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strawberries-and-racing · 9 months

Text

fuck the car ~ LN4 smut

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

requested prompt: #20 - going down on you in the back seat of his car

summary: after getting drunk in the club lando walks you back to his car which is where he goes down on you.

warnings: smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi public sex, car sex, implied alcohol consumption, established relationship, not really any plot, maybe more? a/n: this was requested by @oliviamg and i am so obsessed, was honestly s(creaming) while writing it <3 i am so sorry that this took so long but i am super focused on school. enjoy everyone!!

landos grip on you was firm but gentle as he helped you make your way to his car. even in your drunken state, his touch was electrifying. his hands were warm and he held you against his body protectively.

you leaned into him, desperately needing the extra support. the monaco club had left you a mess of clumsiness and giggles. you could hardly walk, you were slurring your words.

throughout the entirety of the night lando had refused anything to drink, preferring to keep a close eye on you instead.

"come on we're almost there," he said, you could hear the comfort in his voice.

"mhm," you mumble, and press you face into his shoulder, the familiar scent of his cologne intoxicating you.

finally, the parking lot came into view. the lot is deserted, except for a single black SUV in the furthest spot.

there seemed to be a bubble around the two of you. landos bodyheat surrounding you, protecting you from the deadly quiet of the streets.

seeing landos car sent and small wave of comfort through you. the dark paint enhancing the curves and detailing of the the vehicle.

just before you can reach the door, you stumble over your own feel for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

before you could hit your head on the car mirror, lando catches you. his arms around you makes you body tingle.

you stare up at him, the moment lasting much longer than necessary. his green eyes were so striking you couldnt form the thoughts, let alone perform the actions, to stand back up.

a slow smile crept over the features over his face.

"be careful," he says, his accent making you feel a bit dizzy. his voice had that effect on you much too often.

you smile shyly in response before he slowly brings your lips to his. your eyes slip shut as you relax into his touch. you were already beginning to lose yourself in the kiss, every inch of his skin under your fingertips was hot to the touch.

his hands glide from your back to your waist, turning and pressing you into the car.

he handled your body carefully and his mouth on yours seemed to sober you up astonishingly quickly.

the slow, sensual energy that had started the kiss was soon gone. the two of you were a mess of hands, lips and heavy breathing. landos knee between your thighs made your legs weak.

heat swirled excitedly in your stomach when you heard lando open the car door. you couldn't help but smile a little into the kiss.

without breaking the kiss, lando slowly pressed you into the back seat of the car. you were oddly aware of the bare skin of your legs and shoulders against the cold leather of the back seat.

he pulled his mouth off yours to gradually trail his lips down to your throat, the anticipation was enough to make you whine. he kissed your neck delicately at first, but soon he impatiently sucked and bit at that one spot that he knew drove you crazy.

your breathe quickened, your heart beating fast. your back arching slightly in response to the stimulation as your hands knotted in his hair.

his lips and teeth marked you flawlessly, littering your neck and chest with hickeys and bite marks. your eyes fluttered, the pleasure washing over you. you struggled to hold back your moans.

while his mouth kept busy, lando began to slowly unzip your dress and pull it down. you're bra was quick to follow.

he brushed his lips down your chest, the feathery sensation of his breath against your skin causing goosebumps to creep up your stomach.

his mouth and fingers pinching your nipples was causing an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs. you gasp softly. your teeth dug into your lower lip, the frustration of having to stay quiet bubbled in your chest.

landos mouth slowly drifted lower.

he traced soft patterns on your stomach, making you tense up, sucking in a breathe. his hands slowly found their way to your thighs as he gently pushes you legs apart.

your eyes slip shut as he litters your legs with kisses, occasionally nipping softly at the delicate skin.

your eyes open when you feel him begin to gently pull off your panties

"lando-" you breathe "no, we cant, we'll mess up the seats."

no matter how desperate you were in that moment, you knew he adored this car.

"hmm..." lando hums, not at all the response you expected. the vibration of his voice so close to your core affects your entire body.

"i dont wanna ruin the car..." you can barely get the words out. landos fingers make quick work of your panties. he doesnt respond, he only runs is fingers over your folds, spreading out your generous wetness.

you can see the dark glint of pride in his eyes, it happens every time he sees just how incredibly wet you always are for him.

he places one last kiss to your thigh. "fuck the car baby" he murmurs before licking a stripe up to your clit.

you whine in response.

his tongue swirls slowly and sucks gently on your clit while his fingers run over your folds again and again, teasing your entrance.

his mouth and fingers move so tantalizingly gently. you squirm under him, but his hands hold you in place.

"so good." he mumbles.

your fingers tangle in his curls once again.

you bite down on your lip, fighting to keep your moans in. but, it becomes impossible to keep quiet when lando slips two fingers inside of you.

you whimpered, desperately tightening your grip on his hair.

he ran his hands over your thighs, pushing them further apart, forcing your legs to relax the grip they'd previously had.

"just relax baby, no ones around but us." his voice is so dark and so incredibly sexy that you can only nod.

"you dont have to keep quiet." his words went straight to your core. you didnt need to be told twice. you finally free your lower lip from your teeth.

it took hardly any time before his fingers buried inside you so deeply your vision blurred. the sensation from the impossible pace of his fingers shot through your entire body.

his fingers pushed into you until they couldnt go any deeper. you felt his mouth press hot kisses into your neck once again. heat rippled over your body, feeling so close to the edge.

"mmm fuck lando fuck" you screeched, because your brain couldn't form any other words.

moans tumbled from your lips one after the other. no matter how much noise you made it didnt seem like enough to express how he could make you feel.

you were vaguely aware of the slightly chilly night breeze that swept over the interior of the car.

he curled his fingers inside you, rubbing over your g-spot. your eyes rolled back. "lando– i– mmm." you could finish the sentence.

your nails scratched down his arms. he smirked into the crook of your neck, thoughts of the beautiful scratches you constantly left on him swirling inside his mind.

he relished the marks you left on him almost as much as the ones he left on you.

lando felt the way you pulsated around his fingers. he pulled his lips off your neck to watch what was arguably one of his favorite sights.

seeing him look down at you like that was the last push you needed to drown in the pleasure of your orgasm. his eyes were so indescribably intense. his pupils were blown so big that his eyes nearly looked black.

lust laced his features as he watched you come undone beneath him. your mouth open in a silent scream and your chest heaved with each heavy breathe. your hair messy and fanned out, lips pink and puffy, moaning at an impossibly high pitch, cheeks flushed.

once your body finished trembling, and you were left a panting wreck, he pulled his finger out of you. they glistened in the dim light with your fluids. he didnt hesitate to lick them clean.

he repositioned himself one last time between your legs to clean up the rest of your wetness with his tongue.

you probably could have come again with the way lando looked up at you. his eyes locked on yours as he slowly brought his hand up to wipe his mouth.

you could have lost yourself in that moment, in landos eyes, in the features of his face. you were desperate to remember this exact image of the boy in front of you.

but the memory, however, was ripped from you as the loud sound of an engine revving snapped both of you out of it.

you both watched in an anxious silence as you watched the black car pull out of the parking spot.

fuck. you think. whoever got into that car most certainly heard, and probably saw too. you slowly turn your eyes back to look at lando, expecting to see a worried expression.

instead, you're met with an entitled smirk and mischievous glint in your boyfriends eyes.

#smut #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #smut request #request #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #fanfic #lando fic

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ventique18 · 1 month

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~ Thoughtless ~

Somehow you feel it. Maybe you're just letting things get to your head, but maybe. Just maybe.

Malleus is in love with you.

How can you not think that, when he comes by to see you almost everyday, or when he sometimes finds himself thoughtlessly tucking a stray hair away from your face. When his hands would naturally find their way to rest on your hip while you're busy baking something, and he would curiously watch from behind?

So when he carelessly lays his head on your lap one lazy afternoon, you find yourself blurting out "I think I'm in love with you." Just as naturally as is his intimacy is towards you.

He doesn't speak. Doesn't even laugh. He just thoughtlessly pulls you down and, clumsy and mismatched as they are, lets your lips wordlessly do the talking.

You're over the moon. How could you not be, when a person you thought was beyond your reach is hopelessly in love with you just as you are with him? You'll be spending your time as a couple from now on. Going on romantic dates together, greeting each other first thing in the morning, getting to know each other in a much, much more familiar depth. Maybe even considering... marriage.

There's an infinite things that you want to do with him. So many things that make you happy. You're happy.

... Until...

"I wonder what bouquet my betrothed prefers for our coming wedding?"

You overhear him as he strolls with Lilia.

Betrothed? As in, someone you promised to marry? He did say wedding.

What the hell.

He's already engaged to someone? And he still kissed you so passionately like that? All along, he was already meant to marry somebody else while he's fooling around touching you here and there, kissing you and pecking you and hugging you and... Is that why he didn't say he loved you when you confessed? He's just leading you on because he's bored?

That son of a--

Tears. Ugly tears. You scream furiously and cry miserably as you strangle and punt and wrangle your poor pillow at Ramshackle. Your best friends watch silently while they try to coax you with your favorite food and your favorite zero-substance comedy film. It works. Your mood lightens.

Until they go home, and he barges into your home with grin you wanted to sucker-punch off his ugly, cheating, demonic, monstrosity of a lying face.

"Why are you here?" You spit out.

His thick, slimy skin couldn't taste the venom in your words.

"Good evening," he giddily greets as he walks over to you-- almost prancing for god's sake, "I was wondering. What type of flowers do you like?"

"The hell are you on about? You think you can keep stringing me around? I'll fuck you up."

"Careful. I am exercising a deep self-restraint out of respect for you. But if you keep playing with me like this, telling jokes about 'fucking me'-- as people say nowadays-- I might truly end up debauching the sanctity of marriage."

You leer at him. What the hell is he yapping about?

"Fuck?"

He sits on the sofa beside you; as graceful as he always seems to be. No, actually. He sits as ugly as a bridge troll. "I see you are impatient. Truth be told, I am too. But we best wait until after graduation, at least. So before then, I would like to ask: what flowers would you prefer for our wedding? I rather wish to grow them myself."

"Our wed--"

And it clicks in your head.

'My betrothed.'

'What flowers would you like?'

'Our wedding.'

It's you. The betrothed is you.

You almost laugh out loud. Out of the silliness of it all, out of embarrassment perhaps, even out of relief. This guy. God, this guy. What a careless, thoughtless, whimsical, nonsensical, brainless guy. But somehow,

"I like wisteria."

It's just, so naturally, him.

"The flowers in full bloom when we first met."

#wrote a one shot short shot while on break #twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

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lychniis · 3 months

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⚘— FOR A RETURN AND DEPARTURE.

i. SYNOPSIS : he returns home after his time in the battlefield, stinking of rust and sweat. you wait for him as you do. as you always do. ( childe x reader ) // evenfall event - prompt ii ( ❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her.❜ ) + hyacinth and orchid.

ii. WARNING(S) : mentions of blood and death, childe having no self preservation lol, smut at the end with a bit of angst sprinkled in. this post contains 18+ content. minors do not interact.

# masterlist

Childe’s lips speak of hunger and lust and the monsters he keeps chained and bottled up in your presence. It’s chaos cut apart into a human shape and stuffed in with haphazard abandon; it still leaks through ( It’s those moments when he stares out into the snow and you know he imagines it stained red ).

Your mother called Childe a monster. You still let him into your home and feed him like a stray fox. And like a stray touched by a kinder hand, he leaves footprints down to the path of your home, in and out and all around. His scent spools into your sheets. His old boots were left in the corner by the door. His fishing rod is tucked out back.

And when there are wounds to be licked, he comes to you. Last month he was cut across his arm. He let you bandage him up and he kissed you with aching gentleness ( it’s one for his family. It’s one for you ).

This time he’d been stabbed clean through. Most of it was healed on camp, mages tucking viscera back to place and mending blood vessels and ruptured nerves. Lacerations that would have given way in your hands. Burns you can’t heal yourself. It leaves a sourness in your mouth that never quite goes away.

“I was impatient.” he admits with a silly little laugh when you unbutton his shirt. “I had to see you again. How could I possibly function if I don't?”

“You could have spared a few hours.” you mutter. “Look at this. You’re still bleeding.” And you point. His bandages were a sticky scarlet. It rubs off on your hands and you feverishly pray it’s not infected.

He laughs again, like his life was a game, a gamble. You feel like you’ve been stabbed. It’s selfish, maybe, wanting just a little less recklessness in a soldier. “I can’t stand anyone else touching me like that. Not if it’s you.” he muses, tugging you down on top of him. His touch brushes against your hips, your thighs. Hunger. It soothes the ache in your chest. Just a little. You’ll want more soon enough.

“Can’t you be a little more careful?”

Your voice is soft, a little defeated. Your hands work. Undo the soiled linen. Sew his wounds. It’s like second nature to you. Muscle memory. Your mind rewiring and purging uncertain clumsiness.

“I can’t test my luck if my opponent is stronger than me…”

“Ajax.”

Childe does not shut up. “...But I'll always come back to you.”

“In a casket, maybe.”

You finish sewing. The look you focus him with is something rawer than you’d like. Reckless man, you want to scream. Reckless, reckless man. You want to tug at his hair. You want to stuff him away in your home where there is no battle, no wars.

The bandages are next. They’re tugged tight enough, tied and pinned away. He grabs your wrist. “Alive,” he promises. “I’ll come home alive, zolotse.”

"If you don't"

He's disarming. You despise him for it. "Have a little more faith in me." he croons.

You’ve had enough. You kiss him, for every day left with a cold side to your bed and a meal for one. Childe lets you as he falls back, and he tugs away at your clothes. It’s viscous. And soft. It’s both.

( And it’s voracious. )

“Off.” he whispers, breath hitching to a whine. You move your legs, let him do as he pleases, testing teeth against your shoulders and tugging your innerwear down for the heat of his palms. And you draw him back to the surface when he sinks too deep, when he forgets he’s wounded in his haze.

His fingers spread you apart, stroking against your cunt, pressing up to your clit. He nips at your lips. He demands another kiss. Rust and sweat hang off of him. It’s familiarity, a chilling comfort, something twisted that Childe turned tender. You embrace him.

“Ajax. slowly.” you whisper into his shoulder. “Slowly, love. You’re still hurt.”

He slips a finger inside. You buck your hips and whine.

“But I missed you.” he croaks out. “I missed you zolotse.” He dares to be sweet now, lips pressing up against your shoulders while he works on you, works you apart, as easily as he mans his swords.

You tug at his hair, let him drive you further, drive you mad. “I missed you too, Ajax.” you finally admit. You know the tragedy that dances beneath the lines here. It’s glaringly obvious, it’s heartbreaking. You hold him tight, so tight like he’s something delicate, something breakable.

( Human. And monster. )

He brushes up against your g-spot. Your hips falter. “Please.” you whisper to him. “Please stay a little longer. Please.”

You don’t understand why you still insist on it. You let ecstasy take you anyway and it loosens your lips and makes you beg and say those whispered secrets stowed and locked away. And Childe listens. He listens to all of them as he enters you with a quiet groan, rocking your body with shallow thrusts. You wonder if his shoulders sunk with guilt then. You wonder if he wished for a little more as well.

You’re soaked. He’s pressed his face into your chest. His hips canting, his pace quickening. Your body still through numbness and ecstasy, sight gleaned over when the first climax picks you apart and empties out your ramblings to unintelligible cries.

The battlefield calls for him a few days later. He lingers by your bedside. You watch his smile and remember it all.

His side of the bed is cold after.

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

kjhgfvghjk this fic was initially suppossed to include kaeya in the roster okijuhygfgbh but my brain and energy was like "just one sweetie." "but-" "just one, sweetie." see my sense of freedom is non existant in the face of burnout kijhgvfghnj and i'm sorry i like childe a little more i went through a whole enemies to lovers arc with him jo you were there when i told you lkjnhbnjmk.

anyway, this evenfall post was requested by @mysnowmanandmebaby!!! i hope you like it!!!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @dustofthedailylife @meimeimeirin @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @ofoceansandtombsanew @ollieink @chiyoso @hleb-chan-sky @thesparklingwriter @localplaguenurse @khxii-i @laughterofthetombs @zhxngii @euniveve @meritamiau @timeofsilversstuff @dumbitchpdf @thexianzhoujade

AINE | 2024. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#EVENFALL ; valentines 2024 #&&. my writing !!#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe tartagalia #genshin childe #childe x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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ghouljams · 7 months

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Friend, I found the funniest writing prompt on Pinterest and immediately thought about your cowboy!AU. I know you have a lot of asks, but I couldn’t just let the opportunity to share it with you slip between my little fingers.

« I never thought my day would start with a goat, but… Here I am. With a motherfucking goat. »

For some reason, I can picture Ghost saying this, with a very deadpan look and tone of voice. If it took place in the past cowboy!au, where he is quite obviously enamoured with Goose but also still quite clumsy around her, it would probably be even funnier ?

Or Bee. Who doesn’t really know how to handle the farm life, but is still trying. With König looking at the goat in her arms like - « well, time to go get some wooden planks then. »

I can’t stop cackling at those scenarios I’ve got in mind. I hope they will make you laugh too x)

1870's!Ghost my beloved. He's so off his game with Goose despite being head over heels for her.

"You know when you said you had a surprise for me this isn't what I had in mind," Ghost tells you, holding the new born kid in his arms close to his chest. Both his muscular arms hold the little goat as it bleats, the poor kid looking so much smaller when held by such a giant of a man.

"You know this isn't exactly my version of a perfect morning," You tell him, soothing the new mother goat. You think she's got another one in her, which makes you a little nervous for her. You like this goat, be a shame to lose her.

"Never thought I'd be starting my day with a goat," Ghost gripes.

"What did you think? That I was bringing you out to the barn to take my fuckin-" You glance over your shoulder at him, the sharp heat in his eyes when he looks at you, "Oh my god you thought I wanted to fuck you in the barn!"

"Did not," He insists. You scoff, and turn your attention back to the goat.

"You think the barn is a good spot to take a lady's virtue?" You call over your shoulder.

"Course not," Ghost's voice is rough, even, he's stating a fact, "unless the lady asked."

"I'm not askin'," You throw back in annoyance. This isn't exactly how you wanted to start your morning either.

"Don't wanna fuck ya in the barn," Ghost grumbles, his voice low enough you could almost ignore it. You don't. You glare over your shoulder at him, he glares back. He's lucky you're sweet on him or you'd make him sleep in the barn. Damn pretty boy.

"You wanna wait 'til we're married like a gentleman, right?" You snap at him.

"Gonna marry you anyway, what's the point waitin'," He snaps back.

"What?" You frown, not expecting him to agree with you. Simon holds your gaze firm, still glaring. You blink, trying to come up with something to say back that isn't "I didn't know you wanted to marry me" or something similar. But you also... didn't know he wanted to marry you, you'd meant it as a joke.

You feel another contraction as you pet you're goat's stomach and transfer your attention back to her. Maybe if you keep your focus on your work you won't be able to feel Simon's eyes staring holes through you. Patiently impatient.

He's going to marry you, just you fucking wait.

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pimosworld · 2 months

Text

Push

Pairing- Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary- Joel never gets pushed too far, except when it comes to you.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, jackson era Joel, established relationship, Ellie is a menace, reader is a bad ass, canon typical violence, blood, wounds, minor character death, protective Joel, protective reader, Angst, Smut,unprotected piv,Joel needs a big ol hug, no description of reader, no use of y/n.

WC-3.5k

A/N- Joel has inspired me lately and I may be procrastinating too much with him but I just can’t help myself.

[Main Masterlist][Joel Miller Masterlist]

Not beta read

Maybe you should’ve pushed back a little when Ellie suggested you travel a little further to the pond just outside of the patrol area. Some small part of you was still trying to bond with the teenager despite you knowing how much she admired you. It was a little selfish to want to impress someone that knew next to nothing about what the world had been.

She was so persistent and just like Joel you couldn’t resist those eyes and her smile.

“Please I promise it will be quick.” Her face was fixed in a pout and you thought what harm could it be to let her live a little.

You’d spent months on this route, many times with Joel,Tommy or Ellie. You hadn’t seen a living soul out here in so long that you forgot what you were even patrolling for.

You feel a push in the direction down the tall grass path as the sweat drips down your back. The first really hot day you’ve had in a while and it makes you dizzy. Unable to form a coherent thought. All poor excuses for not being able to make the right decisions.

You suppose the horses need a break too as the pond comes into view like a mirage. Ellie trotting a little faster when she sees the ripple of the water calling her name. You can hear it faintly in the distance calling out to you as the shade from the willow casts a perfect shadow onto the landscape in front of you. The lush green, tiny leaves still flowing in the light breeze before the heat has them give way to yellow and orange.

She’s already off her horse, socks and shoes discarded as she steps boldly into the water up to her knees. Joel would kill her for being so careless with her clothes but you know he often forgot how impatient children could be.

He was equally as impatient with you when you’d return from a long day of not seeing him, not being able to run your fingers through his soft curls at the nape of his neck. Not wanting to waste another moment with your body pressed up against his. He’d take you in the hallway when Ellie was gone, practically tripping over himself to get to you.

You try not to think about that now as you strip your boots off next to the water. Unlike Ellie you don’t fancy wet pants so you take those off too, laying them gently along the horse's back. You try not to think about how nice it would be to dip into this pond with him, bare as you float with your legs wrapped around his waist while he holds you safely under so not to expose you to the elements or any prying eyes.

Perhaps the prying eyes you would’ve seen had Ellie not pushed you into the cold water. It takes your breath away at first. Despite the heat outside, the last remnants of snow seem to still linger in this private sanctuary. The water is colder than anything you’ve felt. You come up gasping for air as she stands before you keeled over in laughter and you can’t help but join her when you look down at your disheveled state.

“Wow you’re so clumsy.” She says as she feigns innocence.

“That was a dirty trick.” You splash her as she screams running back to the water's edge. “I’m gonna tell Joel you’re afraid of water.” You yell back at her as your body acclimates to the frigid temperature. The oversized shirt you borrowed from Joel clinging to your skin as your hands skim along the tops of the water.

“You wouldn’t dare loser. I’ll tell him this was your idea.” You know she would too, and he might’ve believed her had the circumstances been different.

Ellie’s already lacing up her boots when you hear it. A disturbance in the trees too loud over the sound of your heart beating faster. The hair standing up on the back of your neck as you turn around and lock eyes with two men on horseback. Two men who’ve never set foot in the little community you’ve built into a family. Two men who don’t look like they want to ask for directions. Two men sizing up the competition while you scramble for a way to get Ellie to safety because you know Joel would kill you if you contemplated any less.

“Well aren’t you just an angel in white.” The younger man says as he takes you in. Your shirt soaked through leaving nothing to the imagination and your damn pants draped neatly on your horse.

You can hear your name being called again as you turn to Ellie, wide eyed across the pond.

“Go!”

“What the fuck no, I’m not leaving you!” She yells back, the ever overconfident spit fire that she is.

A quick whistle behind you and you’re moving to the water line before they cut you both off. It’s save Ellie or none of you.

“Ellie so help me god, if you never listen to me another day in your life listen to me right now and go!” She starts to protest but the horse beside her is getting restless. “I promise I’ll be right behind you.”

Even if it’s not true you say it all the same. She mounts her horse with tears in her eyes as she takes off through the tall grass.

“We got a runner.” The man not much older than Joel juts his chin on Ellie’s direction. You’re grateful she’s far out of your eyesight with her horse that’s much faster than yours.

“Want me to go after her?” The other man snarls as if you’re not standing right there. Enough of a distraction to at least make it near your horse.

The last thing you want is to be stuck between these two desperate souls. Without pants…that’s not how you expected to die. Wading through this cool oasis only to be met by the devil.

“No loose ends.” He smirks at you as you retrieve your bow from the pack on your horse. You don’t suppose he knew those would be his last words, but he pushed you to this.

You raise your arm high, steadying the bow as you feel the tension of the string beneath your fingers. Joel always said you were a better shot with this than a revolver and he could never figure out how.

“Now what are you gonna do with that besides piss me —“ . It’s only the sound of the whoosh next to your ear before he’s clutching his hands around the arrow lodged in his throat. His partner's momentary shock buys you enough time to at least get half dressed before you mount your horse.

His dramatic fall to the ground causes his horse to skitter off as you give chase in the opposite direction of Ellie, the opposite direction of the safe town that you love so much that holds the man who loves you just as hard. Who will be cursing you for being the savior when you could’ve been selfish.

****

Joel hates these days. Bright, beautiful, sunny days. It’s days like these where things always seemed to go wrong. Like the universe knows to throw a little chaos into something otherwise so perfect. Nothing in this world is allowed to be that perfect. Except you.

You were the reason he started drifting away from the gloom and overcast and started to bask in the sun. Let the warmth of the rays wash over him like a golden flame bath.

When he’d catch you laying in the yard just glowing and he never wanted to disturb you but you always seemed to know when his presence loomed near. Maybe his scent or the magnetic pull you both had on each other as you pat the patch of grass next you. He’d grumble about his back and his knees later but in those moments he didn’t care. Not when you smile so sweet next to him as you block the sun with your hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” You already half know the answer. If she was anywhere near she’d have been out here grumbling just like Joel about you laying in the sun all while joining you in the activity.

“She’s at a friends…why’d ya-.” He can’t even get the words out before you’re up. Throwing one leg over his waist as you push him down. He grunts and lays back rolling his eyes at your theatrics.

He doesn’t really think you’re gonna do what it looks like you’re doing and he’s proved right when you scoot down just enough to settle onto his chest. The front of you all warm against him as you breathe in the smell of his flannel. Your arms come to rest on his shoulders as you wiggles your ass a little more to find the right spot. He just looks down at you curiously as you tilt your head to the side and sigh. Finally content with your position on top of him, listening to his steady heartbeat.

His heartbeat has picked up a little at the close proximity of you. A position you’ve been in much more compromising in your shared bedroom with much less clothes. He can see it now as he closes his eyes, your naked body on top of his as you take from him what you want. You chuckle as you feel his cock twitch beneath you as he lets his mind wander a little further. That earns you a pinch which makes you laugh even harder.

“Quit squirmin’ honey or I’m gonna have to do something’ about this.” His hands grip your waist as he pulls you in closer and a shudder runs through your body.

“M’ not squirmin’.” You mumble into his chest.

“Mhmm, ya comfortable enough?” His voice is low and slow like he’s drifting off to sleep.

“Ya Miller, I’m comfortable.”

****

The sun is still high in the sky, but he can tell it’s later than it should be. He stands with his arms crossed against the gate staring off into the open plains. You and Ellie were always punctual with morning patrol returns. Or maybe he should say you. The routine you grew to love when you were first assigned. It left you the day to do what you wanted. Take a nap, read a book, make dinner and visit with Maria.

He’s growing impatient as he watches the horizon for any signs of you. His eyes playing tricks on him when he thinks he can procure an image of the two of you laughing about something as you approach the town. He squints even more and he can hear your voice now telling him in another life he’d need an optometrist.

He pushes off the gate when another image threatens to make him think he’s lost his mind. He thinks he has when his heart drops into his stomach at the sight of Ellie on her horse. Kicking up dust and riding faster towards him than he’s ever seen in his life. The two of you aren’t racing or playing some sick joke on him. It’s just her coming into view, panicked eyes as she locks onto his.

He doesn’t wait for Tommy, doesn’t wait for backup that may slow him down anyways as he mounts his horse to meet her in the open. Not bothering to tell the patrol past the gate what he’s doing and where he’s going.

He can see the dry tears and the fresh ones too as he gets closer to her. “Where?” He doesn’t have time to worry about the what, why or how.

“The pond.” She chokes out as he curses under his breath. “It was all my fault…I just -.”

“Save it.” It’s said harsher than he intends but he still can’t help himself. Knowing whose idea it was to go beyond the chartered territory. Knowing you had a weak spot who happened to be named Ellie. His quick bite is enough of a punishment as he takes off in the same direction she came from. He knows she beat herself up enough on the way here and probably made up time with the way she pushed her horse.

He leaves her in the dust as the sound of hoofbeats pound the dry ground beneath him. His chest burns like he’s running as he grips the reins tighter with each passing second. The sweat drips down his back that aches with the pressure of not having ridden this hard in years. He got too comfortable in this town, too used to the mundane way of life. He hadn’t been reminded of what it felt like to have that dread creep in. To feel the rush of adrenaline that he grew so used to in his past life.

He’s gone soft.

The relaxed fall turned into a lazy winter with no murmurs of trouble or infected. Spring made it feel like some utopia that they’d stumbled upon and he’d let the universe pull the wool over his eyes.

You shouldn’t be here…a bright sunny day as it beats down on him. Taunting him with how beautiful the landscape is around him as he barrels through the trees into the undesignated area.

The one rule he told you never to break because trouble lurks near water. People, animals, monsters.

He comes to an abrupt stop at the edge of the water searching for any sign of you. There’s an unfamiliar horse next to an unrecognizable body. He does recognize one thing jutting out of the man’s throat. An arrow. A clean shot, cutting off his airway. He likely died slow as his throat filled with blood and he choked on it until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

He tears his eyes away from the nameless bastard and locks onto your boots. His chest tightens even more at the sight and he’s trying hard to fill his lungs with air. He’s suffocating much like the lifeless body next to him.

He hears your shriek of his name as he whips his head around and sees nothing. Just the trees blowing in the wind. He shouts for you as the weight piles on. The horse beneath him grows frantic as your cries echo in his mind.

This is quite possibly the worst time to be having a panic attack but that’s all he feels as he bellows your name. Each call a heavier weight on his chest until no sound escapes at all. He clutches at his shirt trying to rip it free from his body, it’s too hot and clingy and he can’t get any air.

“Joel!” Nothing, just blackness behind his eyes. “Joel, honey, wake up!”

His hands are shaking as he blinks trying to figure out where you are.

“Honey, look at me.” You’re straddling his waist with your hands on his chest. Fresh tears rolling down your face with wide panicked eyes.

He pushes you off him so fast it startles you. You’ve switched positions now as he traps your body between his arms. You’re not entirely sure he’s fully aware of the situation and that scares you a little. The sweat dripping from his brow and the way his chest heaves with every breath.

He pulls your face back with his large palms and grips your chin in his hand. Frantically tossing it side to side. “Are you hurt?” His voice is wrecked from yelling for god knows how long.

“No Joel, I’m fine.” You say as a tear that’s not yours drops down onto your face.

“Did he hurt you?” It’s strained and shaky as he pulls up your shirt, his that he lets you borrow at night. Inspecting your body for any signs of damage. You just shake your head afraid of answering in a sob, the lump forming in your throat at the sight of him still so worried.

He breathes in deep through his nose and lets out a small sigh of relief. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he lets the full weight of him fall into you. You’re both exhausted for completely different reasons. It was starting to scare you not being able to pull him out of this nightmare. He just kept screaming your name as you tried to shake him awake. You didn’t want him to endure any longer what was plaguing his mind when he was supposed to be sleeping peacefully at your side.

It’s a moment before he speaks. You rubbing his back as you kiss him softly reassuring him that you were right where you needed to be.

“Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again.” He murmurs into your neck in all seriousness. “You come straight home next time.”

“Yes Miller, I’ll always come home to you.” Now’s not the time to tease so you just agree to never commit whatever atrocity it was that had him gripped with fear. Although you can take a wild guess that your name will be scratched from the patrol board for a few weeks.

He sits up a little to look down at you. His eyes are still red but a little more of your Joel in them. He plants a long kiss to your forehead as you place your hand over his heart. The steady thump under your palm much calmer than before.

“Where’s Ellie?”

“She’s at a friend's house, remember?”

Faintly he recalls her asking and you telling her yes, that must have been hours ago. All he knows now is that you’re alone and that he didn’t wake her.

You’re alone

As his hands drift under the hem of the oversized shirt. Your soft skin raised with goosebumps as his fingers trail up higher until he reaches the underside of your breast.

“Joel.” You gently stop him and search his eyes in the dark room. “Are you sure?”

“Please baby, I need you.” Joel groans out, his plea much different at this hour. He needs to feel that you’re real, that you’re here. The strongest soul couldn’t resist Joel Miller begging for you like his life depends on it.

When you oblige it’s frantic, his hands pulling the shirt over your head while your foot hooks into his boxers dragging them down. His mouth is all over you, kissing and biting and breathing you in. He’s growling in your ear that he needs to be inside you and you know he’s desperate when he normally takes his sweet time with you.

This isn’t like one of those times and you don’t need it to be. You just need him, all of him all the time.

A groan leaves his lips as you grip the base of his cock, rubbing it between your folds. You’re so wet already at the sight of him above you, his arms bracing his weight so you can like him up.

It’s sinful the sound that leaves your mouth when he pushes in,burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. “Shit sweetheart, so tight.” His words are slurred as he braces his hand on the headboard behind you. His other hand gripping your thigh over his waist.

You don’t have a chance to respond. Only moans and whimpers of his name as he punches the air from your lungs with each thrust of his hips. The sound of skin on skin as you cling to his biceps and shoulders, anything to keep you from tipping over the edge too soon.

He’s babbling above you about how perfect you feel and you just clench around him at the praise.

He’s close and he can see just as much as feel how close you are by the way your eyes practically roll in the back of your head when he angles your hips up, hitting that spot deep inside that only he could seem to find.

He reaches between your sweat soaked bodies trailing his hands down but you stop him. He thinks he’s done something wrong briefly until you place his hand back on your thigh and that look of longing flashes in your eyes. “I want to come like this.”

He grits his teeth at the filthiest thing you’ve ever said. Fucking you with vigor as his hips begin the falter.

“Can I?”

“Fuck yes Joel, come inside me please.”

The pressure boils over at your words. The way it comes out all rushed and desperate. You’re arching your back as you fall over the edge with him. You’re clinging to him like a life vest as he groans in your ear. The light flashing behind his eyes at the most mind blowing orgasm he’s ever had.

He pushes down that feeling that he almost lost you. The one that isn’t real because you’re right here beneath him, looking at him as you brush the hair back from his face like he hung the moon. He kisses the corner of your mouth and down your jaw as you sleepily humm to yourself.

“I’m sorry for wakin’ ya darlin.”

“It’s okay Joel, don’t have patrol for a couple days.”

Tommy can bitch all he wants, you’ll never have patrol again.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

#joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #tlou imagine #joel miller tlou #ellie and joel #ellie x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joelmiller #protective!joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #jackson era joel #tlou fanfiction

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Text

“𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖”

𝚅𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗!𝙻𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚢 𝚡 𝚅𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗!𝙱𝚕𝚌𝚔 𝙵𝚎𝚖 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 Part 2 of 2

Part 1 Here | @euphofic hope you enjoy! :) | Also slightly inspired by this artwork of virgin Luffy

WC:

Bad Summary: You lose your virginity to Luffy and he to you.

CW: Smut, Sloppy kissing, Kinda Clumsy Sex, Luffy is surprisingly caring and soft, Mutual Masturbating, Oral sex, Vaginal sex, There MAY be a form of continuation of this.

You must have been hearing things, maybe he meant something else,

but it was like he read your mind when he grinned at you so warmly.

"I want us to do the stuff we see on the magazine." He reached for the pages again pointing at more sexual positions, "Like this, or this, I think we would like this--"

"Lu!" Your face heated up making him giggle, "You got a black girl blushing here calm down. We can't...do all of these today, but...let's start here."

Luffy looked at the picture, almost studying it to mimic the position and nodded, "This too! I think you'll like it like this girl did. See her face?"

It was something, seeing Luffy so eager to do this, with you, but before you could give him another kiss and confirm he already was resting his back on your headboard, quickly removing his pants, but his impatience got the best of him and he just couldn't--

"This!---Ugh! Stupid button!"

"Here.."You chuckle at his frustration, crawling in between his legs to take off his pants and vest he places his hat on your nightstand.

Your heart was beating as Luffy peered at you, not knowing what to expect form seeing him completely naked, as he was watching your every move as you slide down his pants, not so shocked he doesn't wear underwear, but slightly at the small stain he made in his crotch.

"Did you like the kiss?" You ask referring to the small mess he made, and to your delight he was scratching the back of his head, tanned cheeks with small blush painted on them.

"Yeah, we should do it some more if you want."

The room was so quiet, nothing but small breathing, the sounds of the ocean and the ruffling of his clothing hitting the floor, you see him, legs spread and his privates out for you to see,

"You'reVeryPrettyY/N."

Lussy says in one breath, it was so quick you had to snap your eyes at him, trying to register what he said, he nods his head up, eyes looking at your now nude figure as well, you didnt even notice your towel fell off your body while getting him undressed too and you panic holding your breast.

"Thank..you."

"Don't be shy now we're ganna be naked for a while here!" Luffy did a loud chuckle, making you do a small huff, your gaze follow down to his half hard dick and you smirk for the naughty idea you have as he laughs away.

"AAHAHAHAAA-!"

His voice slightly cracks into a loud moan, and dammit if that wasn't the prettiest noise you ever heard come out of your captain's mouth--

"You're sensitive." Amazed at his cock already twitching under your palm you try to mentally prepare yourself, sure you've thought about giving head to him, Sanji, and sometimes even Zoro, but that's because you're a honry virgin little shit, but to have his tip so close to your mouth you gave his length a long lick up to his tip, giving it a small peck of the lips not realizing that move alone brought a chill down the rubber boy’s spine.

“W-wow this!—-ah! This feels good!”

Luffy’s moans were a mixture of giggles and whimpers, so uncontrollable and actually filled the room and bounced off the walls with every lick and stroke you gave on his cock.

He didn’t have a distinct taste, granted you held your breath without much thought before taking half of him down your mouth, the most you were vaguely able to get was saltiness.

Luffy wasn’t that big naturally either. 5 and a half inches, but to you it was big enough since you never really had much training of giving a man oral, however you still wanted to try,

“OO-OH!” His hands gripping your sheets tightly, gritting his teeth he exhaled a cry of your name, his scared chest already glistening of sweat and blushing, “Y/N!”

You popped your head up, the sensation of his shaft sliding out of your throat felt so good you licked your pre cum stain lips, “Hm?” Your head tilts to the side, curious as to why he sounded like he wanted you to stop.

Woth harsh breathing he takes the hair tie he keeps from his wrist, and delicately puts your locs in a loose ponytail behind your back, “I wanted…to see you.” Luffy strains, a small grin arises as he pats you on the head before leaning back, “Sorry. You can keep going.”

You nod but your heart was so warmed by the gesture you lean in to kiss him, you just couldnt help yourself, Luffy’s eyes open in shock, just for a moment until his eyes rest calmly cupping your cheeks, sort whimpers finally escape his mouth again as you lightly stroke his cock.

You continue the task at hand. You knew he was going to cum soon so your get bolder with your movements, your mouth vibrates against his sensitive skin, Luffy rolled his hips tongue sticking out meticulously while looking down at you, and that's when he got an idea,

"Can I..make it bigger?"

You look up at him, so whiny in the back of his throat, practically sounding as if he'll cry your name if you tell him no, "Sure, but just a little please..."

"Oh! O-okay!" Without a moment to lose you felt him grow inside your mouth not only in length but in width, at least 2 more inches already stuffing you, causing drool to seep from the side, you tapped his thigh for him to stop, nodding you continued to suck him off.

"You're so good at this!" Throwing his head back, feeling a funny knot in his tummy he begins to feel knotted, despite him masturbating in the past he never actually came to orgasm, for him it took too long or he got bored, but this felt different. This was something overwhelming, he couldn't contain himself under you, his legs moving up and down, back bouncing back and fourth on the headboard, "I--Y/N!"

Before you knew it your eyes widened your mouth being filled to the brim of cum and saliva, you felt a bit dirty, especially since you took a moment to force yourself to swallow most of the sticky liquid.

You sit up, straddling him, brushing back his hair admiring his fucked out face, eyes closed, breathing so unsteadily out of his mouth, and that's when he pulls you close to kiss you, you felt his fingers trail down to your wet cunt, you jumped a little at the contact, breaking the kiss, "You okay?" He asked, you shook your head looking down at his fingers inching closer to your clit, as he gently rubs he gets a little too excited of your moans and rubs harsher making you hiss.

"S-sorry."

"No, it's okay...just..follow my hand."

"So wet..." He marvels at your arousal just from giving him oral, you would feel embarrassed but why should you? Luffy sure wasn't.

You take his limp cock, rubbing up and down the shaft, twisting your wrist a little, feeling him harden at your touch again, you hear a small whine from the boy and rubbing smaller circles on you sensitive bud.

Sharing a small sound of sexual noises, Luffy whispers, "Can you kiss me please?"

And of course you did, you really couldn't help yourself latching your lips onto his smaller ones, giving small nips and licks to one another, to laugh together touching foreheads briefly,

"Yeah, like that Lu...faster..."

He swirled his fingers around, not knowing which direction to choose from up and down to circles, but the sexual wet noises you made from just his fingers still made you cum.

"Luffy..." Your voice now a pitch higher, as his name ooses out of your mouth, your eyes were closed, but your knew, you just knew he was looking right at your face while riding off your orgasm.

Luffy's lids were lowered, astonished and dazed from how beautiful you looked, mouth a gape, head downwards grinding on his fingers, you felt so warm, so wet, it was almost going to drive him crazy on the possibility of what you felt like with him fully inside you.

He wasn't too far behind, you wanted him to have a second orgasm on your hand, but instead he grabbed your wrist, "Can we do it now?" He looks over and shyly puts his hand on another sex position, "This one....and then this one..."

"And this one." You pointed at another pose to try, you could fellt him twitch on your thigh, he agrees and helps you up on your knees.

"Hold my....my um..my hand."

as you intertwine both your hands into his clammy ones, you sunk yourself down, it was a bit scary, and your captain knew when you were afraid,

“Look at me.”

When you meet eyes, he had a soft gaze at you, his smile was faint but warm. His assists you down his length, and you both share a whine and a hiss together.

Still holding his hand you begin to move up and down and immediately Luffy is giggling and moaning again.

“W-what’s—ah funny?”

“Your boobies are in my face!” He leans his head forward smothering himself in your breasts, his hair tickled your nipples as he litterally rubbed his face in between the warm crevasse eventually letting go of your hands and using his powers to wrap his arms twice around your waist almost as if giving you a bear hug.

You were too busy laughing at his antics to even feel the typical sting of your hymen getting torn, now turning into pleasure almost immediately after getting the pace right. The pressure of Luffy’s hug around you plus bottoming out on his cock felt so good, you both felt a familiar stomach knot forming.

“S-so close! Y/n! It’s happening again!”

His rasped voice vibrated on your skin, he pulled away , a spit line disconnecting from the drool he left on you and went to look at your contorted face focusing on your next orgasm. Luffy held your hair back as you started to pick up the pace of bouncing. He wanted to see you cum again.

“So pretty.”

You both held each other close, both clashing each other body against another as you rode out yet another blissful high, your face in his neck, legs around his hot waist as he sat crisscross in the middle of the now creaky bed it, you both got restless. The air in the room so stuffy, and hot but yet you both couldn’t back away from each other.

You felt his cum spray your insides leaving a mess both on and in you, the tingly feeling made a shiver run down both your spines.

As you both slowed down, moaning subsiding from you both down to faint breaths you look at Luffy, grabbing his tired dazed face with a pussy drunk smile, you giggle.

“Hey…” You look down at your breast to see a small heart shaped hickey on it. “How the hell you leave this shape on my tiddy?”

“I seen the trick be taught in Dressrosa.”

You blink at him, “What the hell did you see in that city we was there for like 3 days.”

He giggles, pulling you to his ear to whisper and your eyes grow about 3 times the size.

“NO WAY?! AND ZORO HE WAS IN ON IT TOO?”

“Mmhm!”

“What else? How’d you two even find a—“

Luffy then fake yawns, “Oh wow i am so tireeddddd.”

You toll your eyes. You knew he would be a little shit trying to spill,

“You still wanna do the other positions?”

He laughs, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t winded, but you felt so addicting, “After a nap…and food….need meat.”

You both burst out laughing, “Okay…but um….thank you Luffy….for trusting me….to do this.”

“Ah no worries!” Luffy beams at you with tiny beads of sweat falling down his face, laying back on your headboard with his arms behind his head, “That actually feels way better than I thought….Next time though we have to do ALLLL the positions! IN ONE GO TOO!…..also….”

…..

“Was i good? You’re —you’re bleeding! I didn’t hurt you did i?!”

“No! no! that’s normal! You…it means you took my virginity, Lu….and yes you were amazing.”

You knew giving him the real medical answer would make him kore confused and he already looked so tired. As much as you both needed another bath you decided to let him stay inside you. sure you felt full but the comfort of his scared chest and one of his hands tracing over your bare back as he was dozing off made you sleepy as well.

Luffy was more than content right now with you in his arms as you both sleep off your exhausted afternoon. It was a strange feeling for him but holding you, kissing you, being so intimate with you made his heart bloom. He wasn’t sure what this feeling was he had towards you, but he didn’t want them to go away.

Not when you were his first and hopefully to be his only.

#one piece x female reader #x female reader #female reader #one piece x you #one piece x black!reader #one piece smut #one piece x chubby #luffy #luffy x black reader #luffy x female reader #luffy x you #luffy smut #luffy headcanons #black reader #one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece scenario

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ladytesla · 4 months

Text

Cowboy Halsin

I saw @aerynwrites musing about how Halsin would be as a cowboy or rancher. I thought I'd throw in my two cents, since I live on a farm myself.

There's more to it than just seeing Halsin speaking softly to horses, as awesome a sight as that would be. There's more to living out in the country than horses, believe me. This kind of morphed into Country Halsin and not Cowboy Halsin, but I hope y'all like it anyway. Let's go through a day in the life, shall we?

Halsin would probably be up before dawn, kissing your cheek before getting out of bed as carefully as possible, trying not to wake you. You have your own goals to accomplish today, he wants to let you wake up on your own.

Besides, he loves the stillness just before the sun rises. The nocturnal creatures are seeking their nests and burrows, the diurnal ones have yet to wake. This solitary commune with nature is one of the highlights of his day, listening to the wind in the leaves, the crickets and the frogs. It is a very referent time of morning that seems to stretch for ages and at the same time end far too soon.

As he reaches the barn, the day officially begins. Animals need to be fed. Mostly they graze in the pasture, but some need special treatment. An old swaybacked mare needs a little something extra to keep her weight up. Maybe there's a colt who managed to hurt himself somehow, and the wound needs to be tended to. Maybe it's cold outside, so he throws out alfalfa with the hay. Alfalfa is also called 'hot hay' because it raises an animal's body temperature, which is a great trick for winter.

He speaks to the horses as he works, maybe fondly berating the colt for being so clumsy in his excitement, or encouraging the mare to eat everything he's set out for her, smoothing a large hand down her side and smiling to himself when he feels her ribs much more faintly than he used to. One of the horses who is usually waiting in the mornings isn't there... that's a bit odd. He'll turn up eventually. The chickens milling around outside have heard his voice and know The One Who Feeds Them has arrived, so they peek around and wander into the barn themselves, waiting very impatiently. The goats in another small paddock nearby are just as impatient. They start yelling and bleating as if they're starving to death and He Is A Cruel And Unjust Father And They Are Going To Scream.

He likes hearing the chickens chatter as he scatters out feed for them. They don't have anything of real importance to say, but they never stop talking. Mostly it's "Food! Food! Food! Bug? Food! Scratch. Peck. Scratch. Bug!" in a dozen warbling little voices. He brought a bag of veggie scraps from last night's dinner with him to throw to the goats, which stops them yelling. "I don't think the neighbors heard you yet," he would say dryly as he throws hay to them as well. Sometimes they headbutt each other for access to the best morsels, and while he wants to prevent this to keep anyone from getting injured, he knows it's in their nature. He keeps an eye on the smallest and oldest, however, making sure they get their fair share. The twin kids born last week toddle after their mother like baby ducks. It seems like she has enough milk for both of them, though he still has powdered formula and bottles from the last kidding season, just in case they're needed once more.

Now that everyone's been fed, it's time to walk the fences, looking for that missing horse in the process. A lesser known but very important job when it comes to country life. Any breaks could not only let animals out, but predators in. He'd keep an eye out for signs of predators nearby. He hasn't seen any today, but he heard coyotes crying out in the darkness the night before. By this time of morning, though, he has company. You've made your appearance, bleary-eyed and handing him an insulated cup of coffee. You're already on your second.

The fog from earlier hasn't been burned off completely by the sun yet. It's a quiet time for the two of you to walk the property lines together. Halsin is a bit concerned about that horse. He hasn't shown up yet. Soon, though, he sees a silhouette in the last bits of fog, and sighs with relief. The horse isn't lying down from illness, he's just... trapped. The two of you look at this big strong chestnut gelding, eyes rolling and sides heaving, barricaded in the corner of the pasture because... there's a rabbit in the way. A fat little gray-brown bunny, nibbling delicately at the grass without a care in the world. Truly a terrifying sight to behold.

"Arthur we've spoken about this," Halsin sighs as he walks closer to the horse. "Rabbits can't hurt you. They eat plants, and they're tiny. Look!"

Still, Arthur isn't convinced. Halsin soothes him, stroking his nose and smiling to himself at the absurdity of it.

"My heart," he glances to you, "please convince our visitor to release Arthur."

You smile as you shuffle closer to the rabbit, gently shooing it back through the fence. Now that Arthur is out of mortal peril, he happily walks off towards the barn.

"They're majestic creatures," Halsin admits, "but sometimes..." He shakes his head, then keeps walking the fence. "Come on, my love... we're only halfway."

~~~

A round bale is delivered around lunchtime. The thing is as tall as you and just as wide and weighs an ungodly amount. But it needs to go out into the pasture somehow. Moving a round bale is a two-person job. Your job is to hold the gate open and keep the curious horses at bay... and to watch as Halsin, sleeves rolled up and muscles bulging, easily rolls it into the paddock as though it weighs nothing. He barely has time to set the feeder ring around it before the horses are nosing greedily at the fresh hay.

"I wish I could help more," you say as you close the gate.

"You help plenty," he replies, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Besides..." There's a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. "I've flattered myself into thinking you like to watch."

You grin and say he's being ridiculous, but you both know the truth.

~~~

As active a man as he is, Halsin isn't content to spend the heat of the day indoors. There are still so many things to be done. Bird feeders to fill. Eggs to collect from the chickens. The vegetable garden to water and weed. Water troughs to top up. Finally, there's a little time to take a break. Sometimes you have other things on your schedule, but today you decide to join him. The two of you find a shady spot under a tree and settle in with a book, some whittling, perhaps a snack, and you let yourselves get lost in nature. The afternoon sounds are different from the early morning ones. There are no crickets or frogs, no reverent stillness. Now there are raucous little songbirds fighting over birdseed, the chatter of a squirrel, the crow of the rooster, maybe even the far-off braying of a neighbor's donkey a quarter mile away. The windchimes you hung from the back porch. And underneath it all, the wind humming in the trees. Halsin leans back against the rough bark of the tree, closes his eyes, and feels the undercurrent of life running through all things. You can't help but admire the sheer expression of peace and happiness on his face, and set your little diversions aside to lean your head on his shoulder. His arm instictively wraps around you to pull you closer against him, and you enjoy simply existing as part of nature for a while.

~~~

The sun is about to set, casting mile-long shadows and lighting up the fields like gold. It's nearing time to go inside and help make dinner. But first the old mare and the colt need to be tended to once more. Another helping of special feed for the mare, sequestering her in her stall so that she can eat in peace without a certain someone (whose name may or may not be Arthur} attempting to share. The colt's wound is healing nicely, and Halsin digs in his pocket for a cookie in exchange for the colt standing still enough to be treated. He tosses another cookie to Arthur who protests that he too needs special food because he is a special boy.

He comes inside to clean up and help with dinner. He'll need to go back out in an hour or so to let the mare out of her stall, but in the meantime he's happy to be in your company as you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. If you're cooking, it may be a bit difficult with those big arms around you from behind. The two of you have been busy all day, and now that you're done with your work, he has decided to make things a little difficult.

"Love, please, I need to get to the spice cabinet." "I can reach it just fine. Tell me what you need."

"Halsin, I can't work with you right behind me like this!" "I fail to see how this is a problem, my heart. I'm having a wonderful time."

Halsin is normally a mild-mannered type, but his sense of humor sneaks out in sly ways from time to time. At least he hasn't broken out the horrible puns yet. And you have to admit, it's nice to be able to feel his deep voice resonate against your back.

Halsin is ready to sleep when it's time for bed (as long as you are too, of course. He's always up for 'extracurricular activities' if the mood is right). "We did well today, my heart," he says quietly in the darkness, pulling you close. "Pleasant dreams." He can hear the faint sounds of frogs and crickets outside your window, and that coupled with your soft breathing is enough to lull him into a deep sleep.

Was it a long day full of hard work? Yes.

Would he trade away any of it? Never.

#aerynwrites I hope you like it #I'm sick today so I'm writing when I should be sleeping #I like to live dangerously #never thought living on a farm would help me write fanfiction #no ducks on this farm because he thinks ducks belong in the rivers and ponds #so don't come at me with 'but where are the ducks'#they're in the lake not on the farm #no cows either because I don't know much about caring for them so.#halsin silverbough #my writing #bg3 fanfiction #halsin bg3 #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #baldurs gate halsin

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mothandpidgeon · 5 months

Text

Southpaw (Dieter Bravo drabble)

Character: Dieter Bravo

Summary: After an accident leaves Dieter without the use of a hand, he becomes acquainted with the other.

Words: 600

Rating: E 18+

Warnings: masturbation

a/n: I was inspired by @iamskyereads’s fantastic fic Repose which was inspired by Pedro’s injury to write a little drabble about another injured Pedro boy. Not quite sure what this is but I guess I was also inspired by Bob Belcher talking to his Thanksgiving turkey.

As always thanks to number one Dieter stan @ezrasbirdie for the lil beta.

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Dieter is a lefty. Sure, he signs autographs with his right hand, brushes his teeth, scrolls his phone. But when it comes to the most important pursuit, he uses his left. He’s not sure when it started or why but he’s always enjoyed the tender touch of his left hand.

So when a yoga accident leaves his left wrist in a splint, Dieter is inconsolable. The doctor gives him strict instructions to keep the appendage still. No exercise, no lifting, no vigorous activity. His agent says that he might be recast in his upcoming role since his injury is jeopardizing the entire shooting schedule. Dieter could care less. He’s devastated that he’s lost his most loyal companion, even temporarily.

His cock hasn’t gotten the memo. Duty calls and he’s all alone with a tent in his pants. Whether he likes it or not, the show must go on and the understudy will have to perform.

He admires his right hand for a while. His nails are manicured nicely. Same wide palm and thick fingers as the left. There’s no reason why Righty shouldn’t be up to the task.

He tries it— timid, the grip around him unfamiliar. The hand holds him with a sureness he wasn’t expecting. It makes him blush, a boyish excitement. His thumb swipes mischievously through a strand of precum that’s sliding its way down his length. Dieter shivers. Maybe there’s something to this frisky right hand.

Feeling his own hard cock in a new fist is different too. He takes the time to notice its slight curve, the veins. There’s a good amount of thickness. It throbs— needy, impatient. Dieter douses himself with lube and settles in.

The first tug is too rough. Dieter hisses and his useless left hand scrunches into a fist. If only it could step in and take over. The left has done this so much, it’s second nature. Now all it can do is watch.

He shakes it off.

Dieter tries a gentler approach. Soft, teasing touches that make him dizzy. It’s hardly enough, though. At this rate, he’ll edge himself for hours.

The work is clumsy at first but he finds a rhythm after testing out languid pulls and rapid pulses. The thrust of his slick hand makes a sloppy sort of music. He starts to put his apprehensions aside and really enjoy himself.

Just like that.

It feels like a stranger is touching him and what a handsome one he is. When he closes his eyes, it could be anybody down there. A mouth, a cunt, anything he’d like to fuck. He flips through a catalogue of obscenities in his mind, each one leaving him hotter than the next.

The sensation is exquisite. He’s fucking his own hand, hips lifting as he babbles nonsense about how it takes it so good. Pleasure drowns him as his right hand moves faster by a will of its very own. He can feel his cock begin to twitch and pulse in his palm. Overwhelmed and possessed, he moans and bucks and soon he’s spurting all over Righty. The left must be jealous.

As his muscles unwind, his hand slows. He can hardly stop it and, had he use of the other, he might grab himself by the wrist. He’s too sensitive and each caress makes him gasp. His over eager right hand isn’t ready to call it quits.

Dieter’s head falls back. His heart slows. He examines the sticky spend between his fingers, still shining with lube. His new friend, his right hand man.

Let’s get you cleaned up.

They’ve got work to do.

---

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#dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

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tenderlywicked · 3 months

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I got so impatient that I started filling my own prompt. Wild Blue Yonder AU: the Doctor and the Master get stuck with the Not-Things :)

It’s not like the Master has something against eldritch beings per se. Arms that are too long or a dropping jaw—it’s not as disturbing for him as it clearly is for the Doctor. He’s been an eldritch horror himself, not just once, so he can sympathize. Moreover, appreciate the ability to adapt and survive at any cost. It’s a matter for envy rather than scorn or dread. He’s not even that shocked to see his own face on someone else: after all, there had been six billions of him once.

But it’s plain ridiculous that one of these not-things is able to imitate his speech patterns almost perfectly, and yet gets it wrong how many hearts and knees he has. It’s a sign of hackwork, and he despises that. On the other hand, in the current circumstances such incompetence is in his favor. It means the creatures aren’t unbeatable, they tend to miss the most obvious things.

He’d be more content and optimistic about it, though, if the Doctor hadn’t been clumsy enough to get separated from him, ending up on some other level of technical corridors. It’s nothing but irritating because without the Doctor there’s no way out: the TARDIS will come back for him. He isn’t to blame for the spaceship’s baffling reconfigurations of course, but still, he should have been more careful.

To the Doctor’s credit, he’s now probably rushing about, trying to find his missing companion, despite the row they’d had before the TARDIS had run off on them both. (The Master is still of opinion that this time the Doctor’s indignation had been apropos of nothing. Yes, he’d summoned the Toymaker into the universe, so what? He’d played his final game and won, he’s alive thanks to that, and the blasted universe is fine too, more or less, despite a few tiny time paradoxes all of this had caused. Should he have just died from a stab in the back instead? No, thank you very much.) Anyway, no matter their disagreements, the Doctor will be looking for him, desperately, the Master is sure of that. Instead of doing the same, he unhurriedly goes searching for something else.

They’d discovered the bridge and the control rooms, but surely, there must be living quarters somewhere on the spaceship. It’s not as big as the Mondasian one, so it doesn’t take the Master much time to locate them, along with what he’d been hoping to find—another set of surveillance equipment. He turns it on, and there it is, the second dot on the screen, the Doctor still braving the labyrinthine corridors on his own.

The Master fumbles with settings and finally finds the right camera in the hall the Doctor is about to pass…right in time to see him stumble across the false Master. And is it really that surprising what happens next? There’s no sound, but the Doctor’s face is quite expressive—it’s easy to see when wariness turns into wavering. Then, sequentially, come incredulity, hurt…and hope?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, still falling for sweet talk,” the Master mutters aloud as the Doctor takes a timorous step towards not-him, only for what he must expect to be a reunion hug to turn into a chokehold.

The creatures won’t kill him, they know he might regenerate, the Master tells himself, switching between the cameras as he follows the Doctor being dragged back to the bridge. They are more likely to keep him for further research.

What had his doppelgänger told the Doctor to earn his trust so quickly? Theta, I missed you so much? The Master tries to persuade himself it’s just curiosity, but also, deep inside, he knows there’s a bitter feeling too, akin to jealously: he never seems to say the right words that would convert the Doctor to his side so easily. One of his silly regenerations had wanted to stand with the Doctor, but would the Doctor ever stand with him?

Maybe he’s not entirely fair, maybe that’s just his old resentment speaking. In his place, the Doctor would undoubtedly rush to rescue at once. In his own place, the Master chooses to see what happens next. He just has to find out how to turn on the sound.

That's the first part, more horrors are to come ;)

#doctor who #the doctor #the master #fourteenth doctor #simm!master #saxteen #thoschei #doctor/master #doctor who 60th anniversary #wild blue yonder #the doctor and the master #doctor who fanfiction

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amethystfallenangel · 1 year

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soda (pilot kelson x reader)

You groan, swatting the fly away from the counter. It's too hot behind this counter, you've been working long hours at this gas station. Customers are rude, impatient and in a rush. And you're stuck here, forced to be professional and patient. You've even gotten bored of your phone, so you dash it onto the counter, huffing and leaning against the boxes behind you, opening one button of your t-shirt because of the unbearable midday heat.

Suddenly, you hear the rev of an engine outside and the squeak of tires. Here we go again, another frustrating customer to make this infernal wait even worse than it already is. You pay no attention to the two customers who saunter into the shop, laughing obnoxiously, but as they stumble to the counter, you grin slightly. They're quite young, around your age, if not one or two years younger. One of them has a shaved mullet and wild eyes, with a loose tank top and a stupidly wide grin. He's busy checking out the bubble-gum selection, commenting aimlessly on each flavour. His friend, however, seems unbothered, his downturned blue eyes staring at you softly. He has messy hair, the brown strands sticking out weirdly. He fiddles with the zipper of his bomber jacket, offering you a crooked smile. He speaks to you in a slurred, clumsy voice, as if completely faded.

"What soda do you recommend?"

You sigh, smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, I don't know. Fanta, maybe."

He leans over the counter, clasping his hands, lifting his bushy eyebrows and gazing at you with his puppy-like eyes.

"You like citrus drinks?"

"Yeah, sure." His attempt at making conversation is terrible, but it's cute. You glance quickly at his friend, who is still rambling on to himself about the flavours of bubble gum.

"Citrus drinks suck. I prefer Coke, or Dr Pepper."

You nod blindly.

"Uh, yeah, we have Coca Cola too." You point to the fridges where the cold drinks are.

He narrows his eyes playfully, and then ambles off curiously, promptly returning with three cans of soda.

One Coke, one Dr Pepper and... a Fanta?

You tilt your head at him, a question in your eye.

His friend, who you later learn is called Jack, interrupts, still grinning.

"That's his way of asking you to hang out with us. Oh, I'll have the strawberry bubble gum too. Thanks, sweetheart." He places a 15 dollar bill on the counter, but before you can hand him his change, he skips away, whistling, back to the car, with his Dr Pepper and his bubble gum.

You're left with the droopy eyed young man, still leaning across the counter with a playful smirk. And of the soda, obviously.

You chuckle, twirling a piece of your hair from under your cap, as you lean across the counter yourself, your shirt a little too revealing for the young man not to smirk a little wider.

"So, soda boy, what's your name?"

"Why, you wanna buy me a drink?" he teases.

You chuckle lowly, glancing at your Fanta and his Coca Cola. Good come back. He's quite witty, clearly. And playful.

"Thanks for the soda, by the way," you hum. "I'm still on duty, though. I'm not sure I can hang out with you guys. I appreciate the offer, of course."

"We're in the nearby town till tomorrow, though," he croons, edging closer to your face. You shake your head, amused.

"That so? Fine, then. I could use a night out. You guys aren't serial killers or thieves or anything, right?"

He giggles, popping open his can and taking a sip.

"Would that make us more interesting?"

"Not exactly the word I would use. You still haven't told me your name by the way."

"Pilot. I'm Pilot Kelson" He holds out his hand comically.

"Pilot? That's an interesting name." You go to shake his hand, but instead he takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back, looking back at you with a loud laugh.

"You're very bold, Pilot. Or maybe just completely high."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't mind. Pick me up at 6 tonight, soda boy." You grin and then place a quick kiss on his cheek. His jaw drops in a cheeky grin, and he winks as he walks away.

Your shift was boring. Two more smug faced truckers came in for a few beers, nothing special. When your shift ends, a car is already waiting outside, and as you leave the shop, jamming the door for the next person to start their shift, the car headlights are flashing wildly, Pilot and Jack waving their arms frantically out of the windows. You giggle at them being unnecessarily noisy, wondering what on earth you've gotten yourself into. Your Fanta is still in your bag.

"Hey soda boy," you joke, as you get in the back of their messy car. His friend turns his attention to you, eyeing you up and down greedily, but somewhat respectfully.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he says, his eyes sultry.

"Nice to meet you, Jack."

You drive to a lively, crowded bar. Inside, there are road stop signs and buffalo skulls as decorations. It smells strongly of whiskey, tobacco and steak pies. There are multiple coloured jukeboxes, pool tables, booths and flickering warm overhead lamps. You know this bar well, you used to come here with your old man way before he became a trucker. You smile to yourself as you lean over the sticky, heavy oak counter and greet the bartender. Jack already seems to be in conversation with a cute blonde in a leather skirt. The pair choose a bluesy rock song on one of the jukeboxes. You order drinks and Pilot follows you eagerly to a table, leaving his friend with the girl.

"So," you say, biting your lip in amusement, "why'd you ask me to accompany you guys anyways? And why are you leaving so soon?"

He chuckles lowly.

"Actually, Jack was caught screwing some guy's wife in Las Vegas. We're basically just on the run, cus' the husband was a raging psycho who sent some guys after Jack. Oh and I asked you cus' I find you hot. And funny."

You snicker, almost spitting out your drink.

"Talk about be bold."

"Yeah, Jack works as a pool cleaner, so he didn't really care about leaving his job."

"And you tagged along? That's wholesome. What do you do?"

He scoffs, seemingly lost for words, before chuckling again.

"I'm technically a drug dealer."

Your eyes go wide. Well, this sure is an eventful day.

"Oh."

He leans back into his chair, flinging an arm around the back of your chair. You can feel one of his fingers brush your back and it sends a chill down your spine. He's starts to draw lines and circles on your back with his finger.

"You don't think less of me, though, right?" he coughs, gazing at your soft features with his lazy eyes.

You turn your head to face him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your demeanour is calm, but you're a little flushed.

"No. I mean, you guys are a bit too wild for me, but I don't think less of you, no.

He smirks, the hand on your back sliding up to the back of your neck, to gently guide your head closer to him.

You playfully poke his stomach and he pulls back, groaning in annoyance, as he rolls his head back. Then, without a thought, you climb up onto his lap, so that you are straddling him. His head shoots up eagerly, his hands almost just as quickly moving to your hips.

You cup his cheeks as your noses almost touch.

"You're an interesting guy, Pilot."

"You mean 'soda boy'?" he laughs, his hips involuntarily bucking up into yours.

You gasp slightly, widening your eyes at him.

"Okay, soda boy," you tease, "show some restraint. We're in public, remember."

He leans in close.

"Then let's go back to the motel," he grins.

Leaving the car with Jack, both of you rush out of the bar, walking with incredible speed to the grimy motel where the two troublemakers have been staying for the past two days.

You both stumble into the motel room, as you slam him into the door. His hands finds the hem of your skirt as he tugs as it. You giggle, throwing you bag onto the carpeted floor. You both almost tackle one another onto the floor, rolling around, unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He manages to pry open the rest of the buttons of your t-shirt, as his body presses flush against yours. As he is peppering your neck with hot kisses, he kicks your bag, and your unopened can of Fanta rolls out. Pilot turns around to look at it, with an amused smile, and with his head buried in your chest, he mumbles "I might have to help you finish that drink."

"I thought you didn't like citrus drinks," you manage to say, between passionate kisses.

"I wouldn't mind trying."

You tug at his messy hair and he groans, although not in annoyance this time.

This is by far the most interesting one-night stand you will ever have.

#pilotkelson #highway 2002 #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #dilf x reader #pilotkelson x reader #jake gylenhall #x y/n #grunge #y2k icons #grunge icons #fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

One Thing Leads to Another

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing, Only One I See

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

Dunno if I’ll be doing an exhaustive drabble series but there’s at least this. Let me know if you’re enjoying it or not and any thoughts you have. Love you!

You sit among the room of sleepy students, trying to appear relatively conscious as you sip from your porcelain travel mug; the paint fading, a chip out of the base. It’s old and worn but you like the flowers painted on the side. You suppress a yawn as a man who introduced himself as Professor Barnes stands at the front impatiently. The same professor who was at the cafe with Rogers.

He huffs and shuffles the stack of papers, “I apologise, my colleague is usually not late,” he begins as he hands out neatly stapled booklets, “I know most of you want to be out of here as soon as possible.”

He goes up and down the rows, laying out the paper before each coed. You recognise a few from your lectures but not all. A motley group hopeful for a few extra bucks.

“After we go through the training, it’ll be about a week before we place you as a TA. It’ll be up to you to meet with your professor in preparation for next term.”

“Sorry,” a body rushes into the room and up the middle aisle, “sorry, I… got caught up.”

“Bout time, Rogers,” Barnes says dully, “we were just getting started.”

You watch Professor Rogers walk to the front, taking a booklet from Barnes as he passes. He turns and his eyes skim the front page before he looks up at the room. You give him a small smile and the tension leaves his face. You notice the stubble along his chin, almost mistaking it for a shadow as he’s rarely anything but tidy and clean-shaven.

“Mm,” Barnes joins him at the front. “I’m Professor Barnes, this is Professor Rogers, I’m certain we know a few of you already but let’s start with a quick ice breaker…”

You go through the usual awkward introductions; name, an interesting fact, and why you chose to become a TA. Everyone skirted around the most obvious, the money. You’re all just a bunch of stingy college students.

“Alright,” Barnes yawns and takes his large travel mug from the podium, “over to you, golden boy.”

Rogers flips the front page and looks around, his gaze settling on you. Maybe a nervous habit, you find he tends to focus on one spot during his lectures too. You couldn’t imagine having to present in front of so many but that’s exactly what you were here for. To be in his shoes next semester.

“Right, let’s go over the basics…” he begins.

📕

“I didn’t know you were doing TA work,” Steve approaches as you slide the empty mug into the side pocket of your bag, “that’s exciting.”

“Really? Exciting?” You wonder, “I guess, but… I’m just trying to get by.”

Students quickly swipe up their belongings and head for the door. Professor Barnes is on his phone, voice low, all you here is “...sunshine”. You assume he’s speaking to his wife or someone special.

“It’ll look good on your resume,” Steve offers, drawing your attention back, “so, you already wasted half your Saturday, got plans for the rest? Another party?”

You shake your head as you slip your bag off the table. There’s a clunk as the side pocket hits the top of the next chair and your mug pops out. You gasp and step back as the porcelain shatters on the floor.

“Oh, f–” you stop yourself from swearing, overly aware of his presence, “dang, I’m… so clumsy.”

“Oh no,” he comes around as you bend to pick up the pieces. He helps you, examining a few of the painted shards, “that was a nice cup.”

“I guess, it was old,” you mutter, trying not to betray your disappointment. At the same time, you’re still a bit confused. About him. About that text. He hasn’t messaged since but it’s all a bit strange. “Not a big deal. With those big TA bucks, I’ll get an even nicer one.”

“Hey, let me get this,” he says as gathers up the glass, “you don’t wanna cut your hands.”

“It’s fine, I can–” your insistence is interrupted by a sudden strike of pain along your finger. You drop the chunk of glass and open your hand, showing the blood dripping out., “shoot. I— god, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” he catches your hand, “here, there’s tissue at the front.”

He tugs on you, not unkindly, and you stand. Almost as if he doesn’t realise the awkwardness, he drags you to the front table and swipes out several sheets of kleenex and wraps them around your finger.

“Making a mess, Rogers,” Barnes doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Got it handled, Buck,” he returns smoothly, “go on, I know you’re rearin’ to get outta here.”

“Can’t leave my girl hangin’,” Barnes strides around the podium, “have a good one, Rogers.”

You crane around to watch him go. He was so set on his path and whoever he was texting, he didn’t even notice you. And you didn’t notice the room was empty.

“I got a first aid kit in my office—”

“It’s fine,” you wiggle your hand in his but he clings to you, “there’s sanitizer here, I’ll use that and clean up when I get home.”

“I’m sorry about your cup,” he looks down at his hand, smeared with streaks of your blood and releases you.

“Really, it’s fine. Not your fault… I, uh, thanks, for helping but I–”

“I’ll let the custodian know,” he interjects, “no point both of us getting sliced up.”

“Right, well, I should go…” You sway and look behind you, “I got homework to catch up on and, uh, Inez was talking about a movie night.”

“Did I do something?” He asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.

“N-no,” you give a tiny chuckle, “no, it’s just… I’m being honest. It’s midterms and I’m kinda behind.”

“You sure,” his brow wrinkles, bringing out the lines in his forehead and the creases around his eyes, “if I did, you can tell me.”

“Mmm,” you force a smile. You don’t want to make it worse. You won’t mention the texts, “oh, did you add me to that group? I downloaded the app but I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Yeah, I… I thought I did, I’ll have to double check,” he frames his hip and rubs his cheek, “but don’t let me keep you. Go, study, have movie night. I’ll probably do some of the same, you know? Got any recommendations? Uh, for movies?”

You shrug and slowly turn away. You go back to the desk and grab your bag. You face him again as he gathers up the extra booklets, his thumb flicking the corners. Is it nerves or impatience.

“There’s a new horror movie on Netflix. It’s by that director that did the one about the sewers,” you say, “sorry, I’m so bad with names.”

“I’ll have to look for it,” he says.

He waits for a response but you don’t know what else to say or how to redirect and get out of there. The longer you stay, alone with him, the thicker the air grows.

He suddenly peeks at his watch, “crap, you know what, I forgot. I have a friend–” he tucks the papers under his arm, “long way across the city. I’ll, er…” he heads for the door, “I’ll see you in class.”

You trail after him, a few steps back as you enter the hallway. He’s almost halfway to the corner as you’re still by the door. You’re put off by his sudden urgency but relieved he’s gone. You can’t take anymore strange interactions. It’s making you overthink every single word. Or maybe it’s just Inez putting throughts in your head.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #drabble series #series #au #marvel #mcu #professor!steve #captain america #avengers

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lilyevanstan1325 · 6 months

Text

❤️ Built For This World ❤️

Chapter 1

I drag myself with difficulty to the edge of the long road that stands in front of me.

My senses are on alert as I move slowly but decisively towards the trees on my right.

I feel too exposed here, the trees will give me a little more shelter from prying eyes and teeth ready to bite me.

I blink violently as the sunlight blinds me, burning my clear eyes.

Mum always told me "Clear eyes are delicate, always protect them"

And I, who was only five years old, snorted impatiently while, with a very sweet smile, she placed a pair of sunglasses on my nose and then kissed the tip making me giggle.

I have always loved my green eyes just because they are the same as my mother's, they are the only thing that reminds me that she existed.

I have nothing left of her except an old photo, creased and worn by the tears I shed over it.

Every time I see my reflection, if I concentrate hard enough, I can see her in my features, I can pretend for a few moments that she is there in front of me.

Our resemblance is the only thing that constantly reminds me that she was a real part of a life that today no longer belongs to me.

Emerald eyes.

That's how dad called her.

I can still hear his voice as he whispers those sweet words to my mother.

I sigh thinking about how much they loved each other.

They have always been my example of true, pure and strong love.

They are what I aspire to or rather what I dreamed for myself before.

Now there is nothing left, only death and despair.

I look around looking for a slightly shadier spot but without great results.

The heat is increasingly unbearable, especially at this time of the afternoon.

Not that I have a watch with me but from the position of the sun in the sky I'm pretty sure it was a few hours after noon.

I breathe deeply and the hot air burns my nose, my lungs.

The heat burns my throat, corroding every clear thought.

Damn…

I didn't know Georgia was so damn hot.

I mean, even though I am walking in the depths of the forest, the sun gives me no respite, it infiltrates the branches and leaves with unprecedented violence.

It's like it wants to constantly remind me “Hey bitch I'm here, I know where you are.You can't escape me"

The jeans I'm wearing fit like a second skin, making me sweat even more profusely while the white t-shirt I'm wearing has noticeable, and if I had been in the company of other human beings, embarrassing patches of sweat near the armpits and along the entire back.

Let's say the smell I give off isn't the best.

For a fraction of a second my vision blurs, slowing down my already limping and clumsy pace.

The sounds around me become muffled.

I no longer hear the cicadas singing in the heat of this desolate and cursed land.

Without realizing it, I stop and rest my hand against the rough trunk of a tree, the bark scratches my palm but I barely feel the pain.

Nowadays I feel numb to everything.

I no longer feel anything except the inexorable passage of time.

Forty-two days, I think as my vision comes and goes, repeatedly showing me white points of light on my black boots.

That's how long I've been wandering.

Forty-two damn days.

On my long journey to Atlanta I encountered few living people but many, too many, dead.

Fucking biters.

I tried to keep a low profile, only killing them when I really couldn't help myself.

My only weapons are my trusty knife and a machete found in an old abandoned car near Charlotte.

As for the living, well...in that case I avoided them as anyone would avoid STI.

Or the biters.

It depends on your point of view.

But the thing that amazes me is that I have never met his men.

Or him.

Maybe they didn't think I would run away south.

Or maybe they never looked for me.

Why should he commit his men, in his opinion his most precious resources, to look for me?

Maybe there was a time when he would have turned the world upside down to find me but in the last few weeks he had grown colder.

It wasn't him anymore.

Without feelings.

No hugs, no sweet words.

Only barked orders, half-hearted phrases.

As if I were another one of his stupid men and not the most important woman in his life, as he used to call me.

It is as if he had convinced himself that his love for me made him weak in the eyes of others, as if love me made him vulnerable and therefore less credible or reliable as a leader.

I feel my legs give out, my knees tremble, forcing me to kneel on the hard ground.

I bring the hand that isn't busy gripping the tree to my head, as if this gesture could ease my pain.

The same excruciating pain in my head that hasn't left me for days now seems to explode with ferocity, as if I suddenly found myself hanging upside down and all the blood was draining towards my brain, giving me the not so pleasant sensation of my eyes being forced out of my eye sockets.

In the midst of this ocean of pain I can hear the cawing of a crow that echoes throughout the forest, making me jump violently, making my heartbeat skyrocket.

I feel it beating so hard that I have the almost mathematical certainty that at any moment it could break through my ribs and come out of my chest.

The crow flies away with a rustle of wings, continuing on its way unaware of having almost caused me a cardiac arrest.

Another dizziness takes me by surprise, making me lose my grip on the tree and finding myself on all fours, my stomach shaking with violent spasms while empty retching fills my dry and sore throat.

I know what's happening.

I'm aware of it.

The problem is that I'm fucking scared of it.

I can't accept it.

After all, who could do it?

Who would be able to accept their death as if nothing had happened?

I feel my eyes burning but no tears appear.

My crooked mouth in a grip of perpetual pain burns, the dozens of small wounds that cover it bleed with every small movement.

I've learned to live with hunger, it's not as difficult as it seems.

The last time I think I ate was about two or three days ago.

I had found a small cabin in the woods, I think it was an old hunter's lodge.

With only a few hours of light ahead of me, I had decided to stop and set a small trap near my refuge for that night.

Maybe I would catch a disgusting possum or if I was really lucky a rabbit.

But instead, the next morning, the only thing I found was a little mouse.

Small, defenseless, gasping desperately with his little paw stuck in the trap.

He squealed forcefully, fighting for his life.

I still remember the tears of disgust at what I was about to do but it was for my own life.

For my survival.

I felt pathetic feeling sorry for a small and insignificant ball of fur but I think I saw myself in him.

Too small and defenseless for this world that is now too cruel and cowardly, destined to succumb but not therefore willing to give up.

I believe my sleep deprivation played a major role in my little mental breakdown.

An hour later I was sitting in front of a small fire, my hair glued to my neck from sweat and the remains of that little warrior on the ground in front of me.

“Mors tua vita mea” I found myself whispering while looking at those little bones.

Both of us, the little mouse and I, had only one mission, survive and there would be only one winner.

The failure of the little rodent guaranteed the achievement of my goal...surviving a few more days.

A rustle in the distance brings me back to the present.

I try to use every ounce of strength to concentrate all my energy on lifting my head, to at least try to understand where the noise is coming from, but by now dehydration is taking over, making me weak and exposed.

Vulnerable.

And in this world if you are vulnerable you are dead.

I lower my head in defeat, my forehead almost touching the dry leaves on the ground.

The smell of mold and musk tickling my nostrils.

My fingers dig into the ground with anger and frustration.

The sun continues to burn the back of my neck undisturbed, dulling my pale skin.

Some dirty strands escape from my bun and stick to my sweat-beaded forehead.

I am thirsty.

I'm literally dying of thirst.

And honestly it's a horrible death.

I finished my last water about five days ago.

For the next two days, after the end of that precious liquid, I drank my own urine twice.

I still remember the feeling of disgust, the tears rolling down my cheeks.

My head screaming at me not to do it while my body begged me otherwise.

I had to do it, I had no choice...

But then between the sweat and the lack of any other liquid even the urine disappeared and now I haven't drunk for almost 48 hours and my body can't take it anymore.

It's shutting down.

I am slowly and surely losing all functions.

Like I'm falling but I'm doing it in slow motion, I know I'll crash eventually and it'll be horrible but I can't do anything to help it.

I'm there, sitting in the front row watching my end.

Cool.

That rustling again.

I would like to get up, my instinct tells me to check what it is, to fight, but my body no longer responds to me.

It's like my brain has dissociated itself from everything else and told me “Hell no baby, I don't give a fuck, I'm done.Now it's your business"

Another round of retching knocks me out, forcing me to lie down on the ground, melting against it, with the dry leaves as a pillow.

I hear footsteps and I can't understand if they belong to a human being or to a biter.

The sounds are confusing, like everything else after all.

Thoughts become incoherent, and reality mixes with memories of the past.

“Come on my little girl, don't give up”

Is my daddy's voice?

The almost musical cadence of his voice makes my heart skip a beat.

Or is it just the palpitations due to dehydration?

Then another voice…

“Summer?Where are you my dear?"

Mom?

It's you?

Where are you?

Rolling onto my side and using the last of my strength I lie down onto my back.

Behind my closed eyelids I can perceive the intensity of the sun.

The sounds in my ears don't make sense, they come and go garbled and distorted.

Words, angry growls, whispers.

I believe my time has finally come.

The only regret?

Knowing that I came close, so close.

Atalanta is only a few tens of miles away and dying like this, devoured by some horde or simply devoured by my own thirst, sucks.

Dying sucks.

It's not how I imagined it.

It's certainly not like in the movies, that's for sure.

There is no last soft sigh, nothing romantic.

No cathartic moments.

No understanding of the meaning of life.

There is no flashback, no images of your life flashing before you.

Indeed...every breath is a stab, a slow torture that consumes your soul.

First, it fucks your brain and then he takes everything else.

An agony without grace.

Dying is not easy.

But despite everything I will die happy knowing that I tried in every way.

I tried to survive tooth and nail but in the end this world got the better of me.

A lone tear drips from my left eye.

Then the darkness.

Here, today, my journey towards a better life ends.

My run towards the freedom ends.

Please comment, share and rate ❤️

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#fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #fanfiction recommendation #fanfic #norman reedus #builtforthisworld #daryl smut #daryl dixon smut #norman reedus smut #twd fanfiction #twd family #twd fandom #twd fic

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whumpsmith-participates · 5 days

Text

Medwhump May 2024

Day 24 - Not breathing / Burns

TW: minor whumpee (16), abuse, burning / branding, stockholm syndrome

@medwhumpmay

Fetch had to be careful. No matter how impatient or pissed he was, he couldn't always just do whatever he felt like to Erick. He had to make sure they weren't seen or heard, and he had to make sure any scars could be hidden or at least explained away.

Fetch had to be creative.

"Where the fuck have you been?!"

Erick jumped, not expecting the sudden outburst as he'd just popped his head into the kitchen to see if Fetch was still awake, only to find him jumping up in rage.

"I-I was with Jaime, I—"

"I told you to be home by ten!" Fetch interrupted, "it's fucking midnight!"

"W-we lost track of time, Jaime and I both tried to text you," Erick said.

"I know, I know, the network is down," Fetch said, "but that doesn't explain how you're two hours late!"

"I-it just happened?" Erick said, "I-I left as soon as I saw the time, honest!"

Fetch rolled his eyes, and simply gestured for him to come closer. Erick reluctantly stepped into the kitchen. It was as if he could already tell it was going to hurt, whatever he had planned. Though, maybe he wouldn't go as far, since he didn't want to risk Jaime finding out behind the true nature of their relationship...

"Since a physical fucking clock isn't enough, I'm gonna give you another reminder," Fetch said.

"But Jaime—"

Smack!

Erick had to catch himself on the kitchen table as Fetch's backhand surprised him. He gasped, feeling the familiar sting it left on his cheek and swallowing hard before looking back up at Fetch.

"Don't talk back to me," he just said, before grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him towards the kitchen counter.

Erick still wasn't sure what to expect, but his predictions were beginning to lean towards pain as Fetch manhandled him. They stopped at the stove, Fetch's grip moving from the teen's shirt to his upper arm, keeping him close as he turned on the large burner. It was a gas stove, the flame springing up high before settling just below the cast iron grid.

"Here's what we're going to do," Fetch said, while Erick nervously eyed the fire, "we're gonna wait for that stove to get nice and hot—hot enough to leave a decent mark. And if anyone asks, you just had a lil clumsy moment while cooking up breakfast, understood?"

"P-please, I'm sorry—"

Fetch cut him off as he grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"Understood?" he repeated.

Erick bit his lip, though that didn't stop him from tearing up a bit. He nodded reluctantly, only to have his hair yanked again.

"Say it."

"I-I understand!" Erick quickly said.

Fetch thankfully let go after that, pushing the teen's head forward. He could feel the heat rising from the stove. A gentle warmth from this distance washing over his face. But he knew it wouldn't stay gentle.

Time seemed to drag on slowly, yet it also passed far too fast. Fetch waited about five minutes for the flames to heat up the iron grid, leaving Erick in increasing suspense the entire time. He was shaking as he leaned against the counter, waiting for the inevitable. And when Fetch reached for the knob to turn the stove off, he broke.

"P-please! P-please I won't do it again! Fetch please—"

Fetch ignored his pleas, simply clamping a hand over his mouth, while grabbing his wrist with his other hand. Erick tried to pull his arm free, but Fetch simply twisted it until it hurt too much to pull, before pressing it down onto the stove.

"Mmmgh!"

Erick yelped into Fetch's hand as the iron grid burned the skin on his lower arm and the palm of his hand. It wasn't hot enough to sizzle or leave a smell, but it was still hot enough to hurt, especially since he couldn't pull away until Fetch finally let go.

Erick gasped for air as he collapsed onto the ground, dropping to his knees and leaning against the cupboards while looking at his arm. Red and pink welts lined his arm and hand perpendicular to each other. Taking a couple of wheezing breaths, he looked back up at Fetch.

Fetch just leaned back against the kitchen table, not even the slightest hint of pity in his eyes as he lit a cigarette and took a slow drag.

"You should cool that," he finally said, "looks like a decent second-degree."

Erick took a shaky breath, trying to calm down before slowly getting back to his feet. He turned to the kitchen sink, opening the tap and holding his arm underneath the streaming water. He gasped quietly as the cool water stung the fresh burn.

"So how'd you burn yourself?" Fetch asked.

Erick gulped, using his free hand to wipe at the tears rolling down his cheeks while trying to think of an answer.

"I-I was trying to reach for the pot lid, a-and leaned on the stove that I'd just used," he said quietly.

"You're so clumsy, aren't you?" Fetch said, "You're lucky I know how to treat burns or you'd be in pain all night without my help."

"...y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Alright, kid. Keep the water running for another ten minutes, after that I'll get you some salve and a bandage," Fetch said, before moving towards the living room.

Erick didn't respond, he just waited by the sink until he couldn't hear Fetch's footsteps anymore before daring to let out a quiet sob. He covered his mouth with his free hand to try and further mute the sound before sobbing again. As if all the tension from before was trying to force itself out now.

A lil dive into the darker part of their relationship. Fetch will go to any length to maintain control over Erick, especially when he first begins slipping away.

Masterlist Main account

Taglist for the dynamic duo: @lavndvrr

#medwhump may #day 24 #vv #erick #fetch #burning #branding #whump writing #whump #carewhumper

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kny-agere · 9 months

Note

Oh what about a Drabble about shinobu finding out that Giyuu regresses? Maybe while he’s staying at the butterfly mansion because of an injury?? Pls and thank you!

Ok srry this took so long I kinda went overboard Giyuu is my little sweet baby boy

★彡☆彡★彡

Cg! Shinobu, Little! Giyuu

Tomioka was a frequent visitor at the butterfly estate. While he wasn’t a particularly good patient, he did stop by to get stitches in places he couldn’t reach or get treated for a cold or even just a simple check up. The man had a strange idea of which injuries he could “handle” himself, but some of the other hashira (namely two white-haired men) resisted any kind of treatment.

It was a “take what you can get” kind of job, and Tomioka was about average in terms of annoyance. If anything it helped that he didn’t seem to mind her yelling, even understood it in a way. His quiet asocial nature was off-putting in normal situations but allowed Kocho to work quickly and efficiently with him. Her occasional biting remarks weren’t met with lashing responses.

While she could almost enjoy his company some days, that didn’t change the ultimate reason for every visit. Giyuu liked to stumble inside in the middle of the night with some sort of affliction or flesh wound. He tended to terrify the younger girls and disturb Shinobu from her rare moments of sleep.

The latest scenario had been particularly awful. Giyuu had a nasty gash across his stomach and though they had taken care of it as quickly as possible he already had a light fever. Kocho wasn’t legitimately worried— she had taken care of much worse —that didn’t change the current panicked environment.

For a few days all she could do was provide medication and painkillers. Giyuu was unconscious for most of it. Shinobu moved her study materials into his room so she could adequately observe him while getting work done.

—-

Tomioka woke up rather disoriented. He seemed almost confused about the situation. While the man hadn’t been too under the weather before his reaction to waking up wasn’t particularly unusual either.

“…Nobu-san?” His voice was horribly dry. The moment the woman was alerted to his consciousness she stood up and darted to his side.

“Drink this.” Impatient she didn’t wait for him for reach for the cup. Bringing it to his mouth she carefully tipped it back. “It’s a combination of medicine, electrolytes, and other nutritious goodies. It’ll fix that dry mouth of yours too.”

While she was glad to see him awake, the real reason for her eagerness was to see the extent of his injuries and fever. Testing could only do so much when she couldn’t tell what the man himself was feeling or thinking.

For now it was a bit of an awkward wait. Giyuu was still pumped full of all sorts of medication and clearly didn’t understand anything the woman was saying. He had spilled half the concoction down his chin. Purple stains were slowly soaking into his shirt as well.

“Wha’ happen’d.” Though his voice is clear the words do have a slight slur to them.

“You should be telling me that. I’m not the one stumbling around like a manic in the middle of the night.”

He looks to spaced out to give a proper response.

“Oyataka-sama said the demon you were sent after is dead. Usually this would be good news, but it means we have no idea if it had any extra abilities. Can you tell me what happened?”

Tomioka blinks, slow as possible. “Hmm…. ‘m tired.” The clumsy words come out slowly. He tries to close his eyes again afterwards.

“Hey, I asked you a question! You’ve been out for days anyways, it’s not good to sleep so soon.”

“ ‘m hungry.”

Shinobu tries not to laugh. Perhaps he’s still operating on base instincts. “Tomioka-san, I need you to answer me. Can we try to focus a little?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, partly in hopes of annoying him, but also to see if the man can focus at all. He stares at her hand at least. It doesn’t seem like he’s really looking at it though.

“Alright, let’s try something else.” Moving back across the room she roots through the desk. It’s full of all sorts of random objects the younger girls have given her. Grabbing a simple rubber ball she slides back to Giyuu’s side.

He’s attempted to curl around himself, which is hard with his wounds. Instead Tomioka’s just pulled up his legs into himself while he lies at an odd angle. Lying on his side isn’t possible either right now so he’s tipped gently.

“Can you hold this?”

He cradles the simple toy like it’s something precious. Rolling it in his hands Giyuu lets is fall from the surface and roll against the bed until it bumps against his chest. From there he continues to shift it around.

When Shinobu tries to swipe it back the man interrupts her actions. Pushing it against his chest and covering it with his hands he grunts. “Can I keep it?” When he talks a bit of drool slips out from the corner of his mouth.

“I just needed a tool to check your cognition. It’s not really anything special.”

He’s not listening to her. Instead Giyuu looks down a the dull blue rubber. Poking and squeezing it doesn’t accomplish anything but he seems entranced by the toy.

Shinobu continues to be perplexed by his behavior. He seems to recognize her words and understand directions, but is off somehow. It’s not the slowness that bothers her. His actions have a motion that isn’t consistent with his usual movements. There’s excess in the way he continues to cling to the ball and sink into the bed. It’s imperfect in a way Giyuu wouldn’t allow himself to be.

Pulling the ball back from Tomioka his grip lacks strength. When Kocho tucks it behind herself he follows the action. His hands twitch, but don’t commit to taking it back. A deep frown graces his face.

“Do you want the ball back Tomioka-san?” She hopes to draw a response from him that’s longer than two words.

“Yes”

Perhaps something that warrants more. “Why do you want it?”

“You gave it t’ me.” Giyuu’s voice is so quiet she nearly can’t hear it. He doesn’t look at her when he talks. Instead his gaze remains on the ball. He makes another weak swipe.

“Let’s try this. If you answer a few questions for me then you can have it and do… whatever you’re doing.” It draws out a hesitant nod from the man. “You’re on quite a bit of medication right now, do you know where you are?”

“Butterfly ‘state… um in bed.”

“Right! And do you feel any pain?”

“No jus’ sore.”

“That’s good. Last question, do you remember anything about the demon you fought?”

“Was scary.” He reaches again for the ball, waiting patiently. Kocho is quick to tug it away.

“I need a proper answer Tomioka-san. Was the attack purely physical or did you experience anything out of the norm?”

“I dunno.” Giyuu seems a little desperate. He swipes a third time and uses enough strength to pull it back.

“Tomioka-san, something’s wrong. Can you tell me why you’re acting so strange?” He could answer her questions before, and didn’t show signs of memory loss besides his evasion of the demon. Kocho’s hand moves up to brush his forehead. As the thermometer read earlier, it’s slightly heated. The skin texture and his blood pressure both feel normal. What’s not normal is the way he leans into the touch. Last time she had even accidentally brushed against him the man had kept a wide distance for hours afterwards.

When it clicks together slowly she doesn’t blame herself for not figuring it out sooner. Shinobu doesn’t like children, young ones. It explains why she found his behavior so perplexing.

“Did the demon do this to you? Is that why you’re acting so troubled?”

Her words seem to make him angry as opposed to excited. “No I jus- um.” He turns away from her. Throughout the afternoon he had mostly been ambivalent at worst. A strangled whimper leaves his throat before he closes his eyes in something like defeat.

Kocho tries to brush her hand against his face again. He doesn’t move towards her, but his face does relax slightly. It’s addicting to watch how he softens. Tomioka doesn’t ever allow himself to be so vulnerable.

“Do you just feel this way sometimes?” The question is asked quietly. The pain killers could’ve lowered his inhibitions. Giyuu continues to stay quiet, but manages a slight nod. He’s trying to be sly about it, but the man is clearly glancing at her through his lashes.

“It’s ok. I’ve seen people do much worse.” While he continues to lie still she keeps brushing the side of his face. “Tomioka-san, it’s my job to take care of my patients. So I’m gonna take care of you ok? Besides, once we wean you off the medication you can pretend it was because if that anyways.” Her tone immediately softens to one she’s use for the younger girls.

Giyuu seems to like the suggestion. His eyes openly softly while he relaxes back into the bed. “Ok.” The man grabs onto her hand softly, cupping the ball against his chest.

#age regression #fandom agere #age regressor #demon slayer #sfw agere #kny #agere requests #little!tomioka #cg!shinobu #cglre #requests open

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cdyssey · 1 year

Text

Hard Candy Christmas

Summary: After their holiday dinner, Melissa and Barbara ensure that a tipsy Jacob makes it home safely.

CW: Father-Related Trauma, Alcohol Usage/Mentions [Tipsiness], Suggestiveness

AO3 Link

—

“Hey, kid,” Melissa says, clapping a firm hand on Jacob’s shoulder, “gimme your keys. I’m gonna drive ya home tonight.”

It’s not a question in her blunt voice so much as it is an indisputable fact. She’s taken pity on the poor bastard, and he’s coming with her whether he likes it or not.

Besides, she probably owes it to him for being a bit of a diva earlier.

(When it comes to all things Barbara Howard, she’s never been entirely good at sharing.)

(Or maybe more accurately still, she’s entirely too good at sharing her best friend with others, and their annual Christmas feast is the one time when she’s never had to.)

(So she'd been selfish about the dinner.)

(Because it had blindsided her—utterly killed her—for Barbara to turn the one thing they do for themselves every year into a charitable act of Christianity for Jacob… and another paradigmatic moral lesson for Melissa.)

(Of course, though, she supposes loving Barbara Howard is always a lesson in morality, a matter of discipline and restraint, of never once saying exactly what she means. It is religion, loving Barbara. It is a set of strict laws that she dutifully follows. It is divine and holy worship. It is guilt and it is occasionally pain.)

Anyway, she feels like she’s gotta make somethin’ up to someone.

Barbara. Jacob. God.

Maybe she’ll kill three birds with one stone by doing this.

“Meliiiiisssa,” the younger teacher drawls, laboriously lifting his head from where he’d been resting it on one of the round tables. He’d apparently had a little too much wine—(approximately a single plastic cup)—and now his pale cheeks are flushed, his curly hair stickily plastered to one side of his head. “You don’t have to do that. I can just call a Lyft.”

“Hell to the no,” she replies, fondly shaking her head. “I wouldn’t trust one of those even if you were stone cold sober.”

It’s less a dislike of Lyft than it is a long-standing belief that no one’s safer than in her own car with herself behind the wheel. The only person she’ll ever let drive her is Barbara, and that only started a couple of years back when she needed someone to take her home after her root canal.

No one else, though.

(She’s got a slight thing about being in control—or, at least, having the probable illusion of it.)

The kindergarten teacher, who’d been helping Mr. Johnson sweep the floor, pauses mid-chore and leans on the long handle of the broom, resting her chin on top of her neatly clasped hands.

“And sober you’re clearly not, sweetheart,” she adds somewhat unnecessarily, smiling at both of them from across the room, angelic in her pearl-studded sweater, visibly pleased that Melissa is making an effort.

“Lightweight,” Mr. Johnson snorts from the floor, where he’s dutifully holding the dustpan.

“But how will you get home?” Jacob asks, tilting his head at Melissa quizzically. He looks as though he’s trying to solve an incredibly hard puzzle that’s already missing a few of its pieces. In hindsight, she should have known that the little string bean can’t hold his booze well—he’s, like, ninety pounds soaking wet and has the overall constitution of a clumsy kitten.

“Eh, Barb’ll follow us and then bring me back to the school once I’ve dropped you off.”

She shrugs at Barbara only half-apologetically.

Sorry.

But she receives an emphatic nod in response, one that more or less says, No, no, we’ve got this.

And she reckons that they do.

For all of their incessant moaning and groaning, they’re not entirely heartless bitches. Neither of them plays around with their kids’ wellbeing, especially when it comes to making sure they get home safe and sound. It’s the perpetual teacher in them.

It’s their fundamental inability to not care.

“So keys,” she repeats, holding out her hand and making an impatient gimme motion. “Now. Before I wrestle them outta your pocket.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jacob winces, his eyes widening comedically.

“Boy, have you even met Melissa?” Mr. Johnson asks incredulously.

“Oh, she so would,” Barbara laughs, nodding vigorously at the same time.

And Melissa only smirks at them both, her cheeks pleasantly flushed.

She feels so seen.

—

Jacob’s car is a tiny ass Honda Civic that’s hard to get into, but it’s clean and it smells nice, and she can just maybe endure listening to show tunes for a fifteen-minute drive. With the Civic's indisposed owner safely deposited in his own passenger seat by the combined efforts of herself, Mr. Johnson, and the grace of God, Melissa cranks up the car and smoothly pulls out of the tiny school parking lot. Jacob attempts to give her directions—(“you turn right at the capitalist enterprise that is otherwise known as McDonald’s”)—but she tunes him out and lets the sexy British GPS woman on her phone set them straight. Twin flashes of light in the rearview mirror let her know that Barbara is closely following, likely singing along to Nat King Cole’s Christmas album and incorrectly referring to him as John Ford Coley in her head.

She smiles softly at the image.

Her work wife is such a dork…

“Youuuu’re so kind, Melissa,” Jacob sighs dreamily, mentally pulling her back to the car she's currently driving instead of the one behind them. He's reclined in his seat, his hands neatly folded on top of his stomach. “And pretty. Has anyone told you that you look pretty tonight?”

“Just you and Barb,” she chuckles, her smile deepening at the mere memory of Barbara’s arms around her neck this morning after they exchanged Christmas presents. Barbara had somehow managed to get her an autograph from Jalen Hurts, the Eagles quarterback, and Melissa had immediately joked about buying Barbara a vibrator, nearly causing her friend, a perpetual prude, to choke on her own spit. (She had, in fact, bought her and Gerald tickets to a fancy schmancy dinner show sometime next week. She just thinks it's fun to make Barbara blush.)

They’d laughed and teased each other and enthused about their beloved annual holiday feast, as was their wont, but at the end—just before the first bell rang—Barbara had gently held her by the forearms and said, “Melissa Schemmenti, you look like an absolute Christmas gift today.”

She had tucked a stray curl behind Melissa’s ear then, her knuckles just ghosting the exposed column of her neck, but even this barest touch was electric, unraveling her delicate nervous system and turning every dendritic ending into a firework bursting along the length of her arms— burning her and enlivening her and killing her and saving her.

She is uniquely hurt by Barbara Howard’s touch, and oh, fuck her sideways, she is simultaneously healed.

And swallowing deeply, she had prayed to God—for surely the hundredth time, the thousandth—that she would stop having inappropriate thoughts about her happily married and assuredly heterosexual best friend.

(Granted, she’s pretty sure that homoerotic pining is not God’s area of expertise.)

“Well, people should tell you more often,” Jacob says firmly, lifting a wobbly finger in the air as though he’s pontificating something. “I think everyone should be told that they’re pretty at least once in their life.”

When he doesn’t receive a discouraging reaction at this lofty proclamation—(she's too distracted by the thought, the memory, the tangible absence of Barbara)—he continues in a singsong voice.

“You’re pretty, and my boyfriend’s pretty, and Janine’s pretty and Gregory’s pr—“

But Melissa comes to her senses quickly enough and cuts him off as nicely as possible, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s about to just go through his goddamn contact list.

“Yeah, buddy. I know,” she laughs, simultaneously exasperated and endeared—as she so often is with most of the younger staff at Abbott. “Everyone’s pretty. You’re pretty yourself.”

It’s not hard for her to say at all, even if she's just doing it to shut him up. Jacob’s a good kid, and she likes him. Hell, she just told the camera crew that she loved him earlier today and actually meant it. Melissa’s not the type of person who doles that word out carelessly after all; when she l-words someone, she feels it so intensely, down to the atoms of her soul. She loves fiercely and deeply, with every available inch of herself. But she’s been betrayed far too many times—especially by the people whom she thought never would—to not be somewhat economical with the expression.

So when she says she loves Jacob, it means something.

It ain’t just an empty aphorism.

It is a rare and genuinely bestowed trust.

When she glances over at him at a red light—perhaps to offer him a fond and crooked smile—she’s surprised to see that the kid is frowning harshly, his eyes overly bright in the crimson wash.

“My dad doesn’t really think so,” he says quietly, staring upwards at the ceiling of the car. “That’s what a lot of the fights were about when I used to go home for Christmas…”

He trails off, seemingly collecting his thoughts or perhaps unwilling to continue them, and Melissa can only stare at him—at a rare loss for words—until the light turns green again, and Barbara's impatiently honking behind her. She presses the gas pedal a little harder than she should—(resisting her road-rage instinct to flip her friend a quick bird)—and reluctantly returns her attention to the road.

“Oh, yeah?” She finally asks, restlessly tapping her thumbs against the steering wheel. It’s an implicit invitation for him to go on—perhaps the first she’s ever extended to the school’s resident over-chatter. Jacob talks so much over the course of a given school day; it is only now, in the relative quiet of this tiny car, beneath the implicit understanding that the younger teacher is in a rare state of vulnerability, that she realizes that this may be the first time he’s ever been honest.

He's always so perky, often getting on her and Barbara’s last damn nerves when he hovers over them in the lounge.

But she supposes that cheesiness can be a well-worn facade too.

“Dad wanted me to be a lawyer like him, and I became an elementary school teacher,” Jacob finally sighs, his voice achingly dull. “He wanted me to play baseball in high school, but I joined theatre. Wanted me to stop spouting what he called ‘liberal crap’ and vote like a real man… and, um, well, I guess he wanted me to be a real man in general.”

“The hell?” Melissa immediately recoils, already of half-the-mind to go beat Jacob’s dad up with her blowtorch. She wouldn’t even use it for its intended purpose. She’d just straight up clock him on the head with the fuel canister. “You are a real man. Whatever the fuck that means anyway.”

A man ain’t a man just because he’s got an extra digit between his legs in her humble opinion.

And it’s not about him likin’ football or cars or beer either, even if she enjoys men who do like those things immensely.

A man’s a man if he says he’s one.

Point blank.

End of story.

“Not the way he wanted me to be, though,” the kid laughs lifelessly, now swiping the heel of his hand across his eyes. “My mom usually stood up for me, but I didn’t like making her feel so stressed out at Christmas, so a couple of years ago, I just stopped going back…”

This revelation, far more awful than she had ever expected and all too familiar to her at the exact same time, collects like a horrible bruise upon Melissa’s sternum. She knows what it’s like to have a distant and disapproving father, a man with her eyes looming over her shoulder, never there and always around—neglectful when he did decide to drunkenly darken the doorstep of the six-child home he had so carelessly created and the leering voice in her head when he was gone. It hurts her to know that Jacob has experienced the incisive wounds that only a shithead father can inflict. She wants nothing more than to pull the car over and crush him into the biggest embrace that she’s ever given the boy, wants to hug the hurt all out of him—but Barbara is close on her bumper and the apartment apparently isn’t too far away—so she settles for reaching over to place a hand on her young colleague’s arm where it’s resting on the console.

“Fuck your dad,” she says firmly, grit in every blunt syllable. “Fuck him in his loser eye.”

If Jacob reacts to these choice words, she doesn’t see it, determinedly focusing on the black ribbon of road stretching out in front of her. However, she guesses that he’s pretty affected by the way that his next reply is delivered in a voice that’s three octaves higher than usual.

“Um, strong words for a man you’ve never met before!” He laughs, half-hysterical, and it’s far too clear to her that he’s doing his damnedest not to cry.

“And I mean ‘em all,” she huffs without flinching. “There’s nothin’ wrong with ya, kid.”

A slight pause as she mulls on that statement and decides that it categorically isn’t true.

“Well, I mean there so totally is—but in the good way,” she amends thoughtfully (and rather loudly, so he doesn't go about getting the wrong idea). “In the way that makes you just as fucked up as the rest of us at dinner tonight.”

She dares to look to her side then, peeking long enough to see the confusion furrowing the young teacher’s brow. It was a vulnerable admission, and she supposes she’s never shared one of those with him before.

But if he can be honest about his bastard dad—which takes a hell of a lot of guts—then she can at least give him this.

She can at least give him the true meaning behind her and Barbara's Christmas.

“Huh?” He sits up abruptly, his mouth slightly parted in a comic “o” of surprise, and she glances away again, doesn’t really like looking people in the eye when she tells them how she really feels.

“The truth is,” she explains evenly, “none of us at that table have all too many good memories of Christmas either. My family’s bonkers as hell." Understatement of the year. "Barbara’s in-laws drive her up the wall." And Gerald, bless his heart, doesn't know how to help her out, always a bit of a pushover when it comes to his aging parents and siblings. "Mr. J’s family ain’t close by, I guess. So we all know the tune to that one Dolly Parton song.”

“‘Hard Candy Christmas,’” Jacob says automatically.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” she chuckles, unsurprised that he knows it. “And so when Barb and I started this tradition decades ago, we resolved that we’d never have a Hard Candy Christmas again—not when we had this. Not when we had each other.”

Melissa doesn’t regret that last sentence, but she has to admit, it’s not the straightest one she has ever uttered in her fifty-nine years.

Which tracks, really.

“So, uh, anyway,” she squeezes Jacob’s arm once before finally returning her hand to the steering wheel. They’re nearly there, and she's about all-honestied out for one fifteen-minute car trip; candor's never really been her strong suit after an entire lifetime of fearing that someone will use it against her like a knife. “You’re part of the club now, buddy. No more Hard Candy Christmases if ya stick with us.”

It's a ridiculously saccharine thing to say, and she can practically feel her Uncle Vinny rollin' over in his grave at his favorite niece ever becoming a soft touch, but when Melissa hears the kid sniff somewhere next to her, her heart melts all over again—as it so easily does.

She loves the kid, and that means something.

“Thank you, Melissa," he smiles at her with big, watery eyes. "And Merry Christmas."

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

—

After she and Barbara make sure that Jacob is safely in his apartment, the two of them clamber back into the latter’s sedan, shivering violently from the cold.

“S-sweet baby Jesus in the morning,” Barbara stutters as she twists her keys in the ignition with fumbling fingers, “I was absolutely not built for this weather.”

“Southern wuss,” Melissa quips, though she’s not much better herself, encircling her jacketed arms around her chest tightly, her green scarf coiled around her neck several times over. Her liquor coat has long been shrugged off, and thirty degrees just feels like thirty godawful degrees again, icing the marrow of her aching bones. She sighs in relief when the car’s heat finally kicks on, and she holds her ungloved hands against the right-side vent, rubbing them together, clinking her various rings.

“Oh, give me a Louisianan winter any day,” Barbara sighs dramatically as she backs out of the lot, briefly placing her arm on the head of Melissa’s seat to better peer over her shoulder. “I can endure the humidity, but the cold just aggravates my arthritis...”

“Yeah,” she returns somewhat perfunctorily, a little bored of the weather conversation—now idly staring out of the window. She sees Jacob’s Civic where she had parked it as they slowly roll by, the license plate that unfortunately says NAMAST3 illuminated in the golden glow of Barbara’s headlights.

It’s a good reminder.

There’s something she’s been meaning to do.

“Sorry that I volunteered ya for this little excursion,” she offers softly, even though she’s well-aware that she’s already been forgiven. She just likes to say her apologies aloud in the same way that she likes going to confession twice a year—once around Christmas and then again at Easter. Naming her copious sins always seems to make her feel a little better about having committed them in the first place. “I know you hate night driving.”

But Barbara only carefully shakes her head without looking away from the road. Ever a dutiful driver, she clicks on her turn signal as she prepares to pull out of Jacob’s apartment complex and back on to the main road, even though no one’s really around to see it.

“We had to make sure that boy got home alright,” she shrugs like it’s obvious—and perhaps a little redundant even—and she supposes that it is. They’d already said as much to each other in the wordless conversation they exchanged back in the lounge. “Goodness, he almost got run over this evening! I wouldn’t have objected to bubble wrapping him after that.”

“Dumbass,” Melissa snorts fondly.

“Like a little kid,” Barbara agrees, her warm laugh filling the car.

“That’s probably why we like him so damn much.”

“I concur.”

(They mostly seem to do.)

“But regardless, Melissa…” Barbara starts and then just as abruptly stops, biting her plump lower lip. It’s an unexpected and uncharacteristic moment of hesitation from the older woman.

After all, she is meticulous with every action and every word, Barbara Howard—deliberate and measured and so perfectly in control of herself.

When they were younger women, it used to make Melissa sick with envy.

And now, it just sometimes makes her feel sad for her friend.

“… I apologize for inviting him in the first place,” Barbara says after another pregnant moment, the smile long faded from her dark eyes. “I swear we can go back to our norm next year—just you and me and our dear friend Merlot… if that’s what you would like, of course."

And yet another pause as the older woman swallows delicately, the peristaltic motion unmistakable—highlighted even by the gentle glow of the car's dashboard.

“… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

It is the same promise and then some that she made when they stood out on the concrete stoop together only a little while ago—at a passive aggressive and silent standstill that Melissa had refused to be the first one to break.

She’d been so mad, so goddamn hurt that not only had their beloved Christmas had turned into a shitshow, but that Barbara had expected her to simply deal with it, regarding her with patronizing expressions all throughout dinner and scolding her like she was just another one of her kindergarteners.

But the older woman had caved.

Had promised that next year, it could be just them again.

And even though it all turned out wonderfully in the end, this is still a thoroughly tempting offer, having Barbara all to herself again—no Jacob (as fond as they are of him) or Mr. Johnson (as lovely as he is) or any other possible interlopers besides. That’s how most of these dinners have traditionally operated, and the times they’ve shared—sitting across from each other at their favorite round table as Michael Bublé softly croons about Jesus in the background—have been amongst Melissa’s most treasured memories.

Both of them have every reason to hate Christmas, and they’ve spent countless hours on the phone or in the teacher’s lounge complaining as much to each other.

They’ve carved out one night for themselves every year where they’ve taught each other to love it.

But eventually—after allowing herself a few indulgent seconds to irresistibly revel in this nostalgia—Melissa exhales and finally gives up the domestic fantasy, packs it away with all the rest.

There are new traditions now.

They have friends other than themselves.

It is a uniquely funny feeling in the sense that for the longest time, it’d pretty much just been them against the world at Abbott Elementary, the stalwarts of the school in the frequent face of incompetent administration, the teachers who have lasted for years upon years when new faces have continually come and gone. They’ve shored each other up, side by unchanging side in the trenches of an underfunded and under-appreciated public school system, and it’s entirely possible that they’ve forgotten that there’s such a thing as other people in the process.

After all, who needs other people when they have each other?

And yet, over the course of just this past year alone, some of their more exclusive traditions have been challenged by the awareness that there are people in this school besides their students who look up to them.

Who need them.

And both Melissa and Barbara alike, they like to feel needed.

It is how they know they are loved.

Oh, of course, there is absolutely something in her—something selfish, something grandiose, and something loud—that revels in the fact that apparently, all she has to do is say the word and keep things the same as they always have been between them. They can continue as they have always done, having their annual Christmas dinners, and never questioning to themselves why the happiest they ever feel during the winter holiday is when they’re sitting at a candlelit table together and playing house in the empty halls of their school. It relieves Melissa that Barbara feels the attraction to their history as much as she does. When she says that she’s not opposed to their dinners just being the two of them, that’s assuredly repressed Barbara-speak for wishing that such could be true.

It thoroughly gratifies her that there’s a part of this consummate Christian woman that is ever mean.

And possessive.

And hers entirely.

Melissa Schemmenti’s.

“Nah,” she smiles, at once rueful and somehow triumphant. “We can’t kick Tiny Tim and Mr. J out now. Neither of us have got it in us to be that much of a dick.”

She thinks on it for a moment.

“Besides,” she adds fairly, “someone’s gotta help us polish off all the shit we cook.”

(They always do too much—sometimes even baking a full ham and including one too many sides. This is mostly her own fault—always an overzealous cook, even to the last—but Barb’s often guilty of thinking they need both a sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes. And a pie. And if not a pie, a tray of cookies. But if cookies aren’t enough, she can certainly whip up a pudding…)

“I suppose you’re not wrong,” Barbara smiles wistfully from the corner of her mouth.

It’s the end of an era for both of them, even at the same time that it might just be the start of something new.

It’s kind of exciting.

And it’s still rather sad.

Heart breaking almost—that they have to be good Christians.

“Never am,” she smiles briefly, but she feels as though it’s important to seriously add, “I’m just finishing what you started, though, Barb. You had the right idea in the first place—inviting the kid. He was havin’ a rough time tonight.”

There’s an expectant pause, as though Barbara is waiting for her to elaborate, but Melissa stubbornly forces the moment to pass in a few seconds of awkward silence.

Not her story to tell.

The older woman seems to understand, though, because she nods slowly.

“It was simply the right thing to do,” she hums modestly, never one to easily accept praise. “We both know what it’s like to have a difficult time at the holidays..."

“Yeah, I told him that,” Melissa snorts. “I even let him know what our favorite Christmas anthem was. And—you’ll get a kick outta this—I even said that as long as he was with us, he wouldn’t have to have a Hard Candy Christmas again.”

“Oh,” her friend gasps pleasantly, lighting up like a Christmas tree, “that is delightful. I never knew you could be so corny, Melissa.”

“Me neither,” she shakes her head in good-natured disgust. “They’re gonna end up takin’ my tough card away if I keep it up..."

“Perhaps we’re both Mother Teresa then,” Barbara teases, and as she pulls up to a stop sign, playfully cuts her eyes at Melissa, peering at her coyly through her long and elegant lashes, a smirk just pulling at her beautifully shaped lips.

Fuck.

She has to remind herself that she has a boyfriend.

Again.

(But she never seems to forget that Barbara is married; it is the inconvenient truth that leaves an indelible stain upon her soul each and every day.)

“Oh, but didn’t ya hear?” She capably gives exactly what she’s been given, lightly nudging her friend on the elbow and lowering her voice with delicious relish. “She’s apparently a huuuuuuge racist.”

And she’s immediately rewarded—Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, she’s absolutely blessed —when Barbara Howard laughs like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

And maybe it is.

After all, their world mostly consists of just the two of them alone.

(Visitors occasionally allowed.)

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #jacob hill #abbott elementary #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #why does everything i write turn into a 4K+ extravaganza

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