should get the credit, considering I said yes."

"Undoubtedly," you say.

"Are you his neighbor?" she asks.

"Yes. Lucas is an outstanding neighbor. You should be very proud of him."

"I believe it," says Max.

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks.

"Lots of things," you say. "Breathing, digesting. But presently, I'm waiting for the video store to reopen. I want to rent The Princess Bride.”

Max snorts. "Good luck with that. Those two take five hour lunch breaks now, ever since Keith moved away. It's barely a business anymore."

"There must be a lot of courses in their lunch," you muse.

"Yeah… uh, we're going to get ice cream. Wanna join?" asks Lucas.

"Okay." You turn to Max. "Will my presence impede your special plans?"

Max squints. "Special plans? Like what?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you've written Lucas a series of sonnets to profess your love."

"A series of what?"

"Poems."

"Love poems are corny," she says.

You wonder if Steve would agree.

"Sometimes corny things are good. When they come from the right person," you say.

Max acquiesces with a hum.

"No love poems today," she says. "You should join us."

So you follow a couple steps behind them to the Baskin-Robbins down the block.

The AC whooshes as you step inside, drying your sweat to your forehead.

“Wow,” Max says with a scoff. “It’s like Starcourt all over again.”

You follow her gaze and spot Steve.

Oh. Steve.

He's in a green Family Video vest. A girl sits across from him, wearing a matching vest. She has cropped hair and a bandaid on one knee.

“Hey, losers!” Max calls. “This isn’t a lunch break.”

The girl flips her off. “The sign says we’re taking a break. It doesn’t specify how long of a break.”

Lucas orders a scoop of strawberry ice cream for himself and a scoop of cookies and cream for Max.

“Yeah, plus, we’ve had a grand total of one customer today,” Steve adds.

“Well, you would’ve had two if you hadn’t been here on your seventeen hour break,” Max shoots back.

He scoffs. “Oh, really? Who?”

“Can I get one scoop of rocky road ice cream with oreo crumble and gummy worms in a cup?” you ask the cashier.

She goes to scoop the ice cream. Max proudly points at you.

“Her,” she says with a smirk. “She wanted to rent The Princess Bride, and now she’s not gonna be a paying customer ‘cause you two are lazy.”

“I would still be a paying customer,” you say.

Max shakes her head at you.

“I’m trying to make a point,” she whispers.

“Oh. You’re doing great."

“Your total is three twenty-four,” the cashier says, sticking a spoon into your cup.

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor draws your attention. Steve is up, trying to free his leg from under the table. He finally wiggles free and jogs to the counter, wallet in hand.

"Hi,” he says. "I can pay."

“But I have money,” you say, brows knitting.

“No, I know. I—now you can save your money. Do you–do you mind if I pay for you?”

“Will I have to pay you back?” you ask.

“Oh my God,” the cashier mutters under her breath.

You shrink at her tone. You've missed something, evidently. You have no clue what.

Steve glances at her, mouth pinching.

“No,” he says gently, turning back to you. “You don’t have to pay me back. It’s a gesture. As a friend.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Steve gives her the money. You take your ice cream.

“Smooth,” you hear Max say to Steve. He bumps her arm with his elbow.

Steve pulls a chair from another table for you. You all sit down.

"This is, uh…" Steve trails off, turning to you. "I'm sorry, I never got your name."

"You kept calling her Buttercup," the girl says.

Steve whips his head around to hiss at her.

"Robin."

"She's my neighbor," Lucas says.

"We know," Max tells him.

"I don't." Robin raises her hand briefly, shooing Steve away. "I'm Robin Buckley."

"Hi, Robin. Watch out for moths," you say.

She tilts her head and smiles. You look at Steve, who's already looking at you.

"Princess Buttercup?" you ask.

"Well." He rubs the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah, kinda. You mentioned The Princess Bride and, uh, I don’t know your name, so…”

You mull that over.

"If I'm Buttercup, you must be Westley."

Steve's eyes widen. "Uh…"

Robin snickers. Max smirks.

"Interesting shade of red you're turning, Westley," Robin says.

"Shut—"

He kicks her chair leg. She yelps and shoves him in retaliation. Max rolls her eyes.

"Have some class, will you?" she says.

"I'm classy!" Steve insists.

"Not anymore," Lucas says gravely. "Now you're a glorified babysitter."

"Childcare is dutiful work," you say.

Steve grins at you. Your stomach flutters.

“Is that a mud pie?” he asks.

You nod.

“Gummy worms?”

You tilt your head. “How did you know?”

Steve chuckles. “Lucky guess.”

Across the table, the others argue about the classiest ice cream flavors.

“It’s obviously mango sorbet.”

“Sorbet isn’t ice cream!”

“Are they your kids?” you ask.

Steve leans in so you can talk in his ear. His arm is on the back of your chair. If you shift the slightest inch, you’d feel him.

“Minus Robin. Though, sometimes…” He rolls his eyes playfully. “But, um, yeah. Two of them.”

“How many kids do you have?” you ask.

“Let’s see…” Steve counts on his fingers. “Six?”

“Wow. You must be some babysitter.”

“I’m alright.”

You lean in. Steve blinks.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You have an eyelash.”

You swipe the hair off his cheek and hold your finger in front of his mouth.

“You have to make a wish.”

Steve’s eyes slide to you. He gently holds your hand in place. Your heart beats faster.

“‘Kay.” He blows the eyelash away, but doesn't release your hand. “Let’s see if it comes true.”

The numbers stare at you. Taunt you, really.

You practically have them memorized. You’d written them thirty times on a piece of notebook paper. Then you’d shoved that under your bed.

Now you have it taped to your dresser mirror.

You wish you could talk to Joan about it, but she’s bathing in the sink after an unfortunate encounter with a paint can.

The Sharpie is gone from your arm, has been gone for several days now. But if you concentrate, you can see its silhouette on your skin.

You get up and peel the paper off the mirror. Then you go down the hall to your phone.

Carefully, you dial, making sure not to press any wrong buttons.

The phone rings. You rock on your toes.

“Hello?” Steve says.

You freeze.

“Hellooo…?”

“Hi,” you finally say. “It’s Buttercup.”

“Oh!” He sounds so happy. “Hey! Hey, how are you?”

“Good.” You chew on a cuticle. “It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right! Did you wanna go rollerblading?”

Relief floods you. He remembers.

“Yes. If you’re planning it.”

“I haven’t talked to the kids, but I’m sure they’d be down.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I can pick you up in twenty?"

“I can walk.”

“C’mon, in the sun? You live on the same street as Lucas anyway, don’t worry about it.”

“Well.” You twirl the telephone cord around your finger so tightly, it threatens to cut off your circulation. “Okay… if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Steve promises. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

You hang up and run to your room to dig for your skates. They’re stuffed under your bed next to a mini gumball machine. You shove two green gumballs in your mouth and race to the bathroom to check on Joan, nearly slipping on the wood.

“I’m going out, Joan. I think he might… he might like me.” You crunch on the gumball shells and shudder. “What a terrifying thought.”

You pull out the drain stopper and set Joan on a washcloth to dry. Then you go down the hall to put on your sneakers.

Steve arrives five minutes early. You only know that because you spend the whole time watching the road from your curtained window. You shake your hands out, overwhelmed with nerves.

It’s just a boy. He’s only a boy.

The two of you meet halfway. Steve jogs backwards, unusually skillful, and opens the passenger door for you.

“Hey. Does Joan want to come?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “She’s having a spa day. It’s just me.”

“Well, I’m happy to have you,” he says, sweet and earnest.

You duck inside the car and shake your hands a little, trying to fend off the returning nerves. Just a boy.

“So, that’s El,” Steve says as he gets into the driver’s seat, pointing to a girl with short curls. “And you know Max and Lucas.”

Max nods at you with a smile. Lucas waves.

“Hi, El,” you say. “Cool hair.”

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. “I like your skates.”

“I found them at a yard sale. You can find anything in a yard.”

"Okay," Steve says. "Everybody buckled?"

“Yes, Mom,” Max mumbles.

Steve catches your gaze and rolls his eyes. You smile.

Briefly, you worry you’ll have to fill the silence and talk about yourself, like people expect you to. But Steve and the kids hold conversation easily. They talk about anything and everything.

They're more energetic than you're used to; Debbie always prefers it to be quiet.

But you don't mind it. You don’t feel lonely like you do when you’re with Debbie.

“Alright, please stay within this area,” Steve says when he parks and everyone gets out. “Within—”

“Shouting distance!” Max yells. “Yeah, we know!”

The park isn't crowded. Most of the paths are clear, so skating will be no problem.

Max gets out two skateboards from the trunk.

“Max is going to teach me how to do an ollie,” El informs you. “Would you like to join us?”

“Maybe later,” you say. “I want to master my yard skates.”

She nods and follows the others to the small skate park on the other side of the trees.

You bring your skates to a bench and sit, lacing them up your feet. Steve is a few feet away, swinging his arms slightly.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” you ask.

“Oh, uh, no. I brought my own skates… I thought maybe we could skate together, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, I would like that,” you say.

Steve beams. “Alright, cool. I’ll go get mine.”

You stand, about to take a step forward—and immediately slip.

Steve reacts instantly, lunging to catch you. One hand grabs your elbow, the other on your stomach. You squeal and cling to his shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asks, helping you stand upright.

“I’m okay,” you say, breath caught in your throat.

You take a step but your foot wobbles. Steve grabs you again. You don’t try to take another step.

“I thought skating would be intuitive,” you say, rolling one skate to test.

“What?”

You look up. Steve’s face is inches from yours. His hair is golden in the sunshine. His eyes lock on your own; his focus sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

“You know, like how babies are able to swim for the first six months of their lives?”

“Uh…” Steve tilts his head. “No?”

“Oh. Because they were in the womb, they have that ability. ‘Cause they float around in there for nine months, you know? But then they lose it. That’s why we have to learn how to swim.”

“Wow. That’s a cool fact.”

Nobody ever thinks your facts are cool. But Steve does.

“Well, I thought skating would be similar,” you say. “I’ve watched other people skate, so I thought I’d just… do it. I guess I lost that at six months too.”

Steve’s smiling. It’s a gentle smile, though. Not a teasing smile.

“I see,” he says. “I’m sorry for your disappointment.”

“It’s alright. Life is far more than disappointment. No use getting hung up on it.”

“Do you want me to teach you how to skate?” he asks. “I promise I’m good at it. Coach Collins said I could’ve seriously pursued it.”

“So skating for you is like avoiding death for Westley,” you say.

“Actually, I’m pretty good at avoiding death too,” Steve says. “And making grilled cheeses.”

“Triple threat.”

He ducks his head with a laugh, and you feel the warmth of it flow through your own body.

“Sure. Can’t make lemonade for shit, though.”

“I think your lemonade is perfect, Steve Harrington.”

His cheeks are scarlet again. It’s quickly becoming your favorite color.

“I would like it if you taught me,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll get my skates after you get the hang of it. Put your hand on my arm, right here.”

Steve pats his forearm. Carefully, you do as he says.

“I’m nervous,” you confess.

“I got you,” Steve says, cheek brushing your head. “I won’t let you fall, Buttercup.”

Saint Aloysius’ parking lot has the best rocks.

You've never told anybody as much because you imagine the lot would get busy, and you like it empty.

Today, you're searching for a brother for Joan. Ever since that tragic day at Macinaw Island, Joan's been very lonely. It‘s hard being a sisterless sister.

Joan is smooth and round, so you look for an equally smooth and round brother. Commonality is important.

Your knees hurt from squatting, so you sit. The rocks poke your butt.

You hear a car rolling up the hill, engine a soft purr. You stop and turn.

The car is maroon and shiny, with only a couple slight scratches you can't notice unless you look really hard. You don't recognize the license plate, although you have yet to start your record of Hawkins plates.

It putters to a stop in front of Giovanni's Bakery across the street. The car doors open.

"I'm losing my edge, Robs! I made a damn fool of myself. I can't even—"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like we're glossing over the fact that you don't even know this girl. And what she did was technically trespassing."

"Do you know her name?" another voice pipes up.

"No, Dustin, I don't know her name. I don't even know if she lives in Hawkins!"

Their voices disappear as they go inside the bakery. You find Joan a brother, Jack, and Jack finds a wife named Gwen. Gwen isn't smooth and round; she's sharp-edged and will be harder to clean, but she's a muted salmon color and you think she's pretty. You hope Jack will find her pretty too.

As you dig through the pile of rocks, your finger catches on the edge of a broken bottle. It slices your finger. Blood swells immediately.

You put your new rocks in your plastic red pail with your other hand. Then you stand, joints popping as you do so. You stick your ribs out and bend your spine in a stretch.

You cross the street to the bakery, pail in hand. The bell jingles as you enter. You hum the ding-dong under your breath.

"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asks.

"Hello. Can I have five baci di dama and five of the raspberry sandwich cookies?"

He goes to the display case with a paper bag. You rest your elbows on the counter, pail handles over your arm.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Do you have a bandaid? I'm bleeding."

The man purses his lips. "No bandaid, sorry."

"That's okay. Just the cookies, then."

"Buttercup?"

You turn. Steve stands before you, wearing his Family Video vest. Robin is beside him, her hair piled into a windblown bun on her head. Another boy, shorter than both, younger, is with them. He waves at you, curls bouncing.

You wave back. Robin squeals.

"Oh my God, what happened to your finger?" she asks, horrified.

"There was a broken bottle in the parking lot."

"Jesus," Steve says. He takes your hand and inspects it. He's so close and warm. All you can do is stare at the freckles on his neck.

“Why were you in the parking lot?” he asks.

“I was looking for rocks. This is the best rock spot in all of Hawkins. Well, after Lover’s Lake. But the pH has been abnormally high there. Probably because of the monsters. So I came here.”

"Hi, I'm Dustin," the boy introduces. “Is your finger okay?”

"Hi, Dustin. I think I’ll survive,” you say. “Dustin means brave warrior in Norse.”

Dustin beams. “Yup. I was named after my grandfather. He served in World War Two.”

"Names are important,” you say. “Joan agonized for days deciding what I should call her. Eventually, I decided for her. A name says a lot about a person. Steve has a warrior and good luck at his side."

"Yep, Steve-o here is pretty blessed to have us. And," he gestures to you, "You are?"

"Hungry," you say, taking your bag of cookies with your free hand.

The bag crinkles as you open it. You hold it out to Steve.

"Do you want one? I promise they’re blood-free.”

"Uh…” He glances at your hand. “Are you sure your finger is okay?”

“She’s a trooper. Survived ink poisoning and everything.” You wave the bag again. “Cookie?”

Steve takes a baci di dama out and pops it into his mouth. He hums as he chews, nodding.

"'S good," he says after he swallows.

"Baci di dama means lady's kisses in Italian," you say.

His cheeks turn pink again.

"You should drink more water," you add. "You turn pink easily."

Robin snorts. Steve holds a hand to his cheek.

"Uh, thanks."

“You’re welcome. Robin, would you like a cookie?"

"No, thanks,” she says. “I'm picking up a tiramisu for my mom's birthday."

"I want a cookie!" Dustin says.

"Dude," Steve hisses.

You hold the bag open to Dustin. He takes a raspberry sandwich cookie.

"So," Dustin says, mouth full. "Are you Steve’s girlfriend or something?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you say.

“Du-ude!” Steve says too loudly, voice climbing in pitch.

“What? You talk about her all the freakin’ time. I needed to know.”

You look at Steve. He rubs the back of his neck and half-smiles.

“Anyway,” continues Dustin. “How do you know Steve?”

"I climbed over his gate by accident on the hottest day of May,” you say.

"By accident?"

"Yes. All the gates in Loch Nora look the same. Except Steve's gate has climbing ivy and little red flowers. It's much nicer than the other houses. It looks like a person lives there. I mistook it for Debbie's gate."

Robin tilts her head at you. You don't care what Steve says; she's a one hundred percent bonafide bird.

Dustin points to your pail, crumbs all over his chin. "Why do you have rocks?"

"They're for Joan," you say.

"Joan? Is she your friend?"

"She's more like my confidante. She doesn't talk much, so I think it'd be presumptuous of me to call her a friend when I have no idea where we stand."

"Navigating friendships can be hard," Steve offers.

"Yes," you say. "They can be."

"Being straightforward can help a lot," he continues. "It, uh, at least helped me. That way the other person knows what you mean. No room for miscommunication."

You nod. "That's good advice. I'll have to try that with Joan. Sometimes she can be kind of hard-headed."

You roll up your bag of cookies and reposition your pail on your arm so the metal doesn't dig into your skin.

"It was nice to meet you, Dustin," you say. "Goodbye, Steve and Robin."

"Wait!"

Steve holds the door for you and follows you out. He still smells sweet, like pineapple, and also a little woody. He touches the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity down your spine.

"I have a first aid kit in my car. Let me wrap your cut."

"Oh." You'd forgotten about it. "Okay."

You follow Steve to his car. He pops the trunk and rummages. You spot a bat with nails.

"Very inventive," you say, pointing at the bat.

Steve laughs shyly. "Yeah, uh, the monsters."

"I definitely wouldn't want to fight you if I were a multi-dimensional monster."

He smiles and takes out a small spray bottle of disinfectant.

"This is gonna sting, okay? But we need to make sure nothing gets infected."

"An infection would be unfortunate," you say. "I'm quite attached to this finger."

He sprays and cleans your finger. You wince and Steve squeezes your wrist in apology. Then he pulls out bandaids.

"Any preference? I have rainbow, Star Wars, 'cause they're all a bunch of nerds, cats… oh, I have flowers! ‘Cause you’re, uh, Buttercup, you know?"

"Flowers," you say, because Steve's so excited about it.

He nods and opens the bandaid. You hold out your finger and Steve carefully wraps it. He rubs your knuckle.

"Thank you," you say.

"You're welcome. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

He closes the trunk, swinging his keys on his finger.

"Sorry if that was awkward, by the way," he says. "Dustin, I mean. He can be… blunt."

"It wasn't awkward."

“It wasn’t?”

“No,” you say. “I’m happy you tell people about me. I tell Joan about you all the time.”

"Oh." He nods. "That—that’s good. So… we’re both… uh—”

"Do you want another lady's kiss?"

"What? Oh—" Steve clears his throat. "N-no, that's okay. Thanks."

You take out a raspberry cookie and bite into it.

"Your hair has product," you observe.

"Yeah. No secrets, though."

"Everybody's hair has secrets."

"Even yours?" he asks.

"Especially mine."

Steve rubs the back of his neck. You open your bag and take out another cookie. He looks like he's trying to find the right words to say. You don't mind waiting.

"Hey, do you like barbecue?" he asks.

"I like it as well as anybody else."

"Well, um, I'm having a barbecue this Saturday. Lucas won a big championship game and so we're celebrating his win."

"That's nice," you say. "Congratulations to Lucas."

"Yeah! So, um, did you maybe want to come too? It'll be at my house. You could bring a friend if you wanted. Like Joan."

"Joan is a vegetarian," you say. "But I'm sure she'd enjoy the company."

Steve smiles. He has such a pretty smile.

"We're ordering pizza too, so Joan can have some of that."

"You're a very thoughtful host.”

Then you have a terrible thought. But you have to ask it because if you don't, you might be breaking some kind of invisible expectation. You do that a lot.

"Does Debbie have to come?" you ask.

Steve blinks. "Uh, no? It's not a requirement."

"Some people ask me to parties because they want Debbie to come."

Steve frowns. "That's rude. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay. What time does the barbecue begin?"

"You can stop by anytime. But we'll probably start eating around six."

You nod. "Joan and I will be there at five thirty."

Steve's answering grin is blinding. He must be really excited to meet Joan. You get it; Joan's the life of any party she attends.

"Great, that's great. I'll see you then."

"Bye, Steve," you say.

"Bye," he answers like he's out of breath.

Even the way he breathes is pretty.

Every month, Miles Stanwick throws a party.

Miles is a celebrity in Hawkins, his father being a state senator, and Miles is, according to a drunk Debbie, “the Gatsby to her Daisy.”

You're pretty sure Debbie hasn't read the book. Or maybe she's a living tragedy. Either is possible.

It had been just you two in her room, without the Other Debbie she pretends to be to impress the people of Loch Nora, when she'd told you what it meant to be in love.

"You just know," she'd said, her breath reeking of tequila.

You'd turned your head. Tequila made your nose itch.

"But you love Brett," you'd said.

"Brett is who I'll marry," she'd corrected. She’d sounded so sad. "Miles is all I've got."

Then she'd thrown up all over her carpet. You'd helped her into bed and made a mental note to find her a friend like Joan to keep her company, for when you weren't around.

You don't like parties. They're loud and smelly and usually filled with people you don't like or don't know. And at a party, people you don't like and people you don't know are one and the same.

You would leave, but Debbie is your ride tonight. So you're stuck here until midnight, maybe even later.

Someone plugs in a karaoke machine and that gets most of the party's attention. The music is horribly loud and is the kind that’s just a lot of synthesizer.

A guy jumps onto the Stanwicks' coffee table and knocks over the potpourri dish. Dried petals and orange peels scatter across the carpet.

Debbie appears in front of you, a red Solo cup in her hand.

"What did I bring you here for?" she asks, mouth curled. "To slump on the couch?"

"No one here wants to talk," you say.

Debbie rolls her eyes. "Parties aren't for talking. They're for drinking and making out. Someone's rolling a blunt in the den. Go suck on that, will you?"

The people in Loch Nora are so good at making you feel two inches tall. You wish you'd brought Joan. She'd know what to do.

You've tried alcohol before. Champagne at a wedding. A sip of rum from the Wellermans' liquor cabinet, back when Debbie wasn't so caught up in being just like everyone else.

Maybe it's your fault, too. Maybe you're too good at standing out.

You go to the kitchen. It's already trashed. You step over a spill on the floor. Then you turn around and lay down some paper towels so no one will slip.

There are various bottles of strong liquor strewn across the counters. You decide to try the punch and fill your cup to the top. You sniff it and your nose wrinkles at the whiff of alcohol.

You so badly want to have fun. You want to know what makes all of this worth it. You want your friendship with Debbie to be worth it.

You down the punch in one go. It makes you cough and you scramble for water at the sink. You wonder if the punch is poisoned.

You wobble out of the kitchen a couple minutes later, head already woozy. A girl stands with a drink, one arm folded.

"Where's Debbie?" you ask. The girl winces and steps away from you.

"She went with Miles and some other people to the lake."

Your eyes widen. "No, they can't. There's monsters."

She looks at you like you might be an insect splattered on her dashboard.

"You're Debbie's weird friend, aren't you?"

Weird doesn't make you feel good, like Steve calling you strange did. Weird makes you feel like when a boy in sixth grade stepped on your heels while going up the stairs because he thought it was funny.

"Debbie would've told me," you say.

The girl shrugs. "Guess she ditched you. She can't score with Miles if you're killing the vibe."

Weird tastes like poison in your mouth.

"Debbie was my ride," you say, but she’s already gone.

Your head aches. You try to think on what to do next. It's nearly midnight. No one is awake, and you have no idea how to call a cab.

You find the Stanwicks' phone in the hall and dial the only number you know, besides your own, and the local pizzeria.

"Hello?"

You lean against the wall, phone in both hands.

"Uh, hello? Who is this?"

"H-hi, Westley." Your voice cracks.

"Hey," Steve says, unbearably gentle. "My favorite rock girl. Jesus, it's… midnight."

"I'm sorry," you say.

"No, no, it's alright. I'm just—is everything okay? Are you okay?"

"Debbie ditched me."

Silence. For a moment, you panic that the line's dropped.

"Steve?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm, um, at Miles Stanwick's. The address is… well, I don't remember, but I'll go outside and look for the house number—"

"I know it," Steve says. "Stay right there. I'm coming to get you. Don't drink any more."

Your lip wobbles. "'Kay."

"It's okay," he soothes. "Drink some water. Don't take anything from anybody."

"I just wanted to be fun," you blurt.

"You are fun, Buttercup. Way more fun than anybody at that house, I guarantee it. I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Steve," you say, no longer feeling so small.

You hang up and go to the kitchen to get more water from the sink. Then you return to the hallway and sit, back against the wall, knees tucked into your chest.

You doze, lids heavy from the alcohol. The next thing you know are two hands on your arms.

You jolt awake. One hand cradles the back of your head so you don't thump it against the wall.

"Hey, hey." Steve kneels in front of you. He brushes your cheek with a cool knuckle. "It's me, it's Steve. Are you okay?"

His hands are cool against your overheated skin. He smells like lemon shampoo.

"My knight," you say.

"I thought Westley was a pirate."

“He was only pretending."

You let Steve ease you up. His car keys dig into your hip.

"Ow," you say dazedly.

"What? What hurts?"

"Keys."

"Oh." Steve shifts you to his opposite side, hand on your back. "Sorry, honey."

"Honey never spoils," you say. "Did you know that? You could dig up honey from a tomb that's thousands of years old and as long as it was stored in an airtight container, it's good to eat."

"I love that you know that."

"Do you really?"

"I really do," Steve says. "C’mon, let's get you home."

Outside, the moon is a dot of cream in the purple sky. The neighborhood is quiet. Most of the houses are also dark.

"I'm sorry for calling you so late," you say.

"Don't be. I'm glad you called me. These parties can get out of hand."

"Debbie left. She went to Lover's Lake with Miles—"

The panic returns, flooding your body. You squirm and Steve tries to keep you steady.

"Whoa, what's—"

"The monsters! There's monsters down there, Steve. I don't like Miles, but I don't want him to be eaten!"

"No, no, no more monsters," Steve assures you. "They can't come through there anymore."

You still. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Steve leans in and pulls the seat belt over you.

"Comfy?" he asks.

"I like you so much, Steve Harrington."

It's too dark to tell, but you suspect he's got another case of sunstroke.

"I, um, like you too, Buttercup. You're really cool."

"Me?" You wave your hand. "No."

"Really," he insists. "You are. The coolest."

If you were Debbie, if you weren't weird in the wrong way, if you didn't go to parties to talk, and if you fit a million other criteria you never will, Steve would kiss you right now. Or maybe you'd kiss him.

But you don't know how to go about that. You don't think it's your right to do such a thing.

So Steve shuts the door and walks around to the driver's seat. You stare at your flower bandaid.

"Four three's," Steve says as he turns the ignition.

You turn your head. "Hmm?"

"The house number. Four three's. That's gotta be, like, astronomically bad luck, right?"

"Without a doubt."

Except you're here with Steve Harrington, and he calls you honey and thinks you're cool. And that doesn't seem like bad luck at all.

"I'm going to a barbecue," you call out.

There's no reply. You close the door behind you.

Joan sits in your pocket. You've tied a purple ribbon around her head, right above her googly eyes. You don't know what the dress code is for a barbecue, but you hope she's not underdressed.

You haven’t spoken to Steve since Miles’ party. You’re not sure what you should say, and you can’t bear the thought of calling him to hear silence.

Even if he doesn’t like you the way you like him, you hope he’ll still be friends with you. Steve and his kids have grown on you. You don’t know if you can go back to who you were before the hottest day of May.

“Material Girl” plays from inside Steve's backyard. You mouth the words as you fling your flip flops over the gate.

"What the fuck?" someone says from the other side.

You climb the gate and shimmy down. It's a good thing you're wearing shorts under your dress.

A boy, lanky and tall but probably Lucas's age, holds one of your flip flops. He stares at you and shakes the shoe.

"Is this yours?"

"Both of them are," you say. "Does Steve like Madonna?"

He grimaces. "Unfortunately."

"Cool."

You spot Steve sitting on one of the deck chairs with Robin and a boy your age with big, curly hair and a Led Zeppelin shirt with cropped sleeves.

"Venus" plays next and you wobble in time with the music as you walk over to Steve.

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes," you whisper. The pavement is warm under your toes.

"Making every man mad."

Steve turns just as you reach him. He stands so fast he shakes the chair.

"Hey!" he says. He sounds out of breath again. "Hey, you came."

"You invited me," you say.

"Yeah, yes." Steve nods. "I did. I'm glad you're here."

"You play good music."

"Ha!" Steve whips his head to look at the curly haired boy. "Suck it, Munson."

"She's obviously biased."

"Munson," you say. "Eddie Munson?"

Eddie freezes under your gaze. Robin and Steve glance at you.

"Yeah, uh, that's me." Eddie smiles weakly. "Look, you might've heard some stuff abou—"

"You helped fight the monsters," you interrupt. "You're very brave."

Eddie's eyes widen. "I—"

"Most people just like to ignore monsters. It takes a really good person to fight them." You turn to Steve. "Do you have orange Fanta?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll get you a can. Feel free to sit… where are your shoes?"

You point behind you. "Your bodyguard had to screen them after I climbed your gate. You have very tight security."

"After you climbed my… wait, Mike? God, I’m sorry about him. I'll get your shoes back."

"It's okay. Flip flops are dangerous weapons. It's only a matter of time before the airport bans them."

Steve tilts his head, eyes warm. "Right. I'll be back. That's Eddie and Robin… you know them."

"I know their names, and that's about all you can know about anybody."

Eddie giggles. You look at him. He doesn't seem to be laughing at you, so you sit where Steve was sitting, across from Eddie's chair. You point at his shirt.

"I like Kashmir."

"Thank God! Somebody with decent tastes."

"I'll listen to anything," you say. "It's important to be a good listener."

Eddie grins. "Words of the wise."

"Where's Joan?" Robin asks.

"Right here." You take Joan out of your pocket and set her down on the edge of the pool chair.

"Sick," Eddie says.

You nod. "The ribbon was my pick."

"I like it," Robin says.

"Thank you."

Steve returns with an orange Fanta for you and a root beer for Robin.

Robin points to Joan. "Steve, this is the famous Joan we've heard so much about."

"That's a rock," says Steve.

"Yep."

"Oh." He nods in understanding. "Joan is your pet rock?"

"Confidante," you correct. "’Pet’ is demeaning."

"Got it. And was Joan's sister also your confidante?"

"No. Joan's sister didn't like me much. She thought I was a bad influence on Joan. But we shouldn't talk about it now. Joan gets very sad when I bring it up."

You open your can. The carbonation hisses. It's itchy and sweet on your tongue.

"I like your hair," you say. "It's fluffy. Like it was on the hottest day of May."

Steve pushes a couple strands behind his ear.

"Thanks. The gel is too much on hot days like these. Weighs me down."

"At least you won't float away." You look at Eddie. "Is your hair full of secrets too?"

Eddie ruffles his hair. "Not as many as Steve's, but I've got a couple in here. 'S what gives my curls volume."

"Hm. Just as I suspected," you say.

"Ste-eve!" Dustin whines from across the yard. "You promised burgers!"

Steve rolls his eyes. "You'd think he's never been fed in his life."

Eddie pats his shoulder. "You've got this, Harrington."

"Oh, no. You wanna eat, you've gotta earn your keep. Come on."

Eddie groans, flinging himself off the chair. "Save me, Buckley!"

"Already did that," she says, pulling her sunglasses onto her eyes. "Never again."

"You should tie up your hair so it doesn't catch fire," you suggest.

"Well, at least somebody cares about me," Eddie declares, pulling his hair into a ponytail.

Steve turns to you and smiles softly.

"Are you hungry? You can have the first pick of the burgers."

"Won't Dustin be annoyed?"

Steve shrugs. "Kid could use some manners. Besides, pretty girls always get the first pick. It's the law."

You follow Steve and Eddie to the grill, pretty girl echoing in your brain the whole time.

Eddie's hair doesn't catch on fire and Steve makes you a perfect burger. The sun sparkles on the pool surface. The kids come out to eat and, predictably, Dustin complains about not getting the first burger.

"Not fair. Just 'cause she's your girlfriend," he mumbles as he goes off to search for the mustard.

You check to see if Steve had heard the comment. He doesn't seem to have; you can't decide if you're relieved or not.

The chairs are all taken by the time you finish fixing up your burger. Steve stands immediately as you approach.

“Here, take my seat,” he says.

“We can share,” you offer.

Steve lets you take the back of the chair, settling at the foot. “You Make My Dreams Come True” plays on the speakers.

“Whoever made this mixtape is a genius,” you announce.

“You like it?” says Steve. “I actually made this one. Robin and Eddie think my taste sucks, but—”

“It’s spectacular.”

He hums, ducking his head shyly. “Well, speaking of spectacular: I made more lemonade, if you want to test it before I unleash it upon the masses.”

“I’ll happily drink your lemonade,” you say. “It’ll build my iocane tolerance.”

Steve grins. “I rented The Princess Bride, by the way. I know you meant to get it a few weeks ago. We can watch it tonight, if you want.”

“You remembered I wanted to watch it,” you say.

He nods. “Well, uh, yeah. Do you still want to? If you don’t, I can—”

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve stands, hand outstretched so you’ll give him your empty plate. “I’m going inside. Anybody want anything?”

“Doritos!” Robin shouts.

“Napkins, please,” El says.

“Cherry Coke!” Mike calls.

“Beer!” Eddie whoops.

“Doritos, napkins, got it. The cooler is right there, Wheeler, and are you kidding, Eddie? No drinking by the pool. Have we not learned our lesson from the last four years?”

“Bold of you to assume I’ve learned anything, Steven.”

“Can you bring us popsicles?” Max asks. “Lemon and grape.”

“Ooh, popsicles sound good,” says Robin. “Bring me one too. Fruit punch.”

Steve sighs, lifting his arms.

“Two hands, guys. Only got two.”

“I can help,” you offer.

“Now that’s a great idea,” Robin says. “The two of you in the kitchen, alone. Really brilliant, don’t you think, Steve?”

Steve glares at her. Then he turns to you, expression softening.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

You follow him into the kitchen. It looks exactly like the last time you were here, except for the food. Steve opens the freezer and digs through the box of popsicles. Then he takes the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and sets it on the counter.

“Can you get the Doritos?” he asks. “They’re up there.”

You open a shelf over the stove. The chips are at the very top. You try jumping; all that does is bang your ribs into the counter.

"Whoa, whoa.”

Steve’s hand rests on your back. Your stomach swoops.

"Easy, Buttercup. I’ll get it, sorry ‘bout that."

You frown. "The Doritos have eluded me."

"They’re a tricky bunch," he says, reaching and successfully grabbing the chips.

"I knew you’d best me and succeed."

"Best you?"

"Yes," you say. "Like in a duel."

Steve tilts his head, a tiny crinkle forming in the center of his brows.

"Are we going to duel? Like Inigo and Westley?"

"Not if I can help it," you say. "I'm terrible with a sword."

"I would never try to sword fight you."

"I appreciate that."

His hand slips from your back. You watch it fall to his side.

“Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want,” Steve says as he takes a glass out of the cupboard. “You can also take food home.”

You exhale through your nose and wiggle your fingers a little, trying to stave off the nerves. You wish Joan was in your pocket right now, but you left her on the deck chair.

“Buttercup?”

You look up. Steve has a glass of lemonade in one hand. The top button of his polo shirt is undone. Was it always undone? You can’t remember.

Anyway, he’s beautiful. And you’re so damn strange.

“Yes, Westley?”

Steve smiles. You don’t think anyone has ever smiled at you as much as Steve does.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

He puts the glass in front of you. You glance at it, then back at him.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I won’t force you to drink my crappy lemonade if you don’t want to, y’know.”

“You called me strange,” you blurt. “When we first met.”

Steve’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says softly. “But I won’t call you that anymore if you don’t like it.”

“No, I–I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. But…”

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not like Debbie,” you say.

“I know.”

“I’ll probably never be like Debbie.”

“I much prefer you as yourself,” he says.

“Oh.”

You sip your lemonade. Your lips pucker but you smile all the same.

“Damn,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I really can’t nail that lemonade, huh?”

“It’s wonderful,” you whisper.

He takes a step forward. You set the glass on the counter.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I would very much like that.”

Steve’s lips are slightly chapped. You taste like lemonade and he tastes like Coke and God, you like it so much.

You loop your arms around his neck like you’ve wanted to do for weeks. He returns in kind, both hands slipping to your waist.

It’s not just a boy kissing you. It’s Steve.

The sliding glass door whooshes open and you jerk your head back in surprise. Max and Dustin trod in.

Dustin shrieks.

“Seriously? This is what was taking you so long?”

“If you were gonna do that, we would’ve gotten the popsicles ourselves,” Max says with a huff, grabbing the popsicles and chips from the counter.

“Told ya they were making out!” comes Eddie’s voice from outside. “I warned you, kiddies!”

They clear out, with one last stink eye from Dustin. Steve shakes his head, nose pressed to your cheek.

“Again, very sorry about them.”

“They wanted to check in on their favorite babysitter,” you say.

Steve lifts his head and rolls his eyes. “I need a padlock or something.”

You hum and lean over to unwrap a popsicle.

“Oh,” you say. “Three left.”

“Three popsicles?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, that explains it. Astronomical bad luck, right?”

“Actually,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. “I think my theory was wrong.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things

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https-florals · 1 year

Note

Hi! Your request are silly open right? If so would you mind writing something along the lines of JJ and the reader have been dating for a bit and JJ keeps like complimenting or praising the reader and the reader can’t help but blush/get turned on and JJ notices she has a praise kink so he teases her with it a little more, especially if n front of their friends until he finally used it like in bed with her?

sweet talk - j.m.

word count: 2.5k

summary: jj finds out a very valuable piece of information about you.

warnings: SMUTTT under the cut, 18+!! lotta praise, slight dumbification but just a tiny bit, jj being sexy per usual, public fooling around kinda but not really, not canon because i like to pretend the chateau is still with us LMAO

a/n: okay obviously i became OBSESSED with this idea when i first read this ask!! started as a little blurb but grew to this monstrosity lol. thank you for the ask!!! i love you all so so much 🫶🏻

Even though you and JJ have been together for about a month, you’re still pretty shy. You’re still shy in public, shy when he kisses you, even more shy in bed. Your boyfriend would give you the world if he could, do anything to get inside that pretty little head of yours and see what you’re thinking. You’re becoming a little more relaxed around his friends, which he’s grateful for.

Tonight, everyone is sitting around the fire pit outside the Cháteau. It's a pretty summer night, with fireflies darting around and stars peeking through the clouds.

You’re perched on J’s lap, John B and Sarah in a similar position next to you. Kie and Cleo are doing a shotgunning contest, and Pope is actually chill for once, a blunt in his hand.

You’re roasting a marshmallow over the fire, laughing with Sarah about a new sitcom episode, when JJ taps your arm.

“Will you make me a s’more?” he sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, and you roll your eyes.

“Can’t you make yourself one?” you tease, but still slide a graham cracker out of the box and a mini hershey’s.

“Tastes better when you make it, though.” He’s not wrong, you make a mean s’more. When you go to hand it to him, he just opens his mouth.

Your eyebrows shoot up and your jaw drops, but your lips still curl into a smile. “Fine.” You adjust so you’re facing him a bit better, and hold the s’more as he takes a bite. JJ’s blues don’t leave yours as he takes a bite, and you kick yourself mentally as he groans out of satisfaction. This shouldn’t be this attractive, after all, it’s a s’more. That's like, the least sexy food ever, you tell yourself. Now a slice of juicy watermelon, you could get behind. But right now, you’re just being ridiculous.

You’re snapped back to reality when he swallows and exhales, hand squeezing your thigh. “Atta girl. Was a damn good s’more.”

Your cheeks go fire hot.

“Dear god, this is not the place for foreplay!” John B groans.

You clap your hand over the lower half of your face as Sarah starts to laugh.

JJ throws a beer can at him. “Man, Sarah's been grinding on you for the past half hour and I haven't said shit. Are you not in like, massive amounts of pain?”

It's John B's turn to blush, and he looks down at the ground quickly when Sarah snorts, pressing her lips together in an effort not to laugh.

“Are we being too…” you’re struggling to think of the word as you whisper to your boyfriend- “Pda-ish?” Surely not, because he had a point about John B and Sarah. They’re all over each other all the time, and you should be able to do the same.

“No, no!” JJ’s eyes are wide as if you told him that you were thinking about shaving your eyebrows off. “You’re doing perfect, baby.” His hands rub up the sides of your arms, and you smile, all bashful.

Butterflies fill your stomach at the way he’s looking at you.

“Absolutely perfect,” he repeats, and before you even realize it you’re subconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

As soon as you do it, you hope he doesn’t notice, but his lips curl into a little smirk after the realization hits.

You hop up quickly, and wipe your sticky marshmallow fingers on your shorts. “I'm gonna go get a blanket! I’m a little chilly!” you chirp, and nearly sprint into the house.

Gears are turning in JJ's head. He’s chuckling as he sips his beer, so much to the point that Sarah gives him a weird look.

“What are you cracking up about?” she asks, watching the blond boy grin and shake his head.

“I just learned something very interesting about my girlfriend, Sarah.”

You come out of the house a few minutes later, and Kie has pulled out her ukulele. They’re all singing along to the Bob Marley song she’s playing, and JJ pats his thigh, an invitation for you to come back and sit on his lap. Tentatively, you take your spot, draping the blanket over the both of you. Under the fabric, your fingers shift over the frayed hem of JJ’s cargo shorts. His callused hand curls around yours, and he threads your fingers together.

You relax at his touch, and start to sing along with the rest of your friends. JJ lightly pulls on one of thin braids scattered through your messy hair, each one with a different colored thread running through it- courtesy of Kiara and Sarah. It’s nothing you’re not used to, and you turn your head a bit more toward him and frown. “What?”

“You just sound so pretty.” His voice is low, and it rumbles in your eardrum like thunder. You just know your cheeks are going pink again, and you try to fight the rising need you feel.

“My sweet, pretty girl.”

That’s it. You probably look like a tomato. You chew your bottom lip as you smile, and suppress the urge to kiss him right then and there.

JJ grins, and that’s when it hits you that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Damn, why are you all red?” Kie laughs as she hits a chord on her uke, and naturally everyone turns to look at you.

“JJ, what are you saying to that poor girl?” Sarah fake pouts and shakes her head at him like she’s scolding a puppy.

You cover your mouth, flushing even more with embarrassment.

“We’ve been goin’ on a little journey of self-discovery over here,” he answers, face all smug as his hand shifts to the top of your thigh under the blanket. His thumb just skims over the crotch of your shorts, so thin that you just know he can feel through them. Feel how wet you’re getting.

Your guess is spot on, cause his eyes widen and he does that thing where he sticks his tongue in his cheek and laughs. “Finding new things out about each other,” he continues, not breaking eyecontact with you.

“Is that a fancy way to say harassing her?” Cleo pipes in, snorting before she says, “You’re a bad, bad man, Maybank.”

He shrugs, all cocky.

Luckily, conversation carries away from the two of you, but his hand is still against your pussy. Thank God for that damn blanket. His fingers are idly running over the fabric, and it’s driving you insane.

“We need to go,” you whisper to him, uncomfortable with the burning between your thighs.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Do we?” You’re usually not the one dragging him away from social functions- that’s more JJ’s style.

You nod fervently, rocking back and forth on his thigh and trying to make it unnoticeable.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you know it’s rude to demand things,” he says back to you lowly, and you’re silently rejoicing that no one is paying attention to the two of you.

You swallow, and take a deep breath. “Please, JJ, can we leave?”

“There you go,” he sighs, and he helps push you up off him.

After a shit ton of teasing from the Pogues, you’re finally able to slip away. You’re barely through the door of your apartment when JJ jumps you, kissing you hard and running his hands up and down your sides, over your ass, and coming to rest just under the waistband of your shorts.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a praise kink?” he asks point-blank, against your lips as you’re fumbling with his belt.

“I don’t,” you gasp out, finally pulling it through the loops and throwing it down.

“Bullshit, baby.” JJ finally gets your shorts down, and his hand just ghosts over your underwear. “Tell me the truth.”

“Fuck, J,” you whine, pushing his shorts down and trying to shove your hand down his underwear, but he jumps back, leaving you devoid of his touch.

You huff like a child preparing to throw a tantrum.

“C’mon. Tell the truth.”

“I didn’t know I had one, JJ,” you cry, just wanting to feel him. You swallow, and follow up with, “Not until you.”

You can basically see his head get bigger as he grins, and finally puts his hands back on you. “All I wanted to know, sweet thing,” he laughs before he kisses you again, tongue slipping between your teeth. He tastes like beer and a little bit of marshmallow, and he smells like bonfire smoke.

He pulls away from you just long enough for you to both throw off your shirts, and then he’s picking you up and carrying you into your bedroom. JJ sets you on the bed all gentle, a startling contrast to the way he’s kissing you and touching you, the way he yanks your panties off and slides a finger between your folds. “Fucking finally,” he groans, nudging himself inbetween your legs. “Wider.”

You fall open for him, and he braces your hip with one hand. “Atta girl,” he says, and he slides two fingers in, slow and steady as he leans over you to trail kisses down your neck. You grind against his palm as he sucks a spot on your neck, your back arching and hips bucking. You watch his hand slide into his boxers, watch the movement of his hand slide over his cock.

JJ notices how enraptured you are, and he removes his fingers from you, a little shocked when you don’t make much of a fuss. “You wanna do something for me, pretty?”

That’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, thighs pressed together as he pulls his dick out, and you’re absolutely bewitched. You sit back on your heels and look up at JJ, a perfect little picture of innocence with your eyes all wide… and then you open your mouth.

It’s fucking pornographic. There’s no way in hell you’re real, JJ thinks, as he curls your hair around his hand and thrusts into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him, and his head falls back. “Good fucking girl.”

He also doesn’t think you’ve ever been this bold for him. But holy shit, he’s not complaining, especially when you gag around the tip of his cock. Your mascara is smudging beneath your eyes, lips swollen and looking so pretty wrapped around him.

You’re squirming, and JJ can feel the vibration of all the little sounds you’re making as you suck him off.

“Go on and touch yourself,” he gasps out as he hits the back of your throat.

However, as soon as you moan around him, JJ knows he won’t last long, and he wants too badly to come inside you to let himself get any closer. He’s pulling out quick, ignoring your cries as he pulls you up and pushes you onto the mattress.

On your knees, you fall facefirst into your pillow. JJ smacks your ass once, and is then manhandling you into another position, like he can’t make up his mind. He spots the mirror propped against the wall in your room, and pushes you back on all fours. When you look up, you can see him behind you. You watch as he pushes into you, watch the way his eyes screw shut in concentration, the way his blonde hair sticks to his forehead.

Wriggling, you moan out his name and whine as he sets a steady pace, slow, almost too slow. “JJ…”

“What?”

When you just whimper in response, he shakes his head and stills inside you. “C’mon, darlin’, use your words,” he chides, hands smoothing over your hip.

“Go harder, please,” you’re begging, pushing yourself against him.

“There ya go,” he grunts, speeding up, pushing into you hard and deep. He smacks your ass, once, twice, relishing in the little cry you let out each time. He pulls you up against him, chest to your back, hand against your throat as he makes sure you’re looking in the mirror. Makes sure you’re watching him slide in and out of you. “Look at how good you’re taking me,” he groans, hand moving to your clit when he’s sure you won’t look away. “Go on, keep looking for me. Look at how pretty you look, babydoll. All fucked out, and your mascara is even running,” He laughs, and you clench around him at the sound, the burning in your lower stomach becoming almost unbearable. You shake your head, unable to get any words but JJ knows what you need.

He lets you back down slow, propped up on your elbows as he rams into you. You just know you’re gonna have bruising on your cervix, but that's a problem for later.

His fingers circle your clit purposed and quick, and you feel like you’re about to tip over the edge. The way he shudders inside you lets you know he’s not too far behind you.

“J, S’close. M’gonna-”

“Hold it,” he says, tone a little mean as he picks up his pace. He wants to fall apart with you.

Just when you think you can’t hold on anymore, can’t reign it in, he twitches hard. “Now, baby. Come on, all over my cock, pretty-” He cuts himself off by his own moan, spewing into you as your cunt spasms around him. “Good girl,” he repeats as he fucks you through both of your orgasms, over and over. “My good fucking girl.”

JJ is still murmuring it when he collapses next to you, kissing your forehead. “So perfect for me,” he says all soft with a smile and another kiss to your temple, a complete contrast to the low growl in his voice moments before. “Gonna clean you up real good,” he chirps before hopping off the bed and into the bathroom. You giggle as you watch him walk away, forever finding your boyfriend’s bare ass a little funny.

JJ comes back with a damp, warm towel and two glasses of sweet tea, and he gives one to you after he helps you move and sit back against the headboard. He pulls the old sex wax tshirt out of his drawer and puts it on you, then nestles himself between your legs to clean you up. You wince as he swipes the towel over your pussy, and he shushes you and puts a hand on the back of your calf, soft and comforting. “Did so good for me, honey,” he says again, kissing your forehead for what seems the hundredth time, and pulls the covers up over you both.

When you curl into him, tiredness hits you like a truck, and it seems to do the same for him as he yawns, and leans over to turn off the lamp.

“JJ?” you ask, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“So maybe you’re right. About me having a praise kink.”

He laughs, and pulls you a bit closer to him. “Yeah, no shit!”

You frown. “What? Was it that bad?”

“Damn, baby, if I woulda known you’d act like that if I talked all sweet to you, I woulda done it a long, long time ago.”

thank you for reading!! likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #obx #obx jj #jj obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks imagine #obx x reader

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yurinaa-world · 2 months

Note

Hii! so today is white day and I was wondering if I could get Sunday and jing yuan headcanons with their partner on white day.

thank you and have a great day/night 💞

Characters: Sunday & Jing Yuan x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: spending white day together

Warnings: Fluff, spelling mistakes,

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎

He's a romantic man as well. Only want to do the best for you on this very special day. Showing up at your home with the fresh flowers that have been picked from the ground this very morning once you’ve taken the flowers, he just places a feather light on your hand almost as if it’s delicate like glass.

After that, you just spend some time together, but not until you see an event that piques both of your interests. Just some random event hosted for lovers to have a good time yet the big thing they advertised was a simple classical dance.

It's a pretty basic thing ever and not the first to be done but if you just wanna go for the fun of it, it wouldn’t hurt to dance and have some fun right?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“A dance, my dear.” Sunday holds his hand out for you to take, a charming smile on his face. His eyes twinkle at you, and your heart races in response. You give him a timid smile as he takes your hand in his his other hand going to your waist, with yours going onto his shoulder.

Slow dancing with each other, the gentle sway of your bodies as well as the melody that fills the air around you both is almost hypnotic.

Your cheeks tingle from his sweet touch, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest. Your mind wanders off as you enjoy the moment. Before he spins you around, mimicking the bright smile you have on your face "I'm so grateful to have you." You whisper, and you begin to blush. His eyes light up with adoration as they look into yours.

Your heart does flips as he looks at you with such loving affection in his eyes. He leans in closer and his lips brush over your cheek. The feeling of his breath against your skin causes your stomach to turn. he smiles at your reaction.

“Me? I am lucky enough to have you look my way.” his soft voice sends shivers down your spine. You feel yourself blush more as he kisses you the lips softly, before leaning back once more.

"I'll still love you no matter how much time passes between us."

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

He’s so romantic about it, even taking a day off (skipping out) from work, just so could plan out the entire day with you and have some fun together.

He planned everything out for you, his day off, going to the flower shop and the owner giving you such beautiful flowers since it's a special day, or how the owner of the chocolate store just randomly gives you the most expensive chocolate box saying “It's a romantic day, you deserve to be happy.” Everyone been saying that all day?

But the gifts don’t stop, jing yuan himself gives you something so special, a ring that is made of gold, making your heart jump. It looks so expensive. He didn’t have to! But you can’t take it back now or else he’ll get pouty with you, along with the excuse that “It’s a special day to show love and you must accept it.”

Last but not least, watching fireworks together since every year the designs that fireworks make in the sky, makes you wish the day would never end.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bursts of colour paint the night sky, each explosion accompanied by a symphony of crackles and booms. The vibrating colours mix to a spectacle of an image in the sky.

You wanted this day to never day. you could see the smile on Jing Yuan's face but it was directed towards the beautiful fireworks at you. He looked at you with that look that always made your heart race, like a thousand fireflies flying around.

“Aren’t you going to even look at the fireworks?” You can’t help but ask, ah..is there something on your face or something? Is that why he’s staring so much? “Want a better look?” he smiles —to your shock—picking you up from your feet as if you weighed nothing.

Jing Yuan’s strong grip on your waist with your legs automatically wraps themselves around his waist. the bright gold firework went off, illuminating his face—he looked so happy— you couldn’t help but give him some of your love–even if it’s just a fraction, he’ll still enjoy it–just leaning in and kissing him on the lips whilst your arms tightly wrapped themselves around his neck.

Just because the fireworks end doesn’t mean you have to.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #star rail #star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday x you

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mermaidgirl30 · 8 hours

Text

✨Coffee Shop Date✨

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 1 Part 2

A/N: They are so soft together, I can’t stand it 😭🥰 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading and screaming about them with me 🩷 Enjoy, lovelies!

Chapter Summary: Joel takes you on a coffee date. The first official date after falling apart and finding each other again years later.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: Joel takes you on a cute coffee date, flirting, pining, so much flirting, slight angst, making up, talking about feelings and the past, falling in love, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics and @firefly-graphics

Joel stands in the fluorescent lights of his bathroom mirror, smoothing the gel with his thick fingers as he nervously taps his foot against the simple white tile. He can’t stop thinking about the moment he laid eyes on you at the lake, the sun rays making you look like an absolute angel as your smile glowed brightly all around him.

His breath hitched and his heart pounded wildly against his broad chest as you slowly appeared in front of him, standing just inches from his fingertips, enough to reach out and brush against your delicate skin. He knew the moment he saw you again that it was fate, destiny. His lost, wilting rose petal was now blossoming and colorful, and that made him sigh and draw a lazy smile on the edges of his mouth. He found you again, and this time he wouldn’t let you go. Not ever.

He lets out a long sigh and heads for the door, grabbing the keys to his Chevy as he feels the nerves starting to shake through his entire body. He needs to calm down, but he can’t because he’s picking you up. The first official date again since the breakup that happened so long ago. He wouldn’t fuck it up this time, he just wouldn’t.

By the time he pulls up to the front of your quaint little house and scuffs his leather boots against the wooden porch, he’s nervous as hell. Sweat pools down underneath the collar of his green button-up flannel, and his mouth feels like dried up sandpaper.

Before he knocks on your white painted door, he glances to his left and stops dead in his tracks. He sees the bright red blooms of vivid roses glowing like glitter in the midafternoon Texas sun rays. He sees you in them, your perfect blossoms blooming like they’d never been wilted or withered before.

A warm smile beams on his curled up lips as he basks in the presence of your lush rose garden. He always knew you’d bloom again.

He softly knocks three times on your door, nervously shifting his weight on the balls of his feet until he sees the silhouette of your shadow behind the half drawn blinds. When you open the door his breath gets caught in his throat and his eyes grow wide, his thick fingers curling against the pockets of his denim jeans. He thinks you look like the prettiest flower he’s ever laid eyes on.

You stand there blushing, the crimson of your cheeks blending in with the glossy pink lip gloss that’s painted across your full lips. Your eyes are dazzling, glittering diamonds that nearly knock him down to his knees. Your violet colored summer dress grazes the tops of your thighs, and your tan skin glows as bright as your gorgeous, flashy smile.

He’s almost lost for words watching you smile bashfully up at him, just like you did the first time you met him at Lowe’s in the flower department. You always were a shy thing, but sweet as cherry pie. His favorite girl.

“Hi,” you say quietly, blinking up at him with the flutter of your long eyelashes as your painted nails dig into the fabric of your soft dress.

“Hi, sweetheart. You look very… pretty,” he smiles warmly down at you as he watches you giggle.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, beautiful,” he breathes.

You blush even more, twisting your hips slightly as the fabric of your skirt blows gently in the breeze. He could get used to seeing this, seeing you all dolled up and eagerly waiting to be picked up for a date with him. He missed this, missed you.

“You ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Alright then. Coffee’s waitin’,” he laughs as he leads you to the passenger door, his hand resting on the small of your back as he opens the door and helps you inside, gently closing it as he makes his way to the driver's seat.

Once he’s buckled up and has the engine running he nods your way and puts the truck in drive, nervously running his thick fingers over the steering wheel before he drives off into the busy streets of Austin. He was more than ready for this date, ready to have you again.

It feels so weird to be in his truck again. In the passenger seat smelling his woodsy cologne, listening to his soft rock music playing over the speakers, watching him grip the leather steering wheel tightly with one hand as his other hovers outside the rolled down window. It feels… nice, like this is where you were meant to be. Back with Joel.

You watch his greying curls blow in the wind, fixate on his honey flecked eyes that flicker over to you every few seconds with a big crooked grin on his face. He looks so different yet somehow the same as you remember. He seems warmer, kinder, more receptive. And maybe time does change all things, but not the way you feel about him.

Before you know it, he’s pulling up to Houndstooth Coffee, your favorite coffee shop in Austin. When you make your way out of the truck and into the coffee shop, the atmosphere is buzzing with soft music playing over the speakers. Potted plants dangle in the large glass windows, sturdy stained tables sit lined against the open room, nature paintings hang neatly across every corner of the tan walls. You always liked the vibes in here. It’s quiet, relaxing, a great place to come and unwind. What made it even better was this was Joel’s favorite coffee shop, too.

“You wanna go grab a table, and I can go get us some coffee?” he asks as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Perfect. And let me guess, still a caramel macchiato kinda girl? Extra sugar, heavy on the cream?” He winks at you, and you feel the heat warm your cheeks as you smile up at him.

“Still remember my favorite drink, huh?” you ask curiously as you cross your arms over your summer dress.

“‘Course I do. Don’t know anyone else that has as big of a sweet tooth as you do, darlin’. Kinda hard to forget.”

You push him playfully in the shoulder, and he barely moves an inch. “Yeah, says the guy that drinks his coffee black,” you tease. “You won’t even try mine.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at you, his slicked back curls bouncing against the gel. “It’s too sweet for me, and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Guess so,” you say with a small huff and the pop of your hip.

“Hey,” he says as he steps forward and cups your chin, slowly releasing his fingers as he speaks low. “I don’t need sweetener. I’ve got you here, and you’re sweeter than any of them. My little shot of espresso filled with sugar.”

Your jaw drops open, eyelashes batting up at him as your cheeks burn bright red. He’s going to paint you completely crimson if he’s not careful, but you’ll allow it. You had a lot of lost time to make up for, and he could flirt with you as much as he wanted to.

You nod your head to the short line in front of the cash register, and he smiles back at you. “Be back in a minute.”

You find a quiet place in the far corner, a little booth that has potted pink tulips and a smooth wooden table top. You watch him order the coffees, giving the worker his name and debit card before he patiently waits to the side for the coffees to be made.

He flicks his eyes over at you every few seconds, a small crooked smile spread wide across his mouth. You have to look away to stop the butterflies flitting through your stomach. You can’t believe you’re here again with Joel, your past flame, but this time feels different. A good different.

When they finally get finished making your drinks, Joel comes over to the booth and sits opposite you. He gives a small grunt when he sits and hands you your iced coffee. “Here ya go, darlin’. One caramel macchiato for the pretty lady.”

You giggle and reach for the clear cup full of sugary goodness. “Thanks, Joel,” you smile. When you grab the cup your fingers brush against his, and there’s a moment where sparks shoot through your fingertips, swirling feelings that were always buried deep inside your body.

He smiles nervously at you, running a hand straight back through his tousled curls. His honey eyes shine against the sunlight that’s beaming through the glass window, and you can’t stop the blushing that’s permanent on your cheeks when you’re around him.

Joel takes a sip of his coffee, keeping those soft eyes on you as you take a sip of yours. Your dress suddenly feels too tight, and the insides of your thighs feel sticky and warm from nerves. Maybe the iced coffee will help cool you off, but you doubt it will. Of course it won’t because Joel Miller is sitting across from you, looking extremely handsome in his flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He always was a flannel guy, and that’s why you own so many flannels. Because they remind you of him.

You casually sip from your coffee, curling your fingertips over your violet material, trying to calm yourself down from being in the presence of Joel. He still had you just as frazzled as when you locked eyes with him at the lake. You really were still crazy about him.

“It’s kinda crazy bein’ back here with you. It feels…”

“Right,” you finish for him.

He chuckles, nodding his head as he takes another sip from the black coffee. “Yeah, it does feel right.”

You tap your thumb nervously on the plastic coffee cup and take a breath before you dive into any personal matters. “How’s Sarah doing?”

“She’s good, really good. She just graduated this spring. Took a job at the heart hospital in Austin,” he says proudly, his brown eyes glistening with fondness.

“So she did go with nursing school after all. Joel, you must be so proud!” you squeak excitedly.

He smiles and nods his head, the look of admiration filling his face. “That I am. Can’t believe my baby girl is all grown up. Gonna miss her,” he sighs with sadness ghosting over his doe eyes.

“Hey, she’s always going to be your little girl. Don’t forget that. And she chose to stay in Austin? That’s so great, Joel. See, she didn’t leave after all. I knew she wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you knew she wouldn’t?” he asks with one eyebrow raised high, making the wrinkles across his forehead crease into fine lines.

“I had my suspicions she’d stay,” you wink. He shakes his head and stares at you for just a second, assessing your soft features before continuing.

“So, what about you? Are you still at the same company you were? That one corporate job you were at.”

You shake your head slowly, playing absentmindedly with the straw that you bend back and forth. “No. Actually, I work for the city now.”

“Oh?” he asks all intrigued and interested. “Doin’ what?”

“I’m working for an environmental engineering company that operates off the lakes in Texas. I’m helping them keep track of the bluegill and catfish populations. You know, helping both the water quality and fish populations,” you say fondly.

He stares at you wide-eyed, a big smile curling over the edges of his lips. “Well I’ll be damned. That’s what you always wanted to do. You did it, you actually did it.”

You laugh and push your hair behind your shoulder. “Yeah, finally. I love it so much, you have no idea how much happier I am there.”

He chuckles and rests a hand on the table, looking at you with big brown eyes adoringly. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. I always believed in you. I knew that one day you’d get it. They’re so lucky to have you.”

Your eyes fog over with held back tears while you grip tightly to your cold iced coffee. He told you he’s proud of you. Joel is proud of you. That sentence alone makes you weak in the knees. Joel was always so supportive, and that’s one thing you adored about him.

“You’re… proud of me?” you ask breathlessly.

“Mhm. So proud,” he purrs.

He holds your gaze while tension buzzes around the room. There’s no other customers at the moment, no clattering coffee makers echoing around the room, there’s just silence. There’s only you and Joel. Two bodies locked in a heated stare, chests rising and falling in sync, and nervous breaths sharing the same little area.

The intense moment breaks when you nervously push a lock of hair behind your ear and thank him for the kind words. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” you ask, flitting your eyes back up to his.

“Oh, the usual. Me and Tommy started up a new contracting gig. Been busy runnin’ the company and sometimes workin’ on custom pieces.”

“You still like to build things?”

“‘Course, darlin’. Actually, I started buildin’ custom guitars a while ago. Been keepin’ me busy, but I really enjoy it,” he says with a deep chuckle reverberating off his chest.

“Guitars, huh? You always did love playing. Bet they’re beautiful,” you gush, leaning your elbow on the wooden table with your chin resting on your knuckles, looking dreamily at the man with honey glazed eyes.

“Maybe I could show you them sometime? Think you’ll love ‘em. Might have one with your name on it.” Hope fills his voice, and his eyes light up with sparks burning like amber coals.

Did he make you a custom guitar? No. He wouldn’t have. But maybe…. Oh, he did.

“I’d love to,” you smile, watching the light shine brightly through his beautiful brown eyes.

“Okay then, it’s a date,” he beams.

The tinge of crimson is back on your cheeks, and your face physically hurts from smiling so much in one sitting. This is where you were supposed to end up again. Back at your favorite coffee shop with your favorite person who introduced you to this place.

After a few seconds of silent stares and warm smiles, Joel’s face grows serious as his brows knit tightly together. “Listen, I need to apologize.”

“Joel,” you say harshly, trying to stop him from what he’s about to say.

“No, jus’ hear me out. I’m so fuckin’ sorry for how things ended. I didn’t mean… I wish I could’ve jus’…”

You hold out a hand to stop him. “No, Joel. Don’t put the blame on yourself. It’s not your fault. It’s…”

“Please,” he pleads, looking at you with glistening eyes that beg for you to listen. Just looking at them alone makes you want to crawl across the table and sink all your weight into him. “I need to get this out. Please, jus’ let me do this,” he begs.

“Okay,” you whisper, clutching the edge of your soft dress as you wait with bated breath.

“I made some very poor choices over the years. I was selfish, wreckless, so fuckin’ stupid. I didn’t mean to put all my problems on you. That wasn’t fair to you. And all those stupid fights that meant absolutely nothin’ were my fault.”

You catch his wrist and curl your fingers around his tanned skin, looking up at him with furrowed brows and parted lips. “Don’t you dare put all the blame on yourself. It was both of our faults. I was in a toxic job, and I brought that stress home to you so many times. I blew up in your face night after night from all that weight I was keeping on my shoulders. It was me who started half the fights. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve left that job long ago when it was affecting our relationship.”

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head at you. “No, sweetheart. Don’t even try to apologize. I was goin’ through so much shit with Tommy and Maria, and then there was Sarah I was tryin’ to keep a grasp on, and then all that shit with the company goin’ down and all the whiskey I was drinkin’. I was in the wrong mindset. I should’ve never hurt you the way I did.”

He looks like a wounded puppy dog that just lost his family the way he’s looking at you now. His teary doe eyes shooting holes through your beating heart, and you have to keep yourself glued to the seat you’re in. The temptation to crawl into his lap and give him a big hug right now is so very overwhelming.

He always loved when you got in his personal space and threw your arms around him when he was sad. It was his favorite way to be soothed. The way you’d run your fingers through his tousled curls and whisper sweet, calming words into the shell of his ear. He may be a strong man, but he was always so weak for you especially when you were his favorite person that could fix all the broken pieces and mend him back together.

You cling harder to his wrist, but he doesn’t even try to pull away. He just stares with watering eyes while his lips form a tight line. It breaks your heart seeing him like this. “I was the one that told you to leave, Joel…. That rainy night in February when I threw the keys in your face. I didn’t mean to. I was just so… mad. I shouldn’t have done that. I regret it. I was a mess, we were a mess. But I feel like I was the one that ruined it. And then… then…” You can’t even finish your sentence without tears falling down your cheek. You’re embarrassing yourself in front of Joel, in front of the entire coffee shop. You wish you weren’t so emotional about all of this.

“Oh, sweetheart. No. Don’t do that, it’s not your fault,” he coos softly, reaching a hand up to catch your falling tears while his calloused fingers linger on your delicate skin. His eyes are so soft like golden retriever eyes all wide and gentle. You want to just slip into them and sink forever.

“I should’ve never ran out that door, should’ve come right back. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. Maybe my life would’ve looked different if I did. But I was a coward. I jus’ couldn’t get myself to face you. So I decided to leave you alone. And then almost a couple years after that I met Tess.”

The name Tess makes you cower back in your seat, his large hand falling back to the table as it leaves your weepy face. Tess. The other woman he fell in love with.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was all rainbows and butterflies with her ‘cause it wasn’t. But there was a time I did love her, too.”

“Oh. Mhm,” you hum, looking down at your feet scuffing against the clean floor, trying your best not to cry again.

“Look, I’m not tellin’ you this to hurt you. I’m doin’ my best to explain jus’ what all went on. That day we moved to the neighborhood, I had no idea you were livin’ right across the street. If I knew, I don't think I would’ve… I wouldn’t have bought it,” he sighs as he takes a deep breath.

You can’t look at him, can’t make yourself even speak because you know you’ll be a puddle on the ground if you even try, so you just let him continue while you curl your toes underneath you. “When I saw you that first day when I was movin’ furniture out of the movin’ van, I was wrecked. I even dropped a vase when I saw you. Glass went all over the kitchen tile. Tess thought I had a stroke or somethin’, but it was just seein’ you again after all those years that killed me.”

You purse your lips and nod, remembering all too well how you dropped the glass of milk in your kitchen when you saw the two of them together. And it hurt, it still hurts to think about. You guess that wound never fully healed after all.

“I felt so awful and guilty about everything. And it was so fuckin’ hard to watch you day after day. Walking to your mailbox, leaving your house, walking in your kitchen at dinner time when your window was wide open. I jus’… there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t want to walk over and sweep you up in my arms. God, I really wanted to every single day. But then there was Tess. And I made a promise to her that I swore I’d keep.”

You feel a tear fall like rain down your cheek when you hear those words, but Joel’s right there to pick up the pieces. He reaches his arm out and places his large palm over your hand, making you look up from under your soaked lashes.

�� “Do you remember that day I helped you up off the ground in front of your mailbox?”

“Yeah, how could I forget,” you whisper with a quiet sniffle.

“After you walked back inside, I somehow ended up on your front porch. I stood there for over ten minutes jus’ waitin’ to knock. I wanted to. I knew you were cryin’, I knew I was the reason why. I jus’ wanted to make the pain go away, but I realized I couldn’t ‘cause I made a promise to Tess. So even though that killed me, I walked away. I didn’t knock. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I never would’ve been able to let you go…”

Your eyes prick with fresh tears, and you tremble out some scattered words. “No, I understand. You’re a man of your word. You loved Tess. I couldn’t fault you for that. And I was so selfish to want you all to myself again, but I realized that couldn’t happen because she was yours,” you choke out, feeling the weight of the world press deep into your chest.

“I loved her, but I also realized I never stopped loving you, too. I should’ve realized sooner that it was never supposed to be her, it was supposed to be you.”

Your mouth drops open and your heart thunders in your chest. “What did you just say?” you gasp.

“It was always you, sweetheart. It jus’ took some time and healing to realize you were it for me. There was no one else. There still isn’t anyone else. It’s jus’ you…”

“I… Joel…” you mutter mindlessly.

Before you know what’s happening, Joel slides out of the booth and pulls you to a standing position. His deep chocolate eyes gaze longingly into your eyes, and the words are off his tongue before you can digest them. “I still love you.”

He pulls you into his broad chest, and his calloused hands connect with the sides of your face. His lips meet yours and suddenly the world fades away in the background. There’s no more outside voices, no more sideways glances, no more anything. There’s just Joel’s lips on yours, burning through you like wildfire.

You part your lips, allowing him to slot his tongue in, tasting that strong black coffee taste that you’ve always loved. You loved it because it was Joel’s signature taste, his scent, his essence. And you realize now you love him. God, you never stopped loving him. He’s the one, he’s always been the one.

He breaks away from the kiss, but you stay clinging to his flannel while his calloused thumbs trace light circles over your cheekbones. “God, I missed you,” he breathes, resting his forehead on yours while his soft brown eyes melt into yours.

“I missed you too, Joel. So much,” you murmur against the greying scruff of his jaw. “Stay with me…” you whisper against his mouth.

He hooks a strand of hair behind your ear and traces his thumb gently over the shell of your ear. “I’m not goin’ anywhere this time, sweetheart. This time I’m gonna be the man you’ve always deserved. We’re gonna take it slow and we’re gonna do it right. I’m never hurting you again, do you understand?” he asks with serious brown eyes and knit together eyebrows.

“I understand, Joel. This time we’ll make it work. We have to, I have to. I don’t ever want to lose you again,” you whine as you fall into his chest, his large arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

“And you won’t lose me. Not this time. Not ever. You’re mine, baby girl.”

You smile into his chest and breathe in his mahogany cologne you’re so familiar with. “Joel?” you ask, your voice getting cut off from your face being buried in Joel’s flannel.

He cups your chin and pulls your face up to his slowly. “Hmm? What is it, pretty girl?”

“You’re still my infinity, aren’t you?”

He chuckles softly and nods his head. “Sure am, sweetheart. Forever and ever…”

You fall back together, lips melding into one, bodies wrapped around each other. It took falling apart and healing to make it back to him, to the love of your life. You may not know what’ll happen tomorrow, but at least you know Joel will still be there holding your hand through it all.

This was exactly where you were meant to end up. You and Joel were for forever. Like he said, infinite.

“I love you, Joel Miller. My infinite…”

Tagging those who read the other parts 🩷 @laurrrra @amyispxnk @lotusbxtch @honey-dip-24 @sawymredfox

@orcasoul @laramc-02 @chewie-bars @axshadows @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@littlevenicebitch69 @persephone-girl @syd-djarin @tammythr @stylesispunk

@morallyinept @thundermartini @solllaris @jessthebaker @vie-is-punk

@hoeruiner @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @survivingandenduring

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #no outbreak au #joel miller fluff #joel fluff #lots of fluff #joel x female reader #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 days

Text

See Through My Eyes, Part 2

Summary: you and Bucky have to talk

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings: language, sexual imagery, mentions of genital worship, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Steve watches his friend intensely. Staring as he walks from one side of the living room to the next. Hearing his goddaughter in the next room, screaming so loudly he wants to grab Bucky and make him talk to him. He’s never seen Bucky like this except once.

“Who the fuck did you knock up?”

“I heard that, Steve! I’m telling Miss Fawn!”

Steve’s mouth flies open, staring down the hallway, and he wonders if Izzy just has an alarm for bad words. “Buddy, I won’t say another bad word if you just tell me what is going on? You have only been like this when you found out Kenton was pregnant.”

Bucky just nods his head, stopping abruptly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He used damn condoms. He pulled them off, and tied them up, and he spent the night with you. It wasn’t like you shoved anything back up inside of you. And you didn’t even seem to want or need him in your life or the baby’s. You were perfectly content.

”Buck?”

“Remember the Tinder date?”

“Mother…”

“Uncle Steve!” Izzy growls before she peeks her head out of her bedroom, “Miss Fawn will hear about this. She says profanity is not nice, and she’s growing a baby!” She stomps her foot one time to emphasize her words, and Bucky turns to look at his independent daughter before pointing to her bedroom.

“This is a grownup talk thing, huh?” He nods his head, and she sighs before closing her door and turning on Taylor Swift louder than Bucky normally allows. Grabbing her microphone before singing along with the obnoxious tune.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you knocked up her teacher!”

“I did not know that doeeyez1917 was Miss Fawn!”

“You are having a baby with Miss Fawn! Oh my god! Oh my god! Well, was she good? Like was the sex at least good? You got another person pregnant, do you not use protection? Is she a screamer? Wait, what kinks do you have? How far along is she? Have you seen her since the first night? Why are you just now telling me about this? What is…?”

“Steven!” Bucky’s hands grab onto his head because Steve is saying every question, and then some out loud, and Bucky’s head is swimming. Today was a stupid long day at work. It was too hot, the men on his crew wanted to be lazy and he pulled more weight on the team, and he was exhausted. He was late picking up his daughter, and then he finds out you were pregnant.

“Was the sex good?”

“The best I’d ever had,” Steve’s eyes go as large as saucers, and his hand shoves into his mouth. “Stop, don’t do that.”

“So why are you just now finding out she’s pregnant? And are you sure it’s yours? What is it? Oh my god, you’re going to have another spawn!” Bucky sighs, and collapses on the couch, “Buddy, what’s going on in your pretty little head?”

“I fucked up,” Steve cringes as he stares down the hall to Izzy’s door, but the music is either too loud or she knew that grownup talk was something she didn’t need to interrupt.

“Today was the first day you saw her, huh?” Bucky nods his head, his eyes blank as he stares out at nothing. He knew very little about you, but he did know more about Miss Fawn. And he knew about Miss Fawn through his daughter. His daughter that adored her teacher, and always managed to bring her up in everyday talk.

“If the sex was that good, why didn’t you see her again?”

“I deleted the app because I didn’t think I needed it, but then couldn’t remember how to get back in, and my email was no help,” Steve purses his lips as he stares at Bucky curiously. “And you said Tinder was about hooking up. So I just figured she wasn’t interested.”

“Why would you listen to me? You knew where she lived, you said you went to her house, so why didn’t you…”

”Because I’m stupid. I should have,” his voice falls into a whisper. How could he be so stupid? He knew exactly where you were and he wonders if you’ve been scared. If you tried to get in contact with him or if you just figured you’d deal with the consequences. But it was both of your consequences.

“So…Miss Fawn and doeeyes1917 are the same person. Your daughter’s teacher has Bucky growing inside of her,” Bucky fake retches, and starts laughing. “Do you know what a condom is?”

“We used them. I took it off, and she asked me if I would fuck her again just so she could watch me do that one more time,” Bucky’s chuckle turns dark at the times that he encouraged you one more time. Every time you gave so freely to him, and you looked so pretty, and felt so good coming over his fat cock. After two orgasms you were completely compliant to whatever he wanted, and he kept taking.

Over and over again until tears were leaking from your eyes, and you begged for him to come so you could sleep. He assured you that he would keep fucking you even if you were asleep, and he kissed away your stray tears as pleasure erupted in your body again.

“Ew, dad sex is gross.”

“I don’t think Miss Fawn minded my dad sex,” you definitely didn’t mind. You didn’t mind at all.

“Clearly not now that she made you a daddy again. Is she…like showing? What is your mother going to say?”

“Fuck me,” he growls. His mom. She hated Kenton, and told her son not to be knocking some bitch up again. “And yeah, she’s,” he stops, wishing the shock wouldn’t have gotten to him and he could have appreciated the way your dress hugged the little bump of his child. “Steve, she was gorgeous. All cute, and swollen, and she’s full of me, and…”

“You have the weirdest breeding kink.”

“She likes kids.”

“Other people’s kids,” that much is obvious. You are a teacher, and Izzy loved you so much she never quit talking about you.

“She wanted this child and didn’t need me. Izzy loves her, and she could be her step mom,” Bucky’s thoughts are spiraling and he’s very much aware of how they’re spiraling, but the thought of Izzy not having to give up her chameleon nickname makes him beam.

“Easy, killer. That’s if she wants to be with your flaky ass. She could just be your second baby mama that doesn’t want to be a stepmom, and she doesn’t want things to change. So calm your tits, and think about this. Are you going to have a conversation with her?” Bucky can only nod his head as he stares out in the distance.

He didn’t want that to be an option. He didn’t want to think about you and his child living in a two bedroom apartment all alone, and it isn’t even in the nicest part of town. He could help provide you with a good life. You and his children. And Izzy already adored you, and he wasn't sure how he was going to introduce you as the woman carrying her sibling, but it had to happen. He wants to be in the baby’s life, and yours.

“I’ve got more rooms in this house.”

“Stop it. Stop that.”

“She can be on a different floor.”

“Bucky!” Steve throws his head back onto the back of the couch, slapping his hand on his friend’s leg. “Don’t you dare meet with her to talk and tell her that she can move into your home with Izzy, while she grows your baby. You deleted Tinder, you didn’t go see her, and now you’re her student’s father, and she’s carrying your child. Bucky, this is what went wrong with you and Ken.”

“Ken was always a bitch.”

“Yeah, but you moved way to fast, and you still need better condoms. What kind of sperm is your cock growing? Super sperm!”

“Super sperm!” Izzy’s evil laugh can be heard in her bedroom before she opens the door, and runs into her daddy’s lap, “What is super sperm?”

“Steve, tell Izzy what super sperm is.”

“A word that you don’t say. Ever ever,” Izzy isn’t buying it. It’s a word she shouldn’t say, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to know why.

“That makes no sense.”

“It’s an adult word,” she looks at her dad, and back at Steve. “I’m telling the truth. It’s an adult word. You wouldn’t say shit would you?”

“I’m telling my teacher you said all the bad words.”

You pace around your kitchen as you play over Bucky picking up Izzy. Izzy. Your little chameleon. The little girl that will hide what’s really going on in her life, but sometimes these little words come out like her mom hadn’t called her. She is so resilient, and she is Bucky’s daughter. Your baby daddy.

You didn’t see your life this way. You had fully accepted that you were going to be single, and never ever have kids. It was a fairytale dream you had when you were younger. And then Bucky and his fucking super sperm happened. They wiggled their way into your body, and bonded with your egg, and now you’ve got this child growing in you.

He deleted Tinder, which makes sense for all the messages you sent him. You decide you’re going to start off by showing him the messages. Yes. You tried to reach out, but you knew nothing about him, you didn’t even know his fucking last name until he picked Izzy up. Barnes. Baby Barnes. Maybe Barnes. You had already committed to the baby having your last name because you were a loser that didn’t know their child’s father’s last name.

Bucky has to be a nickname anyways, and you didn’t know his real name. That man was drilling into you all night, and you just kept moaning Bucky. What if he had a different name? And you didn’t fucking know, “I’m sorry, baby,” you whine, petting along your stomach.

“I know nothing about your father other than he has a big fucking cock, and it’s slightly curved, and it hits me in just the right spot, and I guess I orgasmed so good that here you are,” you roll your eyes as you look up at the ceiling, feeling your eyes start to fill up with tears.

“Why do you always do this to me? You’re so cute and perfect, and your mom is a fuck up. I didn’t know your dad’s last name. I don’t even know if your dad wants to be in your life, and if he doesn’t and I know who his daughter is that’s going to hurt so much. Izzy’s so sweet,” your voice goes up an octave. “I hate this crying.”

How could you find out all this information and not cry? You didn’t even want to know what the sex of your baby is going to be because it gave you something to look forward to, considering you couldn’t feel its daddy’s dick again. “I shouldn’t think things about your daddy, but he has a really nice cock, and he knows how to use it.”

Your hand rubs up and down the little bump, and you scowl as a vision of Bucky wanting to touch his baby pops into your head, “No, I will not think of him. Why? Because I was supposed to be single all my life. Now I’ve got a fucking crib in my fucking office, and I can’t stop saying fuck, and I’m becoming a mother. And I’m so pissed off with how stupid I was. And I’m not getting my hopes up in thinking that Bucky wants to be in our lives, because he already has a child, and a baby mama who sounds like a bitch, and if I saw her I would punch her for Izzy. What mother doesn’t call their child? Ugh!”

He is coming over today, and you didn’t have to give him your address, he remembered. Asshole. He remembered, but didn’t bother to come by and see you. If you were oh so wonderful why couldn’t he spare a drive to your apartment? Why was the deleting of Tinder an excuse, and why did you believe it at that moment?

“I am not supposed to be stressed!” You scream, and rub on your belly, apologizing. “Ahh!” Flinching, and screaming when a loud knock happens on your door. “I’m coming,” hating yourself for saying that because you know who it is, and the last time you said that was under very different circumstances.

You swing the door open, and smile at him. Your heart hurts just to see his face. Brows tilt up as he looks around your body, “Why are you stressed?” Is he looking for a source of stress? The source is right in front of you with his big cock self.

“You heard that?”

“The walls here are too thin.”

“Are you insulting my home,” he cringes. Literally cringes. “I see.”

“It’s not the nicest neighborhood,” okay, you carried the little cat keychain and pepper spray, you’re sure most girls do. But you feel extremely defensive about his comments. “Can I come in?”

“Are you sure the walls won’t be too thin?”

“I didn’t mean to insult your home.”

“Good you didn’t seem to mind them being thin a few months ago when…” he doesn’t even let you finish. He presses a finger up against your mouth and shushes you. “What are you doing?”

“I apologize. I started this off completely wrong, and I don’t want thing to continue this way. However, you are pregnant with my child and I have questions,” his child. He’s already throwing that word around. “Miss Fawn, I know I’m saying all the wrong things. I’m sorry, truly.”

You take a deep breath as you move away from the door, holding out a hand for him to continue in. He walks past, but keeps looking towards you. His eyes flicking down to your stomach, and you can’t stand it. “Why didn’t you come to my apartment?”

“What?”

“When you deleted the app. Stop. Pause,” you inhale deeply, and look away from him. It hurts to see him, knowing that part of him has been growing inside of you, and he’s missed so much.

“I’m very emotional right now. It’s not just the pregnancy, it’s you. You’re Izzy’s dad, and the father of my child, and this is very overwhelming to me, and I need to change my office to the baby’s room, and I really don’t want to. Definitely not yet, and not — alone. But I need it. I’m not just a teacher, I’m working on something, and,” you take a another deep breath as you try and center your thoughts. “Why didn’t you come here? You remembered where I lived, but you didn’t.”

He sighs. His eyes flicker all over your face, and he gives you that judging look your parents have been giving you since you told them you were pregnant and you didn’t know the baby’s daddy, “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m trying to figure out why I didn’t think of that,” the giggle that releases from your mouth is just as much tears as a laugh. “Can I hug you?”

“I’d really like that,” gulping, you allow him to embrace you, and it feels so right. So warm, and his hand naturally dips to your belly, and he holds your baby just like you dreamed he would, and you hate that you’re getting choked up that your baby’s daddy wants them. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“This doesn’t solve anything,” he huffs out a laugh, and his breath fans over your skin, and you actually tremble. A soft whimper edges out of your throat. The hand on your belly, the place where his child is growing, tightens. “Bucky,” you whisper, taking a step back from him, and he retreats immediately. “We should talk,” you need air and a chance to breathe, and this is just all too much.

“Yes, talk. We left some unfinished business last time.”

“I really can’t handle talking about last time.”

“Why’s that?” Oh, he can’t apologize himself through this. You have thought and thought, and thought some more about last time. The time that got you knocked up and single. The time that changed your world completely, and he was fuck off somewhere. Being pregnant really gives you a potty mouth.

“Because last time you fucked me three ways from Sunday, all fucking night long. Then you stayed. We showered, and fucked some more. Then we got in the bed, and you woke me up by sucking on my clit, and fucked me slowly, and then you carried me into this fucking kitchen, and you had breakfast already delivered. And…well, you know. Why are you smiling?”

“Izzy does this thing whenever she hears me or Steve say a bad word, she always says she’s going to tell you, and I counted five bad words in that story.”

God, he was so fucking cute! Bastard. And he counted your ‘bad words’? Was he even paying attention? “That’s not funny.”

“She would be very disappointed to know that you talk like that.”

“Not in front of kids,” he points at your stomach, and your natural response is to cover the swell with your arms. “They don’t count.”

“They?” His eyes go wide as he looks at your belly. “How many are in there?”

“One. I just don’t want to know what they are. The doctor tried, and I screamed at him,” you see his Adam’s apple bob while his eyes drift back down to your stomach. A sadness creeps over his face and you’re very confused. “What?”

“You’ve been to the doctor?”

“A few times. I needed to. I’m pregnant. It was like I knew immediately, and my ass went to the doctor, and they confirmed it. Got to hear their heartbeat, and stop looking at me that way!” It’s pitiful and you would just about drop to your knees and start sucking his dick if it would make that pouty face stop. Why is he cuter now that his child is growing in you?

“I missed hearing the first heartbeat,” fuck him. There’s this adorable look he gives you, but it breaks your heart. Realizing that Bucky really wanted this life.

“It still beats. Come here,” you take him to the tiny living room, and point towards the couch before retreating into your office/baby room, and come back with a device. Pulling up your shirt, and he bites on his lip. “Don’t tell me you have a breeding kink,” you giggle as you spread on some gel, and place a wand on your stomach.

Moving it around as you smile at him, “Come on. Your…father is waiting.”

“Daddy.”

“Daddy?” You ask, moving the wand around some more.

“If it’s okay. That’s what I’d like the baby to call me,” do not cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry. Find the damn heartbeat. Please, find it. Find. It. “Oh my god,” Bucky sits up straighter on the couch, staring straight at your Doppler wand. “Is that?”

“Yeah,” you smile, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s my — your — it’s our baby. I make a routine to listen to it every day. I think they enjoy it. I talk to them all the time. That’s who I was talking to when you said I had thin walls.”

“You do. It’s not insulated well, but this is amazing,” he changed that sentence real quick, and you don’t even care. “That’s our baby,” our. He fucking sucks. You’re trying to have an adult conversation and not want to worship his balls for giving you this incredible moment, and life growing in you. Thank you, testicles, for fucking a baby into your belly so you could have this man as your baby daddy. He’s hot, cute, and sweet. Goddammit.

“So?”

“So,” he responds, waiting for you to put the Doppler up, and you look at him. “Thank you.”

“Why?” You know this asshole is going to say something sweet, and you’re trying not to fall in love with your baby daddy who you only had sex with once. One night. Multiple times. Who is counting?

“I don’t know. For being incredible. For not being a bitch, and resenting me. For giving me a chance. And you’re not being weird about this, and I should apologize on behalf of my sperm.”

”Please, don’t do that?”

“Why?”

“Because I get horny thinking about your sperm. Oh my god that sounds so weird. What I mean is that your condom removal, sir, should be written about. I mean — can I lay everything out on the line?”

“I really wish you would,” is there pleading in Bucky’s voice? Is he getting horny with cum talk? He did have a fucking breeding kink. You’d make a note of that. It could serve you well later.

“That night, that glorious, amazing, wonderful night, I haven’t been able to get it off my mind. Don’t touch me while I’m making a point,” his hand retreats from your knee so quickly. He did want you. He’s just as much of a horny bastard as you, and you’re sure with a breeding kink added the fact that you are swollen with his child makes him that much more needy.

“The sex was fucking amazing, but we’re in a different place now, you and I.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but you can tell his tone lacks conviction. It’s true, you are in a different place.

“I don’t know what your intentions are with me or our child, it’s such new information to you. But I’m not a free sex toy. I get I’m already knocked up, so you could blow your warm, glorious load inside of me,” he snorts, covering his mouth, as he apologizes. “I’m sorry, I’m socially a bit awkward with adults, and I’ve been a bit of a recluse. And I’ve never had a baby daddy before, and I’m trying to finish my first book.”

“Honestly, you’re fine. Your embarrassment is adorable,” aw, he thinks you're adorable, and it infuriates you.

“What I mean is I don’t want to have sex.”

“What?” Is that fucking disappointment in his voice? What the fuck? Were you just a fucking sex doll he could put his cum in? “I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t actually thinking about fucking you.”

“Why not?” That is rude. You were thinking about fucking him. And sucking him. Even about kissing each of his balls over and over again, and thanking them for their service before you sucked each in your mouth, and fist his cock. You just weren’t ready for sex, but you wanted it so bad. You were trying to be a respectful mother. And then he can respectfully disrespect you.

“I would very like to fuck you again.”

“Okay,” that is satisfactory enough for now. You know your shoulders shimmy because you may be growing a human, but you are growing his human. It’s different. Since he very much would like to fuck you again it adds a bit of a confidence boost.

“I have been here before. I tried so hard to make it work with Kenton, Izzy’s mom, but all she wanted was my credit card, and not my daughter. And yes, I say mine, because Izzy is all mine. I will fight for her, and I will fight for ours. But I don’t want to fight you. I’m too damn old. And I don’t want to do this alone. Do you?”

You shake your head no as the pesky tears start to fill your eyes. You didn’t want to be a single mom. “Good. But we’ve had one night together. We talked and had fun, but I was too concerned with getting my cock in your tight pussy to be bothered with anything else.”

“You think I have a tight pussy?” Why are the things this man says doing things for you?

He laughs, nodding his head. His shoulders bounce up and down with joy, and he gets the prettiest pink on his cheeks. He is sweet too. “You have the tightest pussy,” aww!! You aren’t sure why that is so sweet and sexy, but it is. He likes your puss!

“What I mean is we’ve got a lot to learn and not a lot of time to do it,” this much is obvious. You’ve been thinking about their life from the moment it was confirmed you were pregnant.

”I know, they’ll be here before you know it.”

“I’ve got more than enough room in my house,” left turn. Left turn. Absolutely not. “The baby would have its own room, and not your office. You could have an office, and even…”

“No.”

“But,” abort mission. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

“I don’t want to move in with you. We just said we can’t jump into having sex.”

“Can you let me finish?” You huff out air, but shut up. Rude. “You would have your own room, too. I don’t like this neighborhood.”

“This is my home!” He is back to hating this neighborhood. Self righteous prick.

“Is this where you’ve always wanted to live?”

“No, but this is mine! If I move in with you, it’s yours. And what if we don’t work out, I’m homeless,” rule number one, don’t let a man dictate your life and tell you what to do.

“I wouldn’t do that to my child.”

“You’d take them away from me like…”

“Stop right now,” you went too far, and you knew it. You knew before you started that sentence you should halt. “I will not argue about my daughter. And I never took her from Ken, she left her. You know the fucked up thing? I can’t get her for abandonment because she left her with her father. She didn’t abandon her. A parent is taking care of her. But we’re not doing this, so if you want to continue the conversation we can, but this isn’t up for debate.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have gone there. You’re a great dad. I would know,” he nods with his jaw tight and tensing, thanking you silently. “I just — this place isn’t much, but it’s mine. And I just don’t want to put myself in a position where a man can take advantage of me, and I’m trapped.”

“How about the money you pay for rent here, you put it into savings, so if anything happens, you have that money.”

“What do you do?”

“I work construction.”

“I’ve had you growing inside of me and I didn’t know that. Or your name. So this is fast. And I’m overwhelmed. It’s so much. It’s too much sometimes. And moving in with you seems so permanent, but,” tears start pouring out of your eyes because your dreams of becoming a mother never started off like this. You knew life and fiction were not the same thing and you knew that you could be in worse positions, but this is so confusing.

“I want our baby to have both of us in their life, and I don’t want to go between homes, and I don’t want to get up with the baby by myself all night long. And this apartment smells funny in the summer, and I do hate it. And my car had a flat tire the other day, and I was late to work because my dad couldn’t get here, and he found out my tire was slashed, and I’m not a terrible tenant, but I’m so scared.”

“Come here,” he doesn’t even wait for you to get up, he just pulls you into his lap. Resting his chin on top of your head as you wail. Why is all that fucking shit just pouring out of you? Why can you not control these damn tears? It’s his fault. You had every word planned out, and then he gets here, and everything evaded you.

“I can’t even nest. And the books say to nest, but our baby’s room is a mess. It’s so ugly. And I can’t paint here, and I don’t know if my lease can have another human. And they’re going to be human,” of course your baby was a fucking human. What else were they supposed to be? “I’m a basket case.”

“You’re pregnant, baby,” why did that sound so sweet? Ugh, he feels so warm and hard and so right. “Shh, it’s okay. We can get you an apartment closer to my house.”

“But I don’t want to be alone with a baby. I’ve never done this before.”

“I know, but I have done this. It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. You can have your own room. And it’s an open invitation, okay?” Why is it hard? Why did this decision give you so much pause and anxiety? Ugh, you hate this. Because moving in feels like you’re drowning. Giving it all up so quickly for a man. But if you had to make it work.

“I don’t want to just be roommates that have a child.”

“I don’t either,” he almost growls in your ear. “We can start off slow, and go on dates. Like out of the house.”

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you going to tell Izzy?”

“Fuck,” one word, and you feel the same. This is confusing to you, and she’s a child. Izzy knows you’ve been pregnant, and out of all the kids in your class, she loved it. Always asked to touch your belly, and to go to the baby’s birthday shower. It’s so cute. But how is she going to handle dealing with the fact that your baby is also her daddy’s baby?

“We’ll figure it out,” that’s better than nothing, but leaves a lot to the imagination. What did that mean? “Shh, try to rest. I’ll keep holding you as long as you need,” this is so sweet, and it’s going to be hard because fuck him and his fucking amazing cock. But it will be worth it for you and your unborn child to take things slow. So fucking slow.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @buckybarnesisdaddy @theinheriteddutchess @w1nter-wolf-barnes1 @distractingbeth @mdpplgtz03 @sjsmith56 @winterslove1917 @ryuuisthecutest @buckybarnessimpp @slowdownbeforeyouregretit @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom @thedonswife13 @sarahdonald87 @pono-pura-vida

#see through my eyes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #single dad!bucky #single dad au #accidental pregnancy au

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thewritetofreespeech · 11 months

Note

Since you do Demon Slayer requests, could I request Tanjirou, Giyuu, and Douma's s/o(s) petting their hair as they start to doze off on their lap?

Demon Slayer men (and 1 demon) + falling asleep in s/o's lap

Tanjiro Kamado

It was, for once, a peaceful night. The fireflies dancing around the garden of Butterfly Mansion, while Tanjirou enjoyed the sweet smell of jasmine in the air.

“What are you doing out here?” Tanjiro perked up when he heard [Y/N]’s voice behind him. Soft, but still able to be heard. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“Oh, I’m ok.” He insisted, with his usual comforting smile. “I was going to head in but….” He looked down at his lap where Nezuko was resting. In her petite form almost fully in his lap as she dozed.

[Y/N] chuckled. “I suppose you’re pinned then. I’ll join you.”

They sat down beside Tanjiro. Both their feet dangling off the edge of the porch as they looked out over the garden. “Hopefully she’ll get up soon. I don’t know what it is but ever time she lays on my lap she goes right to sleep.”

“She trusts you.” Tanjiro looked up and over to [Y/N] curiously. “Plus, I’m sure it’s comfortable. Haven’t you ever taken a nap in someone’s lap before?”

“Oh. No.” He replied. Nervously scratching his cheek. If he had it had been years. Perhaps with his mother, or father, when he was much younger and certainly not a big brother. “I think it would be pretty silly.”

“It’s not silly.” [Y/N] insisted.

They then got up and adjusted so that they were sitting on their ankles behind Tanjiro, and gently patted their lap. “Come on. Try it. This way you won’t bother Nezuko either.” Tanjiro blushed and gulped a little. It was a little embarrassing, being in a position like that. It was also embarrassing on how much he wanted to try it.

Carefully he leaned back until his back was flat against the wood and his head was in their lap. He suddenly realized that the roof over the porch had little butterflies and flowers carved into it. He’d never bothered to look up, so he never noticed. It was comforting, he thought.

Very quickly Tanjiro was asleep as well, dozing off with his sister. Nezuko eventually did wake up, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists, and noticed her brother was asleep. Her big eyes turned to [Y/N], who placed their finger over their mouth in a silent shush. The little demon didn’t say anything in response. She just got up, jumped off the porch with a quiet thud, and went to chase fireflies.

Giyuu Tomioka

A big part of being a member of the Demon Slayer Corps was traveling. Demons and evil never rested, and the ones that caused the most havoc tended to wander. The corps went where they were needed. Which could be any area in Japan.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” [Y/N] asked rhetorically as they and Giyuu bounced along in the back of a wagon. Along with lots of travel came lots of unconventional ways of getting there. Not every mission had a luxury train to get them there.

Giyu grunted, but still sat up with his arms crossed. [Y/N] sighed.

“You’d feel better.” Giyu glanced over at them from the corner of his eye. “I know when you’re tired or upset Giyu. You can’t hide it from me.”

They had been together a long time. Originally partners before they became partners. The little ticks and subtle hints in Giyu’s mood that were often lost on others were an open book to them. One that he should know by now.

“I can't sleep on hay. Makes me itchy.”

[Y/N] smiled softly, then adjusted to make their lap open & free. “Rest here then. No hay or scratchy surfaces. I won’t tell anyone you took a nap on the way.”

Giyu didn’t say anything, but [Y/N] could tell their mind was reeling about it. Eventually, he submitted and laid his head down. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. After you get some sleep it’s my turn.”

There was the faintest hint of a smirk on Giyu’s lips before he eventually fell asleep. Rocked there by the wagon and warm, damp smell of hay around them.

Douma

A big sigh echoed across the room as Douma heaved it out, followed by a yawn. “I’m bored.” Being a cult leader was really rather boring. All he had to do was sit here and listen to people’s problems. And since he didn’t care what happened one way or the other, to the problem or his followers, then there was really no interest to be held in the situation. He just sat here, listening to someone play the shamisen, while people brought him their problems and offerings he wouldn’t eat.

“Where’s [Y/N]?” He asked. Examining one of the many mandarins brought to him as a present, and not having the stomach to even consider eating it, before he tossed it aside. “I haven’t seen them all day.”

“It’s only noon Douma-sama.” The demon growled. He didn’t ask for the time. “But, I will find them. They were helping with the new members earlier today, so they must still be doing that.”

“New people….” To a normal cult leader that would be a good thing, but to Douma it was just another headache.

Sure, more people to choose from when he was selecting his meals, but also more people to listen to. Maybe he should make some sort of decree that the Gods asked for their silent contemplation and meditation so he didn’t have to hear them whine anymore. Yeah, that would probably work.”

“Lord Douma-sama?” The demon perked up when he heard his name and saw [Y/N]. “You wanted to see me?”

“[Y/N]-chan!” He beamed brightly as he perked up in his seat with a big grin. “I did. I wanted to see you because I missed you!”

“I’m flattered Lord Douma-sama.”

The pink in their cheeks and the subtle smell of desire made Douma’s stomach tighten in hunger. But he doesn’t want to eat them. Yet.

Once and a while he would get a favorite. No particular rhyme or reason. He would just decide to keep one of the humans as a pet, more than an hors d'oeuvre. It usually worked out well, as humans were pretty stupid and susceptible to flattery, and he was a master manipulator.

“Come sit by me. I wanted to borrow you for a moment.” [Y/N], of course, instantly came to his side and sat down. The demon giggled a little before he dramatically laid down in their lap. “Ahhhh….that’s better.”

“Is this all you wanted of me, Lord Douma-sama?”

“For now.” He replied. Eyes closed, with a cat ate the canary grin on his face. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not.” They replied, without question. “I’m happy to be of any service that brings you comfort Lord Douma-sama.”

He can smell a wave of sickly-sweet perfume coming off [Y/N] that he’s come to realize is ‘love’. Douma has never felt it, but he has smelt it before. Bombarded with the scent from his followers. Clinging to those people left behind by their lovers as he devoured one and the other fled for safety. His last favorite had the same smell, but not for him. A ‘mother’s love’ and all that. Not that he believed any of it.

“This will make me happy for now. But if I think of anything else I’ll let you know.”

“Of course Lord Douma-sama.”

The demon yawned and started to doze. Still bored, but at least mildly entertained by his new pillow. He supposed he’d have to find a new favorite soon; since this one was becoming stale and dull. For now though, this was fine.

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fayes-fics · 7 months

Text

Enthralled

Pairings: Vampire!Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader x Thomas Dorset

Summary: You and your new husband invite a handsome stranger to your rooms, but all is not as it seems...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, dom/sub undertones, bisexual male characters, slash content, oral sex (f to m, m to m, m to f) blow jobs, deepthroat w smidge of breathplay, facesitting, edging/orgasm control, vaginal sex, anal sex, simultaneous penetration, multiple orgasms, biting, bloodplay, blood-drinking.

Word Count: 9k

Authors Note: The reader remix of this story. A gothic-ish Halloween threesome with Vampire!Benedict. This is my first foray into writing slash content. If you are looking for a plot or backstory, this will likely disappoint; it's just an excuse for vaguely spooky, unrelenting smut - I cannot celebrate a holiday any other way lol. I wanted to choose a minor show character as the husband, and Dr Dorset screams secretly adventurous to me. Please heed the warnings above; this is pretty full-on. If you proceed, I hope you enjoy! <3

Credits: Thanks to @colettebronte for advice and betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for her Vampiric expertise. Artwork includes edits made weeks ago for this story by our dearly departed @bridgertontess. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Benedict smells it long before he ever sees you.

Fresh blood, sweet young bodies in the flushes of arousal; it makes him hungry in every sense of the word. The almost painful need to feast and fuck. He inhales deep, lewdly, letting the tempting scents fill his being. He pulls on his cloak and goes out to find you.

—

Mrs Dorset.

You practice the name, sitting at the vanity table of your rooms at the inn, feeling cosy in the soft candlelight glow as the autumnal wind howls portentously beyond the window. The quill scratches the paper as you loop the letters, learning the structure of your new name as it flows under your hand.

“What are you doing, my love?” Thomas rounds behind you, returning to your rooms with steaming hot tea as promised.

“I am practising my new name,” you reply proudly, twisting to look up at your husband of merely two days as he places aside the tea tray, squeezing your shoulders lightly.

“Oh, I see, that is… well, that is wonderful,” his cadence wavering. It seems as if he is embarrassed at how something as simple as your desire to write his name could make him burn physically, the glistening, dark, looped strokes causing a primal wash of possession. His fingers flex instinctually, mapping your collarbone, your flesh irresistible under his fingertips. You squeak as he rocks his body into your back, something insistent pressing into your spine.

“Husband,” you drawl, meeting his eye in the vanity mirror. “Are you aroused?” Your question isn't judgemental, but pure curiosity and desire, leaning back into him.

“Yes, darling wife. You have my name. It is…. Appealing,” he answers honestly, a touch winded, his fingers trailing lower over your warm skin onto the swell of your breast.

Your eyes flash in the reflection, and then suddenly, you spin around on the stool and bury your face into his trousers, nuzzling his hardness. His growl is deep and wracked. So utterly undone by how forthright you can be with your intentions.

You look up at him, fluttering your eyelids as you pluck open his trousers determinedly, push down his underwear, and wrap your hands around the back of his thighs to draw him even closer. Immediately you encase his tasty warm cock in your mouth, so very keen for him.

He groans to the ceiling as if disbelieving in his luck.

—

Benedict finds himself outside the quaint country inn barely a quarter mile from his country home. No wonder he could smell it so strong.

As he stares up at a mullioned window, russet leaves swirling around his feet on this cold, crisp night, he sees the glowing candlelight signifying the room’s occupation. Indeed, it is the only one lit as such on the first floor. He surmises the couple are likely newlyweds, perhaps passing through the area on their honeymoon—the first ones who have done so since he was turned a few months back.

While he has trained himself on the scent of the people in the proximal area and taught himself they are not food, he is powerless to resist this. Them. From scent alone, they are in their twenties, and right now, they are engaging in something carnal. He can smell ripe juices swirling in the air along with the thronging of their hearts, blood coursing. It makes his cock strain painfully against the wool of his britches.

He never used to be like this—a creature of such base instinct. Yes, when human, he had his fair share of lovers of all persuasions, but it had been an occasional bacchanalian indulgence. Now. Now, he can barely contain himself. His tongue licks around the point of his fang, tasting the air, knowing without a doubt they will be under his thrall within moments of meeting and lost in a temporary reverie of how he will enjoy them.

—

“Y/n….” it’s throaty, raw, wrecked, a hand buried in your locks.

His taste is strong in your mouth as Thomas flops back upon the bed, utterly sated after he finds completion. You had pushed him backwards from the vanity table onto the edge of the bed and sunk to your knees before him, eagerly taking him into your mouth, motions wanton, brazen, your skill and enthusiasm blossoming under his few days of tutelage. Learning his body and needs; learning to use your tongue in ways that make him breathless and unerringly grateful.

You delicately wipe your chin of his seed with a handkerchief and rise to your feet as gracefully as you can as he lays there panting, staring at the velvet drapes over the four-poster bed, his mind blanked out from pleasure.

“Husband,” you coo in a light tease, “I do believe it is now time we took dinner; 'tis nearing 7pm.”

Thomas pouts, looking as if he wants to feast only upon you, not mere food. The grumble in his stomach, though, gives away his status, and your giggle makes him sit up reluctantly, tucking himself back into his trousers and righting his clothes.

“I suppose sustenance is required,” he smiles indulgently, standing up and wrapping you in his arms. “If only to provide energy for our later activities,” he adds teasingly into your ear; a light shiver runs through your being as he says it.

“Then let us eat, Dr Dorset,” you murmur into his jaw, running a hand down his waistcoat. Feeling light as air, you gigglingly tumble down the hallway and staircase to the public house below, wrapped up in each other’s arms, barely noticing the tall, cloaked figure as it slips in through the main door.

—

Benedict nods to Jenkins, the publican and innkeeper behind the bar; locals always having an open invitation to drink and dine any night of the week. Tonight, the public house is deserted save for a regular - drunkard Willie, propping up the corner of the bar as ever - and the newlywed couple now ensconced in an alcove by the roaring fireplace.

He sets eyes upon you both properly, and his insides almost feel warm. You are both beautiful in ways that make him ache. The man is tall, fair of face and built handsomely. You are just his type of woman physically with a spirited mien that looks like you would be the very best kind of challenge to tame. He longs to strip you both naked and run his tongue down your healthy contours, revel in your bodies, coursing with life.

Taking the brandy awaiting him on the bar, he glides towards you, flicking up his velvet collar as he does so, knowing of his powers and how to wield them to his advantage when needs must.

“Welcome to Wiltshire,” his opening gambit, smooth and dusky, raising his glass.

Both you and Thomas look up, startled at a handsome stranger’s interruption to your intimate conversation. Still, Benedict doesn't miss for a second how both of your eyes dilate rapidly.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Thomas Dorset stumbles, raising his glass without thought in a silent responding toast.

“Please call me Benedict. May I join you?” his ask is unfaulteringly polite, but with a lopsided grin, he has long learned is his ticket to everything he may want in this world.

Dorset immediately gestures for him to do so, despite himself, and Benedict slides smoothly onto the bench seat across from them with a dramatic swish of his ample velvet cloak.

“And you are?” he smiles at you both expectantly.

“Oh, where are my manners!?” Thomas decries as if snapping back to reality. “I am Dr Thomas Dorset, and this,” his arm wraps tighter around your shoulders, “is my wonderful new wife, Mrs y/n Dorset.”

You smile at Benedict; he can sense your apprehension at this stranger joining them but also hears your heart fluttering just a fraction harder as he meets your gaze. Can smell the uptick in your bodily response, a new tang to your natural scent that speaks of piqued interest. He knows with just a few well-deployed lingering looks and chosen words, he could throw you over the table right here in front of your husband and fuck you so well you would beg him for more. Again, he is grateful for the cloak he wears, hiding the bulge in his clothing that has barely slaked since your arrival to the area.

“It is so wonderful to meet you both,” he drawls, running a finger over his bottom lip to draw attention to his mouth. If you stare long enough, the thrall will be so easy. “What brings you to our fine village?”

“We are passing through on our way to Cornwall for our honeymoon,” Dorset confirms what Benedict already suspected.

“This is rather off the beaten path to such a place,” Benedict states dryly with a wink, knowing he is reeling you in with every word he utters.

“Indeed,” Thomas concedes, “my new wife insisted we come via this route to allow us to call upon her sister during our journey.”

Benedict smiles, subtly scenting your bodies as you and Thomas lean in without realising, falling under his spell.

“Well then, I insist I purchase your dinner and drinks this evening,” he declares, watching bemused as you both attempt to remonstrate. “I will not accept no for an answer,” he appends, victory glowing as you acquiesce, not realising this will be the first of many permissions you will grant him tonight, all being well.

—

You chew upon the venison slowly, one eye on your additional party, still unsure why he has chosen to join you and, indeed, pay for your meal when he apparently is not eating himself. Engaging you in conversation that seems peculiarly beguiling and dangerous all at once.

He is undoubtedly attractive. Hazy blue eyes under a mass of chestnut hair, a pale-skinned face with exquisite sharp lines. Feeling guilty to admit it silently, you find him just as attractive as your husband, maybe more so—something so hypnotic in how he holds himself, moves, and speaks. Finding yourself drawn to him, a stirring in your underwear that you swear he can sense. Every time a little frisson runs through your body, his head unerringly swings towards you, a slight curl in his luscious lip, like he is smelling your arousal and thinks it the tastiest treat in the world.

You could swear he is trying to steal you from your husband - and to your horror, you realise you would absolutely let him - except… his attention is just as rapt upon Thomas. Benedict’s gaze is just as covetous when he speaks. His tongue flicks the corner of his mouth as your husband casually leans back and crosses his legs—as if Benedict is scenting his body, too. It's confusing but intoxicating, as if your wine is laced with a far more potent substance.

—

Benedict knows he has won you both over before you put down your dessert spoons, now hanging on his every word.

“Let us repair to somewhere more intimate for a nightcap,” he suggests, and your joint responding consent is instant. “How about your rooms here at the Inn?”

Were you in your sound, sober minds, it seems unlikely you would invite a stranger to your rooms, but as it is, you enthusiastically do. Benedict snags the remainder of the brandy bottle from the bar as he settles the bill.

“Friends of yours?” Jenkins frowns, vaguely intrigued.

“Everyone is a friend yet to be made, Jenkins,” Benedict answers, intentionally vague.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. “Bloody poets…” he is heard to mutter under his breath, but Benedict lets it pass. If the man invoked the name Byron, perhaps he wouldn't have. Might have stolen a chicken or two from the coup outside to exsanguinate in revenge.

Benedict trails behind you, both pleasantly inebriated now, holding the wood panelling as you negotiate the narrow corridors of the inn to your rooms, inhibitions lowered. He knows you are just in that sweet spot where you will be so open to suggestions but not so out of your minds to be a pointless fuck, unable to respond. There is nothing less appealing to him than a lifeless, limp, unconscious being. Yes, easy to feed upon, perhaps, but no challenge. The only thrill he gets these days is that of the chase. Of the crackling potential of any moment, human hearts beating wildly in his presence, blood pumping hard—that is what brings him exhilaration.

—

Dorset fumbles the heavy iron key in the lock, leaning into you as you giggle along with him. The attractive, imposing man stood patiently behind you, seemingly sober, which is impressive given he drank more than you both. Still unsure what is possessing him to allow this, Thomas nevertheless feels compelled to do this man’s bidding, to allow this whatever he wishes.

It may be a secret he has kept from you, but Dorset is not immune to the charms of a handsome man. In his youthful days at Cambridge, he had many a clandestine encounter with his fellow students. Late drunken nights of experimentation. He knows the power of a man’s touch, enjoying the taboo feeling of being taken roughly, clawing the mattress as he is mounted without mercy. A man's body may differ greatly from a woman’s, but it is no less of an attractive wonderland.

Little does he know just how soon you will learn of that predilection.

—

You twirl around the room as the men take a seat and pour more liquor, feeling ebullient, basking in the heat of the fire on this cold autumn night, dizzy and fizzling with energy. You feel the gaze of both men, knowing both track your moments from the wingtip chairs they inhabit. Your insides feel ripe and pulpy, compelling you to be daring, a peculiar impulse to strip and dance naked in front of them.

There must have been something in my drink. Surely?

Your husband interrupts just as you think to act.

“Darling, come sit with us,” Thomas appeals, patting his knee enticingly.

He would never typically invite you to sit upon him in the company of a stranger, but everything about tonight feels different, so you allow yourself to be swept into it. To see what may arise with the handsome, mysterious visitor.

You float over and sigh as you fall into Thomas’ lap, the heat of his leg seeping through your dress, warming your bottom. He pulls you snugly into his lap, bumping a stirring hardness and without a doubt, you know this evening will go somewhere you never expected…. And yet, you can't wait for it to do so.

“Isn't my wife beautiful?” Dorset slurs, his breath hot on your ear, turning you both to face Benedict in the chair next to you as if he is seeking his approval for his choice of spouse.

“Indeed she is,” Benedict responds, dark and silky, a shiver tracing down your spine as he voices it. “As are you handsome, good sir,” he adds, and you know they are very much out of your depth as you feel the same shudder pass through your husband's being beneath you.

Oh, good lord, who is this man?

—

Benedict sees you reacting to his voice, sees the ripple in your beings, hears it in your breathing, and knows he has you fully enthralled. You are his to do precisely as he wants now. Tumbling images flash through his mind as to how he can have both of your bodies—sweat and skin, blood and bone, moving together in a carnal symphony.

His instinct is to take you and then your husband. He can see the willingness there, but he’ll need more enticing to allow that dormant flame to be relit. Perhaps watching you, his new wife, give yourself so readily will be just the nudge he needs to submit, also.

So when Thomas turns to Benedict, offering you on the plate that is his lap, he decides this is the moment to strike. Downing the rest of his glass, he stands and tugs at the string of his velvet cape, which falls to the floor with a heavy whump… to reveal his fitted cropped jacket and tight britches, tailored in black fabric like a second skin, giving away everything about what he has to offer.

He hears your sharp inhales at the unmistakable tented outline.

“Desire is such a funny thing, is it not?” he rumbles, moving closer, and your legs fall apart on instinct, the air suddenly filled with a potent scent of your arousal that makes his tongue itch to taste.

“In what way?” Thomas hitches, his hands grabbing your waist reflexively as Benedict can hear his heartbeat in his breathy cadence.

“You both want me, and yet you offer your wife to me first,” Benedict assesses cooly, raising an eyebrow as he takes a step closer, watching you squirm as your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

“I did nothing of the sor…” Thomas’s response dies on the spot as one long, slender finger lands on his lips, hushing him, a sharp fingernail resting under his nose.

“We both know you did,” Benedict argues laconically, “And lucky for you…” Benedict almost chuckles as you gasp when his other hand cups your jaw. “…She wants me too. Right now, her thighs are soaked with delicious slickness; I can smell it,” he states casually, holding you both.

“Is that true?” Thomas inquires, side-eying you but not moving under Benedict's finger.

“Yes,” you exhale shakily, unable to peel your gaze from Benedict's face now he has tilted your jaw up to him. “I want him, husband,” you confess raggedly, not knowing why you are voicing it. “And I want you to watch, to participate.”

Benedict chuckles again. “Of course, you do, little one. You love him, even if you are tempted by the fruit of another.” He traces a knuckle down over your chin, your throat, where your pulse is beating wildly, pausing on your clavicle. You know your eyes are wide and beseeching, begging for more.

Benedict swings his gaze to Thomas, then leans in. “If you truly love your wife, you will kiss me right now,” he taunts, his lips hovering so close, “give her a good show; I need her trembling before I take her.”

Come on, sweet prince, dance with me.

—

Thomas can barely comprehend what is transpiring. But he doesn't want to fight it. The man’s finger is cool on his lip as he poses the question. You are writhing deliciously in his lap, making his cock swell painfully against the cleft of your bottom. The next decision is inevitable, fated.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He gently purses his lips and gives permission by bussing a featherlight kiss onto Benedict’s finger. The predatory smile that unfurls across the man’s face doesn't seem human, more akin to creature than man.

Then his jaw is tilted back, and his world swims as the man closes the few inches between their faces and kisses him. It's biting, hungry, desperate. A skilled tongue rolls over his, and Thomas feels a groan bubble up from deep inside. Possessed, overwhelmed, taken. Benedict tastes like sin but something odd like decay, too, at the edges of the fragrant brandy—some tart undercurrent that is wholly otherworldly and unnerving.

Thomas feels as much as he hears your moan. Feels the weight of your gaze glued to their faces, no doubt seeing a peak of their tongues entwining. Feels the weight of your body in his lap, moving rhythmically, grinding insistently, tilting your hips forward brazenly to drag your clit over the creases in his trousers. Your shameless want and desire are potent and arousing. Even as Benedict’s kiss steals his breath, a faint voice in his head gnaws about your actions being as inexplicable as his, but it's mostly drowned out by the roar of blood pumping hard in his system, seeming so loud around this man, as if he is in tune with it somehow.

As Benedict pulls back, Thomas's vision swims, awash with sensation. He watches, dazed, as the pale man turns and captures your mouth just as covetously.

—

You have only known the passionate kiss of one man—your husband. Yet a mere three days after your first mind-blowing experience of that, you have another first. Your first kiss with another, a whole other creature, not that you can likely comprehend. Unaware of the dance with death.

When Benedict turns and seizes your lips, you peep in surprise. But he swallows the noise, opening your mouth with his tongue, the kiss instantly intense. It's more of a take than the pliant dance you usually share with Thomas. A plundering that floods your senses and steals every breath from your lungs leaving you feeling shaky, unmoored, and taken somewhere dark that is metallic and brimstone. His kiss seems at once ephemeral and infinite. No wonder your husband looked dazed. As Benedict withdraws, the smile on his face is rapacious.

He suddenly pulls both of you to your feet, like ragdolls for him to puppet. Wrapping you up in a joint embrace, he whispers for you both to strip before releasing you just as swiftly, taking a seat on the edge of the imposing bed. As if in a trance, you begin undoing your own clothing.

“Nuh-uh,” Benedict clucks, holding a halting hand that you instantly obey. “Undress each other, my precious ones,” he elucidates, wanting a show.

Your heart thrums as you turn to your husband and he to you. Invisible strings seem to direct your frantic movements as you paw at each other, fabrics tearing in your swift pursuit of skin. You only stop panting wildly and staring when nothing is left, both frowning in confusion at the flurry and intensity of it.

What on earth just happened?

Uncertainty roils oleaginous in your stomach as if, on a gut level, your body is trying to send a warning signal. Still, at the same time, it feels detached and far away, as if your mind is in another realm, a place of edgy desire and boundless pleasure.

—

“Well, that was quite the brief show,” Benedict pipes up, bemused. “Not that I am complaining,” he adds, smirking, his eyes raking you both greedily as he runs a casual finger down his cheek.

Your bodies are ideal, as he suspected. The man is tall and lithe, not unlike himself, his skin pale and smooth, his cock, aroused and leaking, springing from a small thatch of hair that tapers to a narrow point under his belly button. So far, so similar. His cock is nice, sizeable but not intimidating, and weirdly he feels pleased for the woman. It is not as good as his cock; he's a Bridgerton, for Pete's sake, but entirely up for the task of bringing satisfaction to anyone who interacts with it. You are his ideal shape, your contours reminding him of a violin. And such an apt metaphor, your strings so ripe to be plucked, to be properly played, perhaps for the first time.

But mostly, what he tastes thick in the air of the heated room is your fluids. The rush of fresh blood pumping vigorously from your hearts, pulses elevated by the thrall. Sticky, sweet, and life-giving for him and you both. He is so glad he feasted on local farmstock before picking up your scent; otherwise, you would both be dead right now at his feet, lifeless and pale, every drop coursing through his mouth and swirling in his stomach like the indulgent meal your very hearty lifeforce represents. His hunger is slaked just enough that lust is his primary driver, at least for now.

He opens his mouth, engaging all the olfactory senses like a feline. Since he passed, his ability to pick up scents has been both a blessing and a curse, but right now, the best possible outcome from the dreaded experience.

Thomas’ precum is deliciously sharp, perhaps a shade too much. Benedict makes a mental note to offer him the luxury of some pineapple should this entanglement last longer than tonight, with them both still upon this mortal plain. You would undoubtedly be grateful for the improvement in his flavour, too.

As for you… his mouth froths. Your scent is sin itself to him, honeyed but also sharp like an undeveloped apple still clinging to the tree. A swirl of flavour in the air so plush, it takes all his willpower not to throw you to the ground and drink from between your legs. Knowing it would only take a blip, a momentary loss of careful control, to sink in his fangs, mixing your juices with your blood, what an absolute symphony of flavour that would be.

He realises he is staring at you both, panting lasciviously, lost in the jumble of scent and potential. You awaiting his next order, not even realising yourselves in suspended animation.

“Dorset, lie in the middle of the bed,” Benedict orders gruffly, drawing himself to his feet and standing aside.

Thomas does as bidden, his cock bobbing as he climbs onto the raised mattress and settles as instructed, looking at Benedict bright-eyed, awaiting any subsequent command.

“Watch me,” Benedict tutors you, then he crawls over your husband and, without preamble, takes the man's cock deep into his mouth as Thomas howls like he did for you earlier tonight.

—

Thomas almost hits the ceiling as his cock is suddenly surrounded by strong suction, vacuumed into Benedict's mouth. In fact, Benedict keeps sinking, and Thomas pants in shock as his tip slides into the man’s throat, something he has not had in many a year. The tightness, the pure depth of sensation. It seems strange the man does not need to take a breath or even fight as if there is air in his lungs, but dammit all to hell if this isn't already the most exquisite blow job of his entire life. Benedict apparently has no gag reflex; holding him deep, a mind-bogglingly long tongue unfurls to curl around his balls and lick covetously, a wet muscular stroke over his most sensitive skin that has his fingers curling into the sheets. He cannot school the booming, guttural groan. If he had not come merely an hour ago, thanks to his dearest you, he would likely be embarrassingly close to orgasm already; this man’s skill stupendous, another edge that doesn't seem human.

Thomas looks over frantically to you, his eyes bulging in shock, and he groans again at the sight of you. Your mouth hung open, lips rosy and damp, you have your fingers buried between your legs now, and there is a faint, lewd, wet sound as you invade your cunt with your fingers, just as he taught you on your wedding night. The sight before you is too beautiful and arousing to resist; you know your nipples are puckered, and Thomas’s tongue longs to run over them.

He wants to fuck and be fucked, sandwiched between you, his ravishing vixen of a wife, and this devil of a man, sucking his very life essence via his cock, intent on draining him dry. Just as Thomas feels a flush all over his body and a tightening in his sac, Benedict pulls up and away, smirking victoriously as he twists towards you, ignoring Thomas’ huffed, wretched pleas.

No! No, please, please do not leave me in this state!

—

You self-consciously whip your hands away from between your legs, and your eyes cut to Benedict as he addresses you.

“That is how you ensure your husband here never leaves you, little one,” he coos, running a thumb provocatively around his drooped lower lip, licking his thumbpad of every flavour. “Now it's your turn; show me what you can do.”

Benedict reaches out a draped hand. You take it, his touch light, helping you hop onto the bed to join them. He snatches your other hand and brings the fingers you had buried in your cunt up to his nose, sniffing lewdly.

Oh my god, this man is feral.

“I'm glad you enjoyed the show so much,” he smirks, running his nose up and down each digit. “Now I am going to taste you, darling girl,” it's low, akin to a threat. “You will sit on my face as you take his cock in your mouth, but do not let him come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, scarcely believing what he says. Benedict scowls slightly as he drops your hand.

“Don't call me sir, call me Count,” he snaps.

“Yes, Count,” you amend dutifully, and his smile, yet again, is devilish.

“Good, now ensure your husband is mindless with need while I provide you the same favour,” he purrs and slides under you with balletic grace.

Butterflies roar in your stomach as you feel the sharpness of Benedict's cheekbone press the skin of your inner thighs, draping yourself forward into your husband’s lap and tentatively licking a strip up his weeping cock as he mumbles your name weakly and moans.

Then you scream as a muscular tongue parts your folds with a force Thomas has never subjected you to. Whip-like, lashing your swollen clit with determined spirals before plunging lower and pushing far into your cunt, further than your husband's tongue has ever dared. Your groan is smothered as you take Thomas’ tip into your mouth, needing the distraction. Benedict’s hands grasp your hips and pull you down forcefully onto his face, his nose jammed against your pubic bone. Thomas has never been this engaged, devouring, a violent delight. You garble a curse around the cock, hurtling towards ecstasy as Thomas’ whole body tenses under you.

“Don't let him come,” Benedict reminds, words gusting hot over your slit, sensing what the man’s body signifies better than you do.

You pull off and breathe raggedly, staring up at your husband’s wrecked pleading face, where he leans on the headboard.

What is this? You mouth at him, nearly scared of how good it feels to ride Benedict's face so brazenly.

—

“Do not stop; use him, darling,” Thomas practically snarls through gritted teeth.

He is utterly enthralled by seeing another man taking you somewhere wild and untamed. The look of equal parts shock, fear and bewildered pleasure on your face is a picture he wants to remember forever.

He groans as you follow his advice, wrapping a hand loosely around his cock, a tease that makes his brain itch, as you concentrate on riding Benedict's invasive tongue, biting your lip, moaning vocally.

Yes, this is the best kind of sin.

Thomas mutters words, barely cognisant of what but compelled to urge you on. To take from this mysterious man so willing to give to you both, so far asking nothing in return, still fully clothed himself.

The jagged edge of his denied orgasm licks insistently at his mind, begging for release but paradoxically wallowing in the jangling ache of being so close but denied. Making him unable to think straight. As a doctor, he usually prides himself on keeping a cool head when all around may lose theirs, but tonight…. Tonight feels so peculiar. Out of the ordinary, out of control, out of his mind. And somehow craving carnality like a bestial creature, clawing at the bed, watching you be debauched by the same man who made him equally mindless.

—

Benedict cannot get enough. This wondrous pair. The husband was so responsive to his throat, and now you are bewitched just the same. Writhing your nub shamelessly over the tip of his nose, your juices trickling copiously down his nostrils to coat his throat as he plunges and twists his tongue inside you.

He wants you both so close to ecstasy, so close you can almost taste it, but not let you just yet. The thrill of how utterly base a human can be when dangling over the edge of lust fascinated him before… but now? Now, it’s his primary driver—to make a beast out of man, woman, any human, for them to feel one ounce of what he can. That heightened state when you crave something—so frenzied every base instinct emerges, shows your true nature: growling, greedy, hungry.

So when he feels the telltale ripplings in your cunt, he rapidly withdraws, and as predicted, you cry out, the sound ringing up the walls. He smirks, grazing your inner thigh with his fangs, the urge to sink into your soft skin and drink your other crimson nectar thronging in him.

Not yet, not yet.

The calm voice centres him, even as you keep moving, attempts to frottage yourself vigorously over his face, whimpering, desperate to push over the edge you are circling.

“Shh shh, sweet one,” he soothes, pulling out from under you as you pant wildly.

His hand rests on your lumbar spine to quell you. You slow, whimpering, collapsing forward, burying your face in your husband's lap, his cock leaking on your cheek, your hips swaying in the air. Both of you are shaking, sweaty and overwhelmed.

That’s it; we are getting there now, my darlings.

—

This doesn't feel right.

That voice is whispering again, but Thomas brushes it aside, ravenous, rooted in his body. Yearning to know what is next, a willing marionette in this sinful theatrical.

His mouth goes dry as he watches Benedict slide off the end of the bed and tug at his clothing, buttons popping open until lithe alabaster skin glows in the soft, flickering firelight. Shadows play over lean, muscled torso. He is beautiful: lean, virtually hairless, carved like a marble statue, just as pale and smooth. In fact, his beauty seems too ethereal, like his skin is no longer capable of tanning in sunlight. Still, Thomas longs to touch him, run his tongue over the sharp lines, and kiss every stunning contour.

“Y/n…” Thomas softly shakes your shoulder as you are still whimpering facedown in his lap. When you weakly raise your head, he nods for you to turn over and see the show you have been missing, Benedict now reaching for the buttons on his britches.

Lethargically, you flip over, your head cradled in Thomas’ lap as your eyes fall upon the man, and you inhale sharply. Benedict seemingly stares you both down as he lowers his britches, a smirk on his face entirely immodest. And when the material relents, you understand why.

Thomas’ cock pulses against your neck at the sight. He knows you have seen precisely one cock in your life, his, and this may come as a shock. It's larger and prettier, objectively than his own. You nuzzle him, biting your lip as you twist to look back up at him, eyes wide with concern.

“You can take it, darling,” he reassures, intuiting your apprehension as his knuckles brush calmingly over your cheek.

”As will you,” Benedict adds darkly, addressing Thomas. You watch your husband visibly gulp. Then you do the same, tongue feeling too large in your mouth, as Benedict mounts the bed and crawls predatory over your body, a sinful, crooked smile that is at once gorgeous and scary, that cock bobbing ominously as he draws nearer.

—

You feel butterflies under your ribs, unable to look away from his cock, suddenly nervous about the idea he might fuck you. Thomas is a perfect fit; it never hurts and feels designed to bring you gratification, but that?

It might be too much.

“Don't pretend you don't want me, little one,” Benedict boasts, edged with a darkness that is almost chilling.

“I-I do,” you stutter, unable not to speak the truth, your legs falling wider open reflexively.

“I know, I could smell you from 500 yards away; it drew me in like a clarion call,” he sighs wistfully, and it doesn't sound like he is exaggerating.

Benedict roughly grabs both of your legs and pushes them up and apart, making you gasp. Leaning over, he draws Thomas into a sinful kiss above you, making you mewl slightly at the sight, a burn in your tendons from the position, head now pulled out of Thomas’s lap onto the mattress.

“Hold her ankles,” Benedict orders over Thomas’s lips, gesturing to take over the hold. “Keep her wide and open for me, my prince,” he purrs as he leans away to slide a pillow under your shoulders, your head tilted backwards.

“Why like this?” you ask falteringly, feeling odd staring at Thomas's thigh upside down.

“So your husband can easily use your mouth as I fuck you, little one,” he explains calmly, hands now raking your flesh as he pulls you into position.

Nerves flare brightly in your belly, Thomas’s grip around your ankles harsh as he holds you so wide open. Then, there is intense pressure around your weeping hole. You whimper, your body quivering at Benedict’s attempted entry. He reaches up and touches your temple with two fingers, and the strangest thing happens; a preternatural calm soothes your mind, breath slowing, body pliant, racing now with nothing but want.

“Good girl,” Benedict tutors as he slips inside your body, the invasion blunt, the stretch as thrilling as it is raw.

He keeps pushing, the heat and size so much you can think of nothing else, even as Thomas shuffles closer, his cock nudging your chin, also demanding entry.

For someone innocent merely days ago, you willingly, excitedly, let both men slide into you at either end, your husband stealing your breath as he invades your mouth deeply, Benedict pushing you so wide you can feel him moving below your belly button as he bottoms out.

You feel them lean in towards each other above, Thomas sliding deeper as the sound of them kissing fills the air. You ache to see them, their mouths hot and entwined, but all you can do is close your eyes, swamped in sensation, so much hypnotic heat and scent. Fingers, you don't even know whose, pinch your nipples as both whisper your praises as they start to move in tandem, rocking into and out of your body in the same rhythm. They start slow, allowing you to draw breaths around Thomas' tip before he slides deep.

The drag of Benedict’s cock makes you moan; you can feel every contour and vein, your channel clinging tight to him, a noise of slickened suction as your body struggles to accommodate him.

But they begin to move faster, and you have to breathe through your nose, the insistent press of Thomas’ balls giving you limited air. The struggle makes it heady and soporific, like you can’t get enough and wants to die right here with both men buried deep inside you. You writhe as pleasure courses in your veins. Already pushed so close to coming, pliant and obedient to their use.

—

Benedict looks down upon the filled body of the woman beneath him and groans. Your cunt, such a tight wet vice surrounding him, delicious squelching sounds as he plunders you with increasing speed. Your plush lips wrapped around your husband's cock, your throat exposed and dewy with sweat, his teeth itching to sink into the vein bulging prominently as you fight to take him as well as swallow and breathe. He can’t help but reach down and run a sharp-pointed fingernail over your diaphragm, fascinated by the play of delicate muscle and bone as you ripple under his touch.

“Such a good little thing, and only recently plucked; you are a lucky man,” Benedict opines, his voice gravelly even to his own ears, looking up again to the man in front of him.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas agrees, and Benedict sees the imploring look in his eyes, begging for another kiss.

“Come here, sweet prince,” Benedict murmurs, feeling a spike of victory as Thomas effusively leans in, lips glistening, flushed and plump.

As they kiss anew, Benedict runs a fang over that juicy lip, wanting to sink down and bite, feeling his life force pulsing so strong right there underneath ripe, fleshy fibres. Thomas's hands twine around Benedict’s neck, his tongue tentative, asking for entry, and Benedict swirls and sucks upon it greedily, only breaking when he hears your attempted gurgling of words, your hands wrapped around your husband’s fuzzy thighs, requesting reprieve.

“Slide deeper; make her take it just a touch longer,” he growls into Thomas's ear, teething his lobe. “She will be feisty, but the lack of air will deliver her so close to rapture,” he counsels as Thomas thrusts and holds still. You start to struggle with muffled calls of increasing urgency. “Now slide out,” Benedict advises moments later, and Thomas follows his bidding.

Benedict moans as your whole body judders as you gulp deep breaths. “Perfect. Oh, my prince, you should feel how tight she gets when she’s fighting to breathe; dear god, it’s the best kind of pain.” He stutters, tone deep, wrecked, stupefied by the grip of your convulsing cunt.

What a perfect little thing. I want her as mine.

—

Thomas is also panting, the tightness of your throat squeezing him so close to orgasm for what feels like countless times tonight. He falls back against the headboard instead. To watch. To watch you, his once angelic wife, be taken, wrecked, destroyed by this gorgeous creature.

Your eyes shoot open as you realise he has withdrawn.

“Husband,” you reach a shaky hand up above your head, glad when he takes it, watching your body roll with each punishing thrust Benedict takes, his eyes seemingly fixed upon the hammering pulsing in your neck as you ratchet higher, his tongue slipping out of his mouth in a wanton glistened point.

Just as you are pushing your hips into each thrust, screaming with ecstasy, Benedict pulls out, and Thomas feels your anguish as you suddenly cry out, your whole being heaving with unmet needs, eyes pleading.

“Do you miss my cock already, little one?” he preens, trailing your own musky juices over your belly as he teasingly passes his cock over your heated skin.

You nod viciously and growl, Thomas barely recognising you—a creature reborn of pure lust and submission. Craving this man in a way that makes jealousy and want war uneasily in Thomas’ gut. You have never been this feral for him, your husband, but yet he completely sympathises, feeling the same pangs of want to be taken, wrecked, destroyed endlessly by this thing resembling a man.

“Alas, that is your misfortune, my beautiful thing, for ‘tis your husband's turn now,” the cold glint in his eyes and the harsh lines of his razor-sharp cheekbone glowing as yet again he leaves you a whining, whimpering mess, your body leaking, your voice hoarse, more wild animal than woman. As Thomas lifts his gaze from you writhing to Benedict, one thought haunts his very being with a growing disquiet.

What exactly are you, if not man?

—

You feel inhuman, something clawing at the edges of your mind that feels like madness. A desire to be possessed by this man. Your insides branded as his. So when he withdraws just as you are fluttering once again, it feels like insanity, like sandpaper drags over your brain, your toes and fingers stiff from flexing so hard in utter wretchedness.

This is ecstatic torture.

“Please, my Count,” it’s forlorn, ragged, almost not recognisable as your own voice, your throat still sore from the harsh tip of your husband's cock.

“No, little one, it’s only right you should take your husband's seed, not mine,” he clucks, even as he rakes his hands covetously over your sweaty body, his tone sounding reluctant as if trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Sweet prince, claim your wife,” he calls, clamping a hand around Thomas's neck, compelling him to slide over you.

He does as bidden, and you groan as the familiar stretch of your husband's cock overtakes your senses. Not nearly as punishing or brutal as Benedict, but curved perfectly to glance at that spot inside that makes you clamp down and scream with every pass.

“Darling,” Thomas's familiar voice whispers in your ear, and it’s a balm you need, centring you on him and his lovely face, moving over you in a surging wave.

“Thomas, my love,” you call, wrapping your limbs around him and taking comfort in his embrace, his body, familiar and musky, a flavour you know well dripping on your tongue as you kiss his salty neck, mumbling encouragements, your heels digging into his bottom.

Benedict watches you from behind, and when you look beyond Thomas, you see eyes inky black with desire, fingers ghosting Thomas’s back as if wanting to flay his skin open.

“Are you ready for me, my prince?” Benedict purrs in a way that makes even you shudder, unable to look away from his tongue as it slides into Thomas’ ear.

—

Benedict reaches for the vial before Thomas even moans his weak assent. The smell of clove swirls as he unseals a small vial and pours it down Thomas’ crack.

He can taste how much Thomas wants this, a heavy fug of desire in the air that is his pheromones begging more than his words ever might.

Thomas shudders, and his movements falter as Benedict slides a finger between his cheeks and swirls the oil over his heated skin, over his puckered hole and his balls.

Benedict can feel the weight of your stare over Thomas’s shoulder. Intrigue and desire. You have likely never seen a man fuck another man. Certainly not your husband. Certainly not while he is inside you.

Little one, hold on tight.

—

Thomas is staring into your eyes when Benedict’s cock slides between his cheeks, demanding entry.

He knows he has stilled his movements, and his breathing is ragged and uneven as that long-forgotten breach occurs. He groans loudly; it's the largest he has ever had inside him, and the burn is intense.

“Are you alright, my love?” you call, holding his face delicately and stroking his cheek.

“It’s intense, my love,” he answers through gritted teeth and a shaky exhale as Benedict keeps inching slowly into him.

He’s never had his cock buried in someone while being fucked before; intense exhilaration and so much stimulation. To fuck and be fucked simultaneously.

When Benedict bottoms out, Thomas collapses onto you, his elbows sinking into the mattress under your armpits, his hands clenched in fists over your breasts.

You reach for one and pries open his fingers, silently bringing the hand to your mouth and kissing then sucking his fingers as if his cock, a tease that titillates and distracts as Benedict starts to rock in and out of him. Thomas cannot look away from your mouth, your pleading eyes no doubt telegraphing your devotion and lust.

My darling wife…

—

You feel the moment Benedict moves within your husband, his motion a catalyst to the slide of Thomas's cock within you.

He has found a way to fuck us both.

It is all your mind can think as you watch your husband's face contort a thousand ways, rapture and fear, his whole body becoming a puppet stuck between you and the Count.

“Can you feel that?” Benedict growls, staring you down, eyes black now.

“Y-Yes,” you stumble, seeing something wild in him that genuinely scares you now, your tummy oily even as your clit twinges with pleasure, your husband's cock being driven into you at a pace that you know will make you come within moments.

“Good… don’t you dare look away from me,” Benedict growls when your eyes stray to Thomas.

You obey but watch with growing disquiet as he smiles wickedly wide. Two extended ivory fangs glow in the low flickering firelight. His tongue licks over them provocatively, drawing your attention.

What in God's name?

“God can’t help you now, little one,” Benedict sniggers ominously, and your heart pounds that he can read your mind. “Indeed I can,” he winks, making you gasp.

You are trapped. Trapped under your almost rag doll-like husband, his groans gusting hot into your neck now as he is slumped over you, being fucked so harshly by Benedict, hips snapping as he stares you down, pointed nails scraping down Thomas’s back, his entire mien a sinister seductive leer.

“You are mine, both of you,” Benedict declares. It’s dark, possessive, unearthly.

Confusion rips through your being as, for the first time, you see something other than man—a creature. Utterly terrifying, beguiling, erotic. A shadow moves over his face that is all menace and not of this world. Yet, at the same time, your body is so close to ecstasy, a taut thread holding all your muscles so close to breaking. Horror, fear, lust, and want are a continuous swirling loop in your very being.

Time slows, treacle-like, as you start to convulse despite yourself, taken over the edge by the carnal push and pull of Benedict fucking your husband into your body. Clinging tight to Thomas, you watch in slow-motion as Benedict leans down, those fangs looming large. Then, you feel a searing, sharp pang as they make contact with the meat of your arm, where it is wound around Thomas’s neck. Utter terror grips your heart, even as a flood of chemicals so strong courses into your bloodstream. Strong suction over the wound has you screaming, pure unbridled ecstasy, euphoria coursing in every fibre even as it dawns on you far too late precisely what he is.

VAMPIRE!

—

Benedict has only known immortality for a few months when he tastes his forever. Your blood floods his mouth, and it is the nectar he has been seeking since his turn. The thing that calms and sates him. The sweet delight that means he will never leave your side: he is yours. He will feed from others, for sure, but he is imprinted upon you forever now. He shall always be careful never to drink too much to kill you; he needs this taste more than anything, and just a few drops will be enough to keep him sustained.

“My goddess,” he moans, making your eyes pop open, fear but something else, too, swimming in your depths. It's not revulsion; it's anything but–it's yearning, even from your trance-like bliss.

He stops sucking before you lose too much blood; it’s just enough to make you light-headed and extend your rapture. He can feel you convulsing, Thomas’s limp body a conduit for your intense orgasm. Buried deep in Thomas, closing his eyes and feeling the pulses as you milk your husband’s cock, him just awash and pliant, sandwiched between you.

Benedict feels from inside the moment Thomas breaks, feels his balls contract and his pelvis ripple as he groans loud and long, his seed forcibly painting your insides. It’s futility to resist the urge to feast again. Meeting your hungry, consuming gaze as you crest a secondary wave, he sinks his fangs into the nape of Thomas’s neck, the man calling out lustily. And as he sucks greedily, Benedict falters and moans hard. It's like Thomas’ flavour is the other puzzle piece he needs. The ying to your yang. Together, the taste in his mouth is a symphony. A magnum opus, what feels like the very reason he now exists such as he does.

“My prince, my king,” he garbles, roughly suckling from Thomas's neck, watching the crimson line of blood ooze down his spine and licking it covetously, wantonly, his very purpose.

And it's the catalyst that flings him into the cauldron too, a shuddering snap that consumes his whole body and has him coming so hard he cannot hold himself on his knees anymore, slumping onto Thomas, panting as he empties, a visceral unloading that feels like the very best catharsis.

—

You have never known paradise like this. A continuous loop of thrill; every time you think it is over, you feel first your darling Thomas and then your beautiful nightmare Benedict come, and it pushes you over another precipice. Each is as precious and encompassing as the last.

The weight of them both slumped upon you as the shudder is something you cannot withstand, and you have to call out in protest. Somehow almost preternaturally, they rearrange around you, a tangle of limbs, sweat, cum and blood entwined like a knot of vipers as you all find a comfortable hold, panting hard from the exertion.

“What are you??” you demand, ragged, staring Benedict down around Thomas, who seems to be hovering semi-conscious, his face a picture of complete rapture.

A finger traces down your cheek as he does the same to Thomas, which you track askance.

“Darling precious, you already know. I’m your worst dream masquerading as your perfect fantasy,” he chimes. “And I am yours forever.”

“To which of us do you speak?” you gulp, barely able to form the words; your whole world tilted and forever changed.

“You see, therein lies the beauty,” Benedict smiles, running the edge of his incisors first over Thomas’s neck as he groans drowsily, then yours, making you inhale sharply. “I speak of both of you.”

Thomas twists and places a sleepy, sated kiss on you and then Benedict.

“Enthralling, is not, my love?” Thomas slurs, nuzzling you both. “We have our very own creature of the night.”

“You knew?!” you stutter, disbelief warring with every other emotion alive in your body.

“Mmm,” he hums peacefully. “I knew on some level from the moment he kissed me. And yet here we are. Hearts still beating, bodies utterly sated. This is the best possible outcome. I, for one, cannot wait for every adventure with our delicious Vampire,” Thomas lazily pats Benedict's cheek, who smiles and kisses his temple.

You are rendered speechless.

“Come on, y/n, my goddess,” Benedict goads, his tone dusky and irresistible as his lips ghost your husband’s, his long pale fingers smearing a droplet of blood into your breast, spidering over your flesh in a way that already has your cunt swelling again. “I am yours. And I can give you such pleasures every night,” he promises.

Well, that is perhaps the most enthralling prospect of all.

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inmyheadimobsessed · 1 year

Text

Aftermaths

pairing: shuri ✘ plussize!black!fem!reader

summary: shuri takes care of you in the ways she knows how; truths and feelings surface.

word count: 5.9k

contains: mild sexual behavior & suggestive stuff (18+), fluff, aftercare, body worship, vulnerable!reader, slight cocky!shuri, jealous!shuri, vulnerable!shuri, possessive!shuri, riri knows how to mind her business, love confessions, lesbians lesbianing (they're kinda just made for each other tbh), shuri's pockets are very deep, shuri being dramatic and sappy and in love, light chocking

tags: @verachii @venusdraco @vixentheplanet @quintessencewrites @cjariot @widowmakker @blackgcomica @n7cje @dejaonline @shinsousliya @generallysapphic @mbakuetshurisprincess @pinkwright @saintwrld @axailslink @mocha-aya @uhwhatsay @6-noir @cuddl3s4shur1 @percsane @chidinma @shuriszn @lppriceisright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @abenomeiiii @marsolgy @prettymrswright @shurisjournal @marsolgy @shurismainbxtch @shurisbbymama @shuriri4life @cafehyunji @ventingfanfics @yunhofingers @yamsthoughts @iseebeautyinwords @ihearttish @vampzxi @oceean @sapphicvqmpires

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: me writing something that isn't over 10k words??? a collective gasp resounded around the room! anyway, this is the aftercare/morning after scene for "lies bout how i hate you." this just something real cute and fun for the girls until me and the outline for part two stop fighting. if y'all was to see how she look rn... chile, just a ghetto mess. if this don't hold y'all over until then, idk what to tell you, it's above me! hope you lot enjoy, mwah, mwah!!

↬ lies bout how i hate you

A greedy mouth imprinted your flesh, nipping harshly at your sore neck before parting along it, and you hissed, absorbing the heated air rushing the pretty bruises on your skin. You felt it stretch, dragging into a smirk against your blazing body as you lay there, stiff and weary. This was to be a game, you discerned immediately, one designed with your losing in mind.

The pillowy lips abusing the space below your chin performed with purpose, seeking to remind you of their involvement in the creation of those decorative marks. They encased each blemish, pecking, sucking, licking hungrily at your throat, undoubtedly deepening the bold violet hue existing there already.

Waking you, the goal of the game, but you disregarded this, keeping your eyes tight as you resisted the urge to shuffle ever so slightly in the bed. You could play too, or at the very least, you could attempt.

“I know you're awake, entle.” Seduction lived in her words; in her accent; it coated every breath she expired. Her voice was a hot crackle in the air once it reached your skin, alerting you of your foreseen defeat within seconds of impact.

And thus began your body's habitual response to her sultry call. You felt the sharp edges of Shuri's bare teeth grazing your neck again, her head tucked perfectly inside the crook as she inhaled you, making you twitch in her arms. Her jaw widened ahead of a stinging bite, and you whimpered through the pain, the sound melding with her chuckle. “Open those pretty eyes, I want to see them.”

“Ion wanna be awake. Let me sleep.” It hurt to speak, and the sound of your own voice straining in protest ignited a flare of irritation in your chest, so you kept your eyes closed, wanting to deny her the visual of their sparkle in retaliation.

Shuri laughed again, its vibration racing through you at the mirroring speed of your heartbeat. She drew you in closer, humming in sync with the anticipated groan you expelled. “I have to clean you up baby, you're filthy.”

Your annoyance grew fiercer at the drawl of her sentence, compelling you to finally open your eyes. “Cause yo ass was doing too much.”

“When we fuck,” Shuri removed her curls from their hiding place beneath your chin, smile smug as her still-blown pupils latched onto yours in the dimness surrounding you both. So breathtaking, so beautiful; you couldn't forbid your eyes from softening. “It gets messy. Did you forget that while you were busy with um… What's her name again?”

Naci.

The mere mention of her soared your temperature. Crawling into a hole crossed your mind; you couldn't retreat then, but maybe curling in on yourself now could become an option. You were mortified, recollecting her face and its contortion. Every nook colored in dismay, painted in disappointment, in disgust. But, your aching body couldn't fathom the notion of crawling, and concealing your growing smile proved impossible with Shuri's tired eyes boring into yours as they did now.

She too was sleepy, but she fought it, centering her focus on getting you to comply.

You bit your lip, aware that you were gaping at her pretty face in adoration, but you ceased to care. “You ain't have to do that poor girl like that, Shuri. That was just trifling. Even for you.”

“I would believe your remorse to be genuine if you weren't grinning at me right now. You're beaming, Ntomb'am.” (my girl)

You smacked her, admonishing the arrogance lacing her words. “It is. She's a nice girl.”

“And therein lies her problem.”

“Fuck you.” You tried rolling over in the soiled bedding, but her strength kept you in place. Shuri’s fingers melted into your cupped jaw, delicate as ever. She knew the action would get you; you chased her softer side more so than the one she presented regularly, and it was her favorite thing to manipulate.

She scanned your smiling face, confidence lodged in the deepest parts of her brown globes. Fuck she was good, uttering nothing, yet still possessing the skill to make you squirm beneath her destructive stare; Shuri reduced the little fight you had left in you to ruins, coercing your surrender.

She pinched your cheek, making you scrunch your face. “I don't like repeating myself, so I won't.”

You could pout, resist, but what was the use? Shuri always got her way, and it would be illogical to protest against being pampered just to simply spite her.

She placed a peck on your forehead before releasing you and climbing out of the bed. Shuri made her way to your side, slowly guiding your back off the mattress to help you sit up. “I'm guessing you want to go to your bathroom?”

Your response was a wordless nod, and she scooped you up. Whilst in her arms, you tied those aching thighs of yours snugly around her slender waist on the trot to the bathroom, passing Riri on the couch. She said nothing, neither did you and Shuri, but your heated blush crept up anyway. Because you knew what she was thinking, her telling smirk and amused eyes speaking what her lips refrained.

“Shower.” Shuri sat you on the edge of the sink, tilting her head at your singular word. “I know you wanna put me in the tub, but Ion want that. I need a shower, not a bath.”

She hummed, “Can you even stand right now?”

God could she thin your patience. You narrowed your eyes at her, clearly agitated, but of course, Shuri found hilarity in your mood. She chuckled, the sound low in her bosom as she deviously sank the pads of her digits into your tender, fleshy hips, eyebrow cocked daringly. “Ouch! Ouch! Shuri! What the fuck?!”

“Exactly. You're getting in that tub.”

This time you did pout; you crossed your arms in frustration, and your big doe eyes toyed with her commanding attitude. “You the reason I’m all sore and shit. Just lemme have my shower, it’s the least you could do.”

Her palms rested on either side of the counter as she leaned forward, caging you in, stern eyes searching for something across your upturned face. “That's the fourth time you've used profanity with me in the past ten minutes.”

“Ugh, of course your annoying as– self is counting,” Shuri grinned at your correction, pleased by the way you so easily fell in line for her. You rolled your eyes when you noted her satisfaction. Fuck her, and fuck your perpetual cycle of constantly adhering to her.

She laughed, pecking your lips. “Hmm… I guess I can let you have your shower. But the second I sense being on your feet is becoming too much, I’m running you a bath. Yeva?” (are we clear)

“Okay.” A sheepish smile chiseled into your face, exposing your deep dimples as she kissed you again. Her mouth was plush against yours, coaxing a desperate little whine out from your stomach, and when she pulled away, your lips ran after hers.

“Always so greedy for me, pretty girl.”

Shuri tugged your T-shirt off, careful not to brush the spot where her teeth incised your shoulder, and she smirked. Your skin heated watching Shuri become enraptured with every abrasion she sketched into your flesh; some bolder than others; deeper, but none soon to disappear.

She drank in your nakedness with glossy eyes, bottom lip sucked tight between her canines. “You're so gorgeous with my marks all over your beautiful body.”

You dipped your head, seizing the opportunity to exhale when she stepped away to turn the shower on. “Thanks...”

“Mhmm. Now let me hear you say it.” She lifted you once again, sliding you off the counter and onto your feet before making you face the mirror. It was like your legs forgot what it meant to stand, because you wobbled, and if you were gazing into the glass ahead of you, you'd witness the conceited smile covering Shuri's lips at the sight of your stumble.

“Shuri, you wasting my water, can I just get in the damn–” You avoided the image of your bare skin in the mirror at all costs; there was too much shame existing in your reflection.

But as always, whenever you decided on a course of action, Shuri made sure her’s differed vastly, “Haven't I warned you about your choice of words already?”

“Whatever.”

Shuri snaked your throat, pressing her exposed front into your back, her fingers squeezing and lifting your head so you could behold the remnants of her claim on your body. “Tell me how gorgeous you are.”

She seemed elated by your throaty gasp when you finally took yourself in, the corners of her mouth twitching briefly at your awe. A trail of hickeys and bite marks lined your neck, traveling along your chest, before stopping below your left breast, each one deliberately placed. Their vibrance made them beautiful, reinforcing what you always knew to be true. You were the Panther’s prey — her prize at the end of her hunt — these lacerations were testimony to that.

“So gorgeous. Now can I please have my shower?” Your eyes rolled as you tried wrapping your mind around what the reflection staring back at you would mean, in this moment, in the morning, in the near future. The reality of this thought soured the bliss you almost let yourself taste, dropping your mood entirely.

A power imbalance would forever exist between you and Shuri; it existed now, and it was certainly present when you confessed your true feelings to her. She hadn't reciprocated your declaration, not in the way you'd hoped, not with her words. She wished to say it, this was made evident by her somber eyes holding yours in the mirror. But she would make you wait, she wanted you desperate for those three words, because who would your Panther be if she didn't opt for control over vulnerability?

Shuri’s fingers dove deeper into your throat, compressing your windpipe in her palm as she watched you wince under the pressure and pain, “Say it like you mean it.”

“I'm s-so f-fucking gorgeous.” A choked response, but you smiled anyway, marveling at your naked frame in the reflective surface before shower steam fogged the glass. You did mean it; you believed it.

“Yes, you are.” She kissed your neck after releasing you, allowing you to inhale.

Without a word, she was pulling your hair into a high ponytail, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your nape. She breathed you in with a loud sigh before spinning you to face her. “Now come on.”

Her eyes were practically melted balls of brown peering down at you, the softest she'd permitted them to be in weeks, and you appreciated it wholeheartedly. Electricity thrilled through both of your bodies when she laced your hands together, and she shot you a knowing wink that rocketed your heart’s pumping.

Shuri pulled the misty shower door open, stepping in first to stable you. “Easy, baby.”

Her arms were looped around your waist the second you stood under the streaming water, and Shuri was reeling you in against her chest, supple lips finding your earlobe. “I'm letting you have your shower, why are you still angry with me?”

You sighed. You supposed your uncertainty could be misinterpreted as anger; it was quite palpable, and being confined to these shatterable walls could certainly increase the pressure your emotions emitted. “Not angry with you.”

Shuri moved mechanically for your washcloth and favorite mango-lime body wash, her lengthy inhale audible when she popped the cap behind you. “Okay. But you are upset about something, no?”

“Why do you think that?”

She swiped the lathered rag across your sore back, massaging your tired muscles with sensuous force. Your body cautioned you against the building moans creeping up the back of your throat, but at the moment, you couldn't care, their blare would just have to come forth. Shuri's hands all over you as she scrubbed you clean, the permeating aroma of your fruity soap, and damn, the drumming droplets of tepid water beating down on your chest were much too pleasurable to swallow any sound wishing to escape you.

Suds trickled down your shoulders, running over your bitten breasts, tickling you as you stalked the white foam on its race down your stomach with a smile.

“Because, I know you best…” You could hear the smirk in her delayed reply, and it took the remainder of your strength not to scoff.

She turned you without effort, seizing hold of your gentle eyes. Shuri’s face showcased genuine concern as she stripped your bones bare with the pretty twinkle in her stare. Her lips met your collarbone, wiping little kisses into your wet skin with her gaze still on yours. “And I always know when something is feeding on your mind.”

She dabbed the cloth between your boobs, beneath them, and your neck launched backward with a deep hum. The shower head stormed your flexing shoulder blades while Shuri ran the rag through your rolls, atop your curves, waking a broken whine when she sponged your tender hip a little too hard.

“If you know me s-so well, then you should know exactly what's on my mind, right Princess?”

Her eyes became slits in front of yours, and you watched a slow grin creep across her perfect face. “Sit. I need to wash your legs.”

“I can do that myself.” You objected just because; you knew Shuri would never allow it.

“I said sit.”

You did as you were told, easing yourself onto the built-in seat in the corner, eyeing her ass as she moved for the detachable shower head. “Thought you didn't like to repeat yourself.”

Your giggle made her shake her head, but her smirk existed there, on her pretty plump lips. Shuri kneeled, using the hoes to spray you with water. The heated spritz dissolved the suds sitting on you, and you relaxed, flattening your back against the wall with your legs spread wide.

She moved lower with the water, wetting your core carefully, stopping when you hissed under the sensation. “Is that too much?”

“S'okay.” You nodded. “Not you on your knees for me, Princess.”

Shuri grinned, replacing the shower head with the soaked washcloth before waving the soft material down your legs. “The view is perfect from down here.”

“Mmm.”

“Have I told you how much I love these?” Her hot mouth meshed with the thick expanse of your large thighs, pecking and licking your skin.

“Can't remember.”

She grabbed your shin, stretching your entire leg out and cupping it in her delicate palm, allowing her lips to wander. “Guess I must refresh your memory then, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“I love your thighs,” An open mouth kiss burrowed into your legs, and Shuri hummed into your skin. “So beautiful, so perfect.”

Her tongue was on the climb, purling the beads of water covering you like a thirsty feline. She suckled the insides of your sprawled thighs, inching closer and closer to your throbbing heat, causing you to whimper aloud; you wouldn't even stop her if she decided it was to be her final destination.

You could tell she sensed your willingness, despite how used you felt already, and just like your uncertainty, her pride blossomed fervently in the fog. But, her mouth skipped your center entirely, drifting shamelessly to your waist. “These hips, this waist, sthandwa, Bast, if only you knew what they do to me.”

“Tell me.” Your desperation enticed her.

“I love every dip in your skin, every dent, every dimple. Being allowed to feel your wonderful curves increases my heart rate, especially now, after all the time we've spent apart. I’m hardly even worthy of this pleasure.” Shuri whispered her convictions into your cellulite.

You enjoyed when she got like this, lost in you, and in your body; you missed it. “Damn Princess, I got you like that for real?”

Shuri's lips shifted to your cushioning tummy, her teeth nibbling on your stretch marks long enough to quell her insatiable hunger for you. “You're the only person able to make me feel the things I do. You create storms inside of me, baby, fierce storms.”

“That's crazy.” You were cheesing, staring beyond the beauty of her soul as her mouth ascended to the valley of your breast: one peck, two pecks, three.

“Fuck, I love your beautiful breasts. I’m sure you know this already, hmm?” Her eager mouth latched onto your perky right nipple, swirling around the erect little nub with devotion. “Don't you know this?”

Shuri switched to the left ahead of the answer she sought as an award, distributing an equal amount of care to this bud as well. She watched you thrash from the ecstasy she brought on, listened for your small cries above her with a pleasant smile. “Every sound I elicit from you is like a symphony, pretty girl. I love it all.”

“Look at these, sthandwa.” Just like earlier, she paid special attention to the pigmented love bites staining your heaving chest. “I think I outdid myself with these.”

Shuri slid her tongue over your shoulder, sucking and kissing the divots forged by her canines; this one she took her time admiring. “Mmm, my favorite one. This isn't going away anytime soon.”

“You like marking me up.”

She stood, towering over you with lustful eyes, leaning in to capture your parted mouth. “I love marking you up. You're beautiful.”

Although she placed you peacefully on cloud nine, your mistrust remained. Shuri loved your thighs. Shuri loved your hips, your curves, your breasts; spitting out these confessions bred no hardship for her, yet still, she withheld the sole confession you craved.

“All done?” She questioned tauntingly with a smirk, and you nodded, waiting in your spot for her to finish her own shower before the raining water came to an abrupt halt.

“Hand.” You wasted not a second giving her your fingers to hold, and she steadied you on your feet. She swaddled you in your fuzzy towel once outside, trapping your wet mouth between hers for a long kiss, and like clockwork, you moaned into her accepting throat. It was then that she pulled away, matching your simper for a few beats before you shied away. “Let's get my lovely girl dressed, hmm?”

“Okay.”

•••

“Shuri that tickles, oh my god!” Your little giggles egged her on; the Princess found herself on her knees for you once again as she smoothed your fragrant cocoa butter into your rich skin, taking to the way the lotion dissolved into your feet with enlarged pupils.

“Yeah?” She smiled, biting her lip. Shuri was prettiest like this, with her guards lowered, doing the thing she loved more than her lab excursions: tending to you. “Do you want me to stop, entle?”

You shook your head, exposing the depths of your dimples to the striking woman kneeling for you, relinquishing yourself to her, and her gratifying touch. Shuri kneaded your legs expertly and intentionally, working out the tension birthed from her nefarious behavior. And it came quickly, the pleasure rush prompted to loosen your tight muscles. Her fingers were magic; she was magic.

Your sensual keens carried, filling the air as Shuri’s stimulating hands took care of you. “You're okay, right baby?”

“Mhmm.” You sucked in a sharp breath.

“And you’d tell me if it gets to be too much?”

You were panting, your body becoming a pool of limp limbs around the building pressure. “It's perfect. I-I promise.”

“Good. You deserve nothing less.”

She concluded the massage with a string of kisses on each glossy thigh to cement her obsession into your flesh. Shuri then assisted you in getting ready for bed. She helped you into your silk, lace-trimmed nightgown whispering sweet praises into your neck, the warmth of her words bristling your stray curls. “I'm so proud of you. You did so well for me tonight. From start to finish baby, you were perfect.”

She secured your headscarf neatly on your head, “Not too tight?”

“No.”

And then she tucked you into your sheets before nestling in beside you; a practiced routine ingrained in her.

You lay facing Shuri, fingers trailing her face as she watched you in the dark. Her beauty could be deemed unsettling; you did deem it so. So much of it consumed you, but you could never tire of the sense of serenity that overcame you when you stared into her sunken brown eyes. Shuri's beauty could very well be enough to make you forget that this time with her wasn't forever promised. “You're so pretty, Shuri.”

“I know.”

There lived something else on her tongue, but voicing it proved to be challenging. “Say what you're thinking, Princess.”

“I-I missed your sheets. Missed how the scent of your laundry detergent always clings to me after I lay beside you in them.”

You hummed lowly; this may have been a truth, but it was not the one gnawing at her brain. Rarely did your Panther get choked up, so it was fair to say Shuri fought her words now, out of stubbornness. The two of you knew what she wanted to say, and you knew she hoped your awareness would suffice, but you refused to let her get off so easily, not after tonight, not after everything.

“Shuri.”

She kissed your cheek before engulfing you and rooting her curls into your beating heart. “I know.”

“Then say it.”

“I will.” Shuri pressed her lips into your sternum, the action barring you from fighting your slumber any longer. Her warmth lulled your aching bones, your tender flesh, and you let those tired eyes of yours flutter shut, capturing one last image of her cuddling you before allowing yourself to dive.

•••

Sun rays woke you up, making you roll on your side to dodge the light spilling through your curtains. Ultimately the wrong move, because you ached still. You let weak fingers course your sides, slowly, gently, flinching when they swept a particularly sore spot. “Fuck you, Shuri.”

As the quiet mumble left your mouth, you realized, her side of the mattress was barren. The only proof that she'd lain with you being the dent she left in her wake, one that had now run cold. Her departure wasn't the least bit surprising though, it was predictable if anything.

You weren't hurt by it either, what you felt now was disappointment, and in yourself nonetheless. Because you’d fallen right back into Shuri. And for a fleeting moment, when she tangled herself into you last night, you did away with your doubt and permitted belief. Belief that you’d wake up in her embrace, belief that just maybe, the sex could spawn some sort of new beginning for the two of you. A silly thought apparently.

You rolled your eyes with a groan. Attempting to sit up was a bust, your back stung at the movement, and gravity sank her claws into you pulling you right back into your bed.

“Did you just attempt to get up?” Fuck. It should be embarrassing. You should be embarrassed at the way you responded to that amused accent wafting through the air. It yanked you forward with a quickness, forcing you to ignore your tired muscles screaming for you to lay back down.

Shuri sauntered closer to you, a tower of identifiable boxes filling her fists. When she reached the velvet ottoman perched in front of your bed, she sat them down, eyeing you brazenly.

Her smirk, another thing recognizable; Shuri revered the way you fought your pain just to look at her.

You scolded yourself, but ultimately in vain because once she beckoned you forth with that finger, you were crawling, making your way to the foot of the bed amidst the protests of your tendons.

She strangled your jaw, tilting your head upwards so your eyes would connect. “So good for me.”

You nodded, hoping she'd notice your puckered lips coated in and dripping desperation. “Aww, would my good girl like a kiss?”

“Yes.”

Shuri’s fingers tunneled into your cheeks, adding to the entire body ache you were suffering through, but you couldn't care if you tried. It was worth it; a kiss from those lips could mend it all. “Okay.”

She blew the word into your mouth as she leaned in, weaving her soft lips into your anxious ones passionately. You whimpered, realizing you were right — Shuri's kiss did hold the power to alleviate your pain.

The longer she kept her tongue in your mouth, the looser you felt, akin to the sea, and its shapelessness, just simply flowing. But, your euphoria only lasted for so long. Your steady tides were submersive, and she could no longer breathe, so she pulled away, breaking the kiss and earning a whine from you as she came up for air.

“You're insatiable.” She mocked, admiring your pout.

You huffed, allowing your eyes to meander away from hers and down to the boxes she brought in. “What are these?”

“Peace offerings.”

Your dimples popped out, and you gasped. “For me?”

“No, for Riri.” Shuri sat on the ottoman, glancing over her shoulder at you playfully with a sarcastic chuckle. “Of course they're for you, baby. Now are you going to open them?”

You reached for one of the boxes, positioning it in front of you, excitement brewing in your chest as you undid the ribbon, “When did you have time to get these anyway?”

“Does that matter?”

Your grumble was hardly disguised, but you refused to let her snark get to you now, not when there was a cloaked Chanel resting atop your comforter, and another two designer bags just centimeters away. When you lifted the box’s lid, you became acquainted with the familiar pearl-shaded wrapping paper that bundled the purse, unfolding it carefully so as to not rip it.

The paper crinkled in your fingers, falling away from the dust bag housing your anticipated prize. You sensed Shuri’s anxious eyes on your hands, their restlessness strengthening the longer you took to unravel the luxury purse laying dormant inside its packaging. It was quite cute, to say the least, the way she seemed eager for your approval of her choice, and it made you giggle.

You slipped the handbag out finally, allowing your fingers to dawdle across the light blue lambskin leather, fascination guiding their touch. It was a beautiful piece, though you expected nothing less. The gold hardware held most of your attention as you grazed it with your thumb, inspecting the chain, and reminiscing on last night's car ride, a reminder still engraving your wrists.

“Well?”

You smiled at her, getting lost in her frenzied brown eyes, “It's very pretty.”

“And do you like it?” She pressed.

You dipped your head, “I do.”

“Good. Now open the others please.”

Shuri observed as you unboxed the other two purses she bought with a delighted little grin; she was always proud of herself when her gifts made you happy. The second one was a sand-colored Cannage Lambskin Lady Dior Bag, and the last a YSL Sunset Chain Bag in the shade Noir. She also tossed in two pairs of Prada sunglasses you'd been eyeing, how she found out about them was beyond you.

“Shuri,” You were deep in thought before you raised your head from her chest. “How much did all that shit cost?” The two of you had been cuddling in your bed for over thirty minutes, and you just couldn't get the calculations off your mind.

She laughed a little, peering into your curious eyes, “Why? You've never cared about a price tag before.”

She was right, you were never one to worry about prices when purchasing any item, and you certainly never cared when it was Shuri’s pockets being emptied. But, a singular medium Chanel classic flap was well over ten thousand dollars... “What's the occasion?”

“Does there need to be one?” She laughed again, noting your annoyance through your slanted eyes. “Consider them an apology, for the one I broke last night. I was saving them for your birthday, but giving them to you now seemed more appropriate.”

“And I'm post to consider them that ‘I love you’ I been waiting on too?” At this point, you were over her little game of dangling what you wanted right in your face without ever letting you actually have it, and a few purses couldn't make that vexation disappear.

God, she was so fucking patronizing with that stupid smirk. You wanted to peel yourself from the wicked way she enveloped your sensitive skin, to slip her caressing hand from underneath your nightgown where she stroked circles into your back; you wanted to scream in her face, but you didn't, because you couldn't, and you grew even more agitated by your own weakness.

“Impatient girl.”

Your eyes rolled when her lips landed on your forehead, “How much longer I gotta wait for you to say it Shuri? If this ain't what I think it is,” You gestured between the two of you, “You gotta let me know now. Ion wanna embarrass myself more than I already did.”

“And what do you think this is? What do you think we are?”

“Don't fuck–” She tutted as a warning, but this time you refused to heed it. “Don't fucking play with me Shuri. Be serious for like two seconds, I know that's some challenging shit for you, but just try, humor me.”

She sighed, pulling you back to her chest after you tried pushing away, “You know the entire reason I came here was because I missed you.” She blew a light laugh before continuing. “I didn't think I would, because I didn't think I'd even get the chance to. I figured maybe you'd last a few days, a week at most, before you were back in my bed. But damn it, pretty girl, you don't fucking play fair.”

“Shuri…”

“Hush baby, I need to say this.” You nodded for her to carry on. “Three months. You made me go three months without your smile, without your laugh, your touch. Fuck, three whole months without your smell, sthandwa. Waking up and not having my eyes land on you in my sheets was excruciating. It was also very humbling to say the least. And then I show up here to win you back, only to see you were moving on, with her. Bast I fucking hated that, I hated seeing her touch what was mine.”

You listened wordlessly to Shuri’s monologue, eyes wide, bulging, brimming. “I loathed the way you would giggle for her, because I can tell when you're really laughing. And you always were with her, every night she walked you to the front door, I heard the authenticity in it. I used to make you laugh that way, I used to be the only one able to. And that day I came home to the sight of her… i-inside of you, I quite literally wanted to die right there. The visual of that, it cut me so fucking deep, and I knew I was done letting you slip further away from me.”

You chewed your lip, ingesting Shuri's words for a moment before offering up some of your own, “Do you know why I broke up with you, Shuri?”

“Because I'm an asshole. Because I'm selfish. Because I won't ever change. And you were tired of me not realizing how much the shit I do affects you.” She spoke it with a cocky smile that should churn your stomach, but everything she did and said just had to be sexy. Fuck her.

She did a pretty good job of understating the speech you spewed the day you ended things, leaving out the part where you tossed your Kimoyo beads at her head. “That's not it.”

“It's not?”

You shook your head, “I wanted that to be the reason, but I knew deep down that it wasn't.”

Her hot palm rubbing your back stuttered for a second before continuing, “Then what was?”

“You are an asshole, but I was lying to you and to myself when I said I cared about that. I knew I should've, but I didn't, and I don't. I don't give a damn about how you treat people who aren't me, Shuri. I love knowing that my feelings are the only ones that matter to you. I love knowing that I’m your world. I know that makes me selfish, but I don't care about that either.”

Her hand stopped completely after your admission, and she gazed down at you, perplexed, “So… you broke up with me because you didn't like who I was turning you into?”

“But that's the thing Shuri, you didn't turn me into anyone who I wasn't already. And I guess breaking up with you was my stupid way of trying to run from that realization. How could I blame you for being who you were when your entire personality was the main reason I was drawn to you when we first met? You saw how fast I left my ex for you.”

Her chuckle reverberated through your entire body, “Wow. And I had to fuck your pretty little brains out in front of what's her name for you to finally admit this?”

“Oh my god, you're so unserious. The only things I'm admitting to are still loving you, and still wanting to b-be with you.” You stammered a little, you hadn't wanted to repeat the L word before you heard it leave her lips first, but you were practicing vulnerability now, the very thing you accused Shuri of not expressing, so it was out.

“You're mine,” Shuri reached beside her on your side table, retrieving a flat beige box you seemed to have missed amongst the others. “You know that?”

You nodded your head against her racing heart, “You belong to me, solely mine. And I am yours, I will belong to you for as long as I am able to draw breath. These are indubitable truths, thando-iwam.” (my love)

“Damn Shuri, all I wanted was a lil ‘I love you too’ or something, yo dramatic ass always doing too fucking much.” You giggled, choking back a sob.

She pushed the top open, revealing the Kimoyo bead bracelet that once adorned your wrist, and you shook your head at her ironic nature. “I do love you,” She lifted your wrist that lined her torso, attaching her watering mouth to the eye-catching lilac bruise dwelling on the spot for a few seconds, and then, she slid her creation around it, appreciating the fact that the bracelet was now back where it belonged. “What I don't love is that vulgar mouth of yours.”

“Whatever.”

“Sit up and look at me.” When your eyes fastened to hers, she clasped your face in her palms tenderly. “I love you. I exist for you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

She leaned in, this kiss sheltering a whirlwind of emotions, a whirlwind of want, and the sweetest hint of evanescence. But you knew, and Shuri knew, that the feelings disbursed between the pair of you were not the kind to ever vanish.

“So, what's this I hear about a birthday trip?” Her lips curved ever so slightly in her whisper, making you laugh.

“How do you know about that?”

“Doesn't matter how I know, what concerns me is the invitation I didn't receive. But, I'm willing to move past this transgression. I know you had sooo much going on these past three weeks, I could never blame you for forgetting me.” She bit her lip with that daring look in her eyes, making you scoff at her boldness.

You settled into Shuri's chest again, with her hand slithering its way back under your silk sleepwear, eager to perform against your blazing skin once more. “You're so damn aggravating.”

“Yeah, I know. Now tell me, on which tropical island will you be allowing me to do even more sinful things to your perfect body?”

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