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#so i just have to stumble my way through saying something
covetyou · 1 day
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egg hunt
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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: oral sex (m! receiving), balls, questionable use of sex toys, semi-public blowjobs, eggs, Joel is a giant bunny, feelings, misunderstandings leading to angst. word count: 5.9k summary: Catching Joel dressed as a giant rabbit in your backyard wasn't on your bingo card for things to happen to you this year. But, what lies for you beneath the bunny suit, and in his basket, aren't the only surprises you'll have tonight.
A/N: truth be told I find eggs genuinely, criminally funny in every possible way, as well as disgusting, so happy Easter!
These egg things are hilarious, but also not nearly as fun as they seem, though if I'd had the genius idea to stick 'em on some balls I imagine I would've had a much better time tbh.
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You almost don't notice, too busy shoving your cup harshly against the ice dispenser before taking a long, deep, gulp of the cold liquid. But then you see it, and it's not the shock of cold to your esophagus that makes your eyes widen, spluttering icy water before sucking in a desperate breath.
No. It's the ghostly white figure rummaging around in your backyard on all fours.
You duck down just as it stands, holding on tightly to the counter edge with both hands, before crawling to the backdoor to check it's locked, keeping you safely inside away from whatever this thing was. But, just as you reach for the latch, the creature stands on two legs, stretching back with two thick arms on its waist.
The figure is broad, and tall, and... dressed in what appears to be a giant bunny onesie. Even with it's head covered in a white hood, bunny ears flapping as the creature bends and moves, you know what it is. Who it is. You'd recognize those shoulders just about anywhere, and no one else would pull something like this at 9pm on a Sunday.
It had been weeks since you last saw him, but you can't say that was a surprise - what you had wasn't exactly a regular thing, if it could be called a thing at all. That doesn't mean you hadn't been hoping for it, counting down the days to the next holiday in hopes you'd see him again - There was no denying your disappointment St. Patrick's day came and went with no sign of a leprechaun and a pot of gold. Now, he was finally here, dressed head to toe in a bunny suit, doing fuck knows what to your lawn.
"The fucker..."
Unlocking the door, you slink out into the night, sliding it closed behind you before creeping across the yard. This was new, getting to be the one to surprise him. He may have been in your yard, but with each soft step of your foot on the grass it looked like you were finally going to one up him.
But then he turns around, looking toward the house and seemingly straight through you for a moment...
Before his eyes focus on you in the dark, and everything in his hands goes tumbling to the ground as he practically leaps out of his bunny suit.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ."
"We've got to stop meeting like this," you say watching Joel's giant bunny ears flap in the air with his movement as he bends, reaching down to the grass to pick up the basket he dropped.
"You half scared the shit outta me, what're you doin' out here?" he grumbles as he rights himself.
"What are you doing out here? It's my yard. You Bunny Joel this time?" you joke, crossing your arms over your chest in a not-so-smooth attempt to cover yourself. Getting properly dressed had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled down the stairs, legs still jelly and head still fuzzy from post-orgasm bliss. The only thought that registered was how damn thirsty you were as you tugged a worn, old shirt over your head and made your way to the kitchen. It wasn't cool enough to blame the temperature shift on your quickly puckering nipples, and you didn't feel like explaining where your panties were or why your thighs were simultaneously sticky and slippery. You're just grateful you put on anything at all, and at the very least it was long enough to cover your ass.
Joel smirks, your fruitless attempt at modesty not going unnoticed. "Ain't no regular bunny, darlin'. I'm the Easter Bunny."
"And the difference is...?"
"Eggs."
You laugh, folding yourself over a little as you giggle into the night. The whole get up really is ridiculous enough on its own, yet here you are discussing the nuances of being a giant bunny with a man more fond of playing dress up than anyone else you'd ever met.
"Eggs?"
You spot them as soon as the word leaves your mouth - four colorful eggs sat neatly in his basket, and another nestled into your flowerbed. Only, they don't look like normal eggs at all. Squinting in the dark, the yard lit only by shitty solar lights you'd bought online last summer, you can make out the neat patterns swirled all over them. This was not the handiwork of some enthusiastic child dying eggs for Easter - they looked professionally painted. Joel shakes the basket at you as you continue to squint at it, and you realise not a single one has cracked or broken, even after being dropped on the floor.
"What are they? Egg shaped bouncy balls?"
"Got some balls right here if you're really that interested," he jokes, looking obscene as he waggles his eyebrows at you beneath the hood of the bunny onesie. "Here, they're just these... things. My brother got 'em for me as a joke, it's a long story."
He passes you one of the eggs, the surface smooth and cool in your hand. There's writing on it that you can just about make out, but you still have no clue what you're holding as you turn it around in your palm.
Sensing your confusion, Joel offers a choice gesture, as he explains that they're for "Y'know."
It clicks. Well, sort of. You know for sure then that they're not something you could sneak away for some solo playtime, like with the plug he dutifully left on by your bedside so many weeks ago but maybe, like the contraptions Joel had strapped over his balls your last two encounters, you could enjoy them together.
"Wait, so... you're giving me a thing for anatomy I don't even have?"
"No it's not like that, I just thought - I, well, shit."
"I'm just fuckin' with you, Bunny Joel. Though giving me a gift that's really a gift for yourself is a bit of a dick move."
"Ain't a dick move if you like 'em, sweetheart. And it's Easter Bunny Joel," he corrects with a wink, smiling at you as he drops the basket on the ground to pull at his neck tie. The man looks good in pink, you think, as he fiddles with the floppy satin.
"Y'know, Easter Bunny Joel doesn't quite roll off the tongue."
"Don't it?"
"Nope," you say with a pop, pinching the material of Joel's Bunny onesie to feel the fabric between your finger tips as your roll the egg across the palm of your other hand. "Think you need a better name than that."
"Okay, I'll bite. What you got in mind?"
You're walking your fingers down his chest now, dancing them in a criss-cross pattern across the fastenings at the front of the suit until you reach his hip and slowly you drag the tips of your fingers closer to his crotch until you're cupping his bulge. You wouldn't say he's entirely flaccid, there's certainly something there, but the length of him still feels pliable beneath your hand as you stroke over the front of his costume.
"I was thinking... Flopsy," you say with a squeeze of your palm against his cock, biting back a laugh when you hear him hiss a breath of night air through his teeth.
"Real funny."
"What? If you're committed to the bit, I can be too," and before he can protest you slip the fingers of your free hand between the fastenings on the front of his suit. You can feel his skin underneath, hot and sticky, trapped beneath the synthetic fabric of the bunny costume. At the very least, he's topless under there, and eager to find out more, you quickly yank at the front, grinning devilishly at Joel as the fabric pops open slightly.
"You really wanna be gettin' into this out here?"
"You scared, Flopsy?" you say, with another squeeze to his now much harder cock. "That side is up for sale, and Janet is out of town until Tuesday. No one's seeing anything. Unless you're scared someone might hear something... but I guess you'll just have to keep quiet."
"F- you're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he mutters, pulling at his pink tie so it hangs loosely around his neck, giving him better movement to look down at your hand where it strokes his cock over the soft plush of the rabbit costume.
You tug again at the suit and with a rapid pop pop pop, the remaining fastenings hiding his chest from you pull open, revealing him to you and... he's a mess. From the neck down he's covered in streaks of paint, multicolored blooms splattered across him, dusting his ribs like a rainbow of bruises.
"Kid had some powder paint stuff - y'know that festival of color thing? Well, kid had some left after a party with a friend from school... had a little fight in the yard earlier before I dropped her back with her mom for the week," he explains quickly, rubbing a hand nervously against his chest and smearing the splattered rainbow there. You make a mental note, adding has a kid to the very short list of confirmed facts you know about Joel. It's not exactly a surprise revelation, all things considered - the costumes had to come from somewhere, and most grown men don't just have fairy wings and toy bows and arrows lying around.
"Well, Flopsy, you make a mighty fine canvas, but I think I might need a hand with this."
The egg you'd been turning in your hand is deposited back into his grasp just as you tug him forward giving him a peck on the chin as you look at him expectantly. Joel knows he shouldn't pull you toward him and kiss you out here, he thinks he knows that the expectant look is nothing to do with kissing him and everything to do with the egg in his hand, but he does anyway. Slotting his mouth against yours, he pulls you into his chest, the sweat of his skin transfering blotches of paint from his chest to your old shirt. But you don't care, holding yourself tighter to him, pushing your fingers underneath his hood to card them through his hair. Joel groans into your mouth when your fingertips rub at his scalp. You're in half a mind to call him such a good bunny but the air, and the thought, is knocked out of you the next second when he presses a hand against your ass, pulling you further into him so he can grind his hardened length against your lower belly.
It's been far too long since someone held you against them like this, and far too long since Joel had had someone like you in his arms. As he kisses and kisses you, you're starting to feel more and more insane, and maybe you are - maybe accepting this man into your home with such regularity is the mark of insanity, some kind of as-of-yet undiscovered syndrome that's going to be named after you.
Eventually, you muster the strength to pull away, slapping a hand gently to his chest and nodding down to the egg gripped in his fist. You're eager to see it in action, even if you still can't quite picture what it is.
"C'mon, open it for me. Gotta properly thank the Easter Bunny for bringing me Easter eggs."
Joel slips the wrapper of the egg, something you never could've figured out on your own without decent lighting to guide your way, and presses a thumb into the side of it, popping the top off the egg in one smooth movement.
Before he can hand it to you, you slip down to your knees, bare shins resting against the cool, damp grass. It's a beautiful clear night, not trace of the moon in sight just yet, but the glimmer of stars sparkling relentlessly overhead regardless. You hadn't noticed how hot you'd gotten, but being around Joel always seemed to do this to you. Your cheeks felt hot, your heart beat faster, and your head felt slightly dizzy - the result of it emptying itself of all thoughts except the ones that made you make questionable decisions it seemed. Of course, this time the heat wasn't just from proximity, but from that damned fabric of his costume, the synthetic fibers making you feel sweaty as you held onto him. The grass beneath you is a welcome relief against your warm skin, sending the fine hairs on your body prickling at the sensation.
"This how you say thank you to everyone? On your knees?"
"It's how I say thank you to giant bunnies, Joel," you quip back, pressing a kiss to the softness of his belly. You litter a string of kisses down the trail of hair until you reach the boundary of the bunny suit. Whether he's commando or you have another layer to get through, you don't yet know, but you waste no time finding out. With the hook of your finger and a final swift pull, the last fastenings bursts open, revealing Joel's heavy length straining against the front of his boxers. Where his tip tents the fabric, a darker patch blooms, turning the gray practically black with precum.
In your dreams, and there had been many of them, it didn't go like this. Dream you rarely went three rounds with themselves before Joel popped up to come fuck her brains out. Dream you was clever. And, as good as your solo session this evening was, you can't help but have a little regret for ruining yourself before the surprise main event. It was like eating a big meal right before someone suggested getting pizza. You could (and damn well would) eat pizza, but you couldn't enjoy it the same way. Pizza or Joel, you were going to savor it as best you could.
"Such a tease, Flopsy," you murmur as you kiss across his covered cock, nuzzling your face into it and watching in glee as his hand grips the opened egg that little bit tighter. Your fingers are pulling again, this time tugging down at his waistband. Joel is in half a mind to rid the egg of its shell and use the damn thing as a stress ball. It had been too long since last time, and since he last came two fucking days ago, to be seeing you on your knees for him in that flimsy t-shirt. It felt like a gift from the heavens and divine retribution wrapped up in one you shaped package.
As you pull his cock from the confines of his boxers, feeling the deep pulse of the blood in his veins as you wrap your fingers around him, you can't believe your luck at getting to see it in the flesh again. As brilliantly as your mind can concoct the image of it, the reality of it is so much better than any fantasy. Before you let yourself get lost in it, you reach for Joel's hand, grabbing the egg back from him and watching the top fall to the ground and roll across your lawn.
"It stretches. Goes over and you just - uh - stroke with it I guess."
The inside is far from what you expected. You almost find it gross, the translucent white interior far squishier than you expected that it'd be bordering on slimey if it was wet too. Joel laughs down at you, seeing your face as you try to work out what the fuck you're holding, pulling it free from the rest of the shell and seeing a hole stuffed with a plastic tube. You can see what he means now, and you let a soft oh fall from your lips as you tug the tube filled with a sachet of lube from the middle of the toy. You feel inside, running your fingers over soft ridges, and you can only imagine how nice it must feel sliding wetly up and down a cock and, not for the first time in your life, you wish you could experience it yourself. But, the next best thing is right in front of you, and that'll have to do.
"These feel good?" you ask, his eyes turning glassy as you examine the inside of the stroker while your hand still tugs slowly up and down his cock.
Joel sighs deeply, nodding down at you, the obscene bunny ears still flopping on his head with each movement. "S'good. Nothin' like the real deal but, yeah. Feel nice."
Gripping Joel's cock in your fist, you begin to stroke gently up and down, sliding his foreskin back and forth over his cock until he's steely hard beneath your palm. The solar lights are starting to dim, their charge from the day already running out, but you can still see the dusky red tip, and the blue of the vein that runs down his shaft. You squish the toy in your other hand, the temptation to taste too strong to just leave all the fun to the squishy silicone. So, you press a delicate kiss right to the tip.
"Oh fuck," Joel hisses.
"Missed it," you confess on your knees with another kiss.
"Yeah? Well, s'all yours." Mine.
"Really? Your bunny wife not going to chase me out of my own yard?"
"Know damn well I ain't got a wife, I ain't the cheatin' kind, darlin', don't you worry."
And that admission alone sends your aching cunt throbbing between your legs, wishing even more desperately now that you weren't completely wrecked and oversensitive from your ill-timed playtime upstairs.
"Good," is all you say before taking his head in your mouth with a swirl of your tongue, a satisfied moan vibrating against his tip as you taste him properly for the first time in 4 months. "I've been thinking about doing this."
"Yeah? Been thinking about sucking my cock?"
"Mhm."
"Shit."
A simple continuous swirl of your tongue and small bob of your head was apparently enough to have him gripping his hands into tight fists, clearly fighting some internal demons to keep himself from coming so soon. Your mind absolutely fizzes with it, that this man wants you, likes what you do to him so much that you can have such an affect on him. And when you suck lightly, his head tips back so far the hood slides back off his head. All you can see is the underside of his jaw from where you look up from your knees, and when looks back down at you with heavy eyes, he looks the most normal you've ever seen him. He's not Santa, nor Cupid, and the costume that had rendered him Bunny Joel just a second ago instead drapes around him like nothing more than a soft, white coat.
"Thought about you tasting you," you mutter between mouthing at his cock, slicking his entire length with your saliva. "Having you come in my mouth. On my face."
Joel groans again, much louder this time and you can't help but laugh, mouth pressed to his balls, at his feeble attempt at silence. You press the tip of your finger, egg still clutched in your fist, to his dribbling slit, and drag a tooth grazing kiss across his sensitive ball skin as you silence him with a whisper.
"Shh, Flopsy. You don't want us to get caught."
"Fuckin' Flopsy, I should -"
But you don't hear what he should do, because you engulf his tip with your mouth once again and Joel finds himself speechless as you immediately slide your lips further down his slicked length with ease. You work him in your mouth, sucking him as you move up and down. He can't stop moaning, he doesn't even try. He should, he thinks. You deserve better than getting caught in your backyard doing something like this, but all he can think about each time you move your tongue just like that is how fucking good your mouth feels.
He feels like he's going to come. Your hand is massaging gently over his balls, your mouth working his cock to a near frenzy, and he is absolutely, one hundred percent sure he's going to come. You know he's almost there. If the groaning wasn't enough, the tightening in his balls and the twitching of his cock were a clear sign he was about to blow.
Then you stop.
Just like that, your mouth is gone. Your hands too. And he's having to force himself to look down at you where you stare in awe at the stroker in your hands, glistening with lube you'd poured into it as he bit his lip and fought off coming, untouched, into the breeze.
You want to use it on him, to listen to him groan as you stroke him with the soft silicone, and watch his every move as you work him over the edge. And his cock, as if calling to you like some kind of siren of the sea, beckons you in, accepting an offering of one last kiss before you raise the stroker.
"It's so stretchy," you gasp, as you slide the toy over the tip of Joel's cock. You can pull it almost all the way down the length of him. You make a few experimental twists and jerks, before settling into a slow rhythm, teasing him just as you'd teased yourself and dragged out your own orgasm upstairs.
It's interesting. Slipperier than your own hand, easier than your own mouth, but not quite the same as either. You can't feel him like this, and you certainly can't taste him.
"Do you like it?" you ask, and Joel doesn't quite know what to answer. He does like it - he likes having your hands on him any way he can get it, but he can't feel you in the same way like this. And it's definitely not as good as your mouth, or any other hole of yours he's fucked.
There's just enough light to see his face give a noncommittal twitch and you're peeling the toy off of him, sucking his tip back into your mouth quickly, moaning as the taste of him hits your tongue.
"Good, because I prefer it like this too."
"Fuck, yeah."
Now though, you have a lubed up, saggy egg in your hand and nowhere to put it. Until an absolutely inspired idea hits you square in the face and you're grinning with Joel's cock in your mouth.
He barely sees the fiendish look in your eye, just notices as you pull off him again, and he could scream. Then, something smooth and cold coats his balls. Your fingers are cradling him delicately, thumb and forefinger stretching open the toy until with a gentle wiggle, his balls are encased in the squishy silicone. And holy fuck, is it like nothing he's ever felt.
"Don't think that's how you use it, darlin'. But, shit, it's good," he gasps as you gently massage his balls through the toy. It's like having a soft cool mouth encasing his entire ballsack, while your actual mouth kisses delicately all over his cock. "C'mon now, stop your teasin', gotta come in the pretty fuckin' mouth."
He's back in your mouth before he even finishes his sentence, your mouth sounding wet an obscene as you work him up and up and up all over again. You draw him in deeper, his cock meeting the back of your throat, over and over, his hand coming to cup your face and delicately wipe away a tear from your watering eyes. Fuck, you're wishing more than ever that you could just jump on him, that your cunt wasn't wrecked, or that it didn't matter, that you could go infinite rounds and still want to be touched again and again. But that wasn't you. You had a limit and, even though you'd reached it, the want in you didn't go away and neither did the slick feeling between your legs or the deep throb of your pulse beating away in your clit.
Joel's fingers grip tighter on the side of your face, a soft thrust of his hips meeting every movement of your head. Catching his eye almost kills you then and there with his cock wedged at the back of your throat. He looks as wrecked as you feel, dark eyes shining down like black holes from space now that the light from your solar lamps has all but fucked off. The paint and rabbit ears almost fade away into the background as you hold yourself down on his cock, making yourself whine around him. You're starting to think if you sucked his cock for long enough you could make yourself come totally untouched, but you don't want to think about it. You can't.
He takes over then. Each slip of your lips down his cock met with a gentle hold, until you both do it all over again. It's easier to hold for longer each time, almost feeling deeper with each slide of his cock across your tongue, the taste of his precum making you salivate as much as having your mouth filled and occupied is.
Then, he presses you down, holding your head as you moan and whine and try desperately to swallow around him, to take more of him as he only seems to get harder.
"Not so Flopsy now, huh?" he asks, releasing you and pushing your head down on his cock once more.
He's fucking into your mouth now, small shallow thrusts hitting the back of your throat, your hand working the toy slickly across his balls as he moans more desperately than you've ever heard him moan before. Despite your teasing and edging, he's the one holding back now, the feel of your mouth on his cock, your nails scratching at his belly, and that damned toy sliding across his balls far too much for him to want to let go of any time soon.
But fuck is he close, and if he's not careful he's going to ruin it for himself by holding back and exploding without warning. He's waited too long for that to happen.
"I'm gonna -"
"Mhm!" you groan around his dick, nodding as much as you can with it in your mouth. You steady your hand against his waist, taking over all movement as he stills the slow gyration of his hips, bobbing your head faster as you suck him down. The swirl and flick of your tongue is positively relentless, and everything feels so wet and warm and fucking perfect that he knows he's a goner.
"Hn-uhhhhh, fuck. Ah, fuck, don't stop, don't stop, fuck, ugh!"
He bursts, salty in your mouth, filling your throat as you swallow around him, massaging and gripping his heavy balls as they twitch in your palm through the thick silicone.
You're only a bit of a mess when you pull off of him. Your lips are swollen and tingly, your hand slippery with lube, but you are totally, utterly content. The slick feeling between your legs is still there, so is the throb, but you're as satisfied as you could possibly be.
Pulling yourself to your feet is another story. Your legs have gone a bit numb from sitting on your knees for so long, and you stumble as you fight to right yourself, Joel catching you just before you tumble into the flowerbed. You laugh in his arms, his mouth pressed to yours as he swallows the sound, consumes it, wills it to make home in his body so he never forgets it.
Joel's fingers work their way under your thin shirt. He'd been looking between your face and your nipples the entire time you were on your knees for him, and he suspects you're entirely naked under there. When his fingers meet your sticky thighs, he thinks he's hit the jackpot, and is ready to return the favor through the haze of his own orgasm, when you stop him.
"I, uh... sorted myself out not too long ago. A few times."
"Damn, if I'd known I woulda come right up and helped you out myself. Thought you were sleepin', house was dark. Jus' playing with this sweet thing all along, huh?"
If he had known, he would have known how much you thought about him as you fucked yourself on your fingers. He would have known how you used the plug he left on your bedside table more than any of the others, crying his name out into the lonely expanse of your bedroom as you came quicker, and harder, than you had any right to. If he had known, he'd know how well and truly fucked you were over a man you still knew practically nothing about.
Of course, you knew some physical things. You knew what he looked like naked, how broad he was and how sweaty he got when he fucked you. You knew what he sounded like groaning into your mouth or laughing at a silly quip you'd thrown at him. You knew what he tasted like, and what you tasted like off of his tongue. But that was where your knowledge of him ended. You didn't know what he did for work, or if he even liked his job. You didn't know his favorite food or color. You didn't know what he sang in the car. You didn't know where he lived or what he drove - you didn't even know his full name, and you knew exactly why.
You were scared. Terrified, actually. Terrified to really get to know him, to break that blissful illusion of the tall, dark stranger who rocked your world on a seasonal basis, only to find you didn't like him at all. Or worse - that he didn't like you.
So, when you walk him through your house, egg disposed of and hands washed, listening to the soft snap of his suit being closed up around his bare body, you desperately try to ignore the longing ache in your chest, stopping any request for him to stay, to take you out for coffee in the morning before it stupidly tumbles out of your mouth. That's not what this is.
Instead, you wordlessly reach for your keys, smiling sweetly to him as if you hadn't just been waging war against yourself inside your head.
"What're you doing," he says, pointing to the keys held in your hand. "Goin' somewhere, or comin' home with me?"
"No, smart ass, this is a key, it locks doors. Just gonna lock up after you leave."
Joel's smile drops from his face. And you don't know why, but it has alarm bells immediately blaring in your head.
"What?" you ask nervously, eyes darting around his face as if you're trying to read his mind as he takes a slow step toward you, a frown slowly pulling his brow down as he pieces some mystery together.
"The door locks when it closes, then you the take the key and lock it again after?"
"... Maybe? Yes?"
"Wait. And you're tellin' me you do that every night."
"Yes, I lock my door every night Joel, what's wrong with that." Obviously your lock was no match for his lock picking skills, but you didn't consider that Joel perhaps didn't know how locks worked at all.
"What's wrong with that is you're unlocking your door every night and leaving it unlocked all night."
Your blood turns cold. You don't know why. You could just not believe him, or test for yourself, but something about his reaction, and his seemingly easy ability to get into your house, tells you that what he says is exactly right. It's your turn for your smile to drop, and you can feel it slip off your face just as your heart starts rapidly hopping in your chest.
"Oh. I - I thought..."
"It ain't that kind of lock, sweetheart. You never checked it after lockin' it?"
"No. No I - My last place, the lock, I had to - oh my god." There's dread now. A sickening cocktail of feelings swirling through your body, turning you red hot and cold over and over as you think of all the things that could've happened, how lucky you were they didn't, after all this time. Damn near a year, and you hadn't figured out how to properly work your own fucking door.
"How d'you think I been gettin' in? Didn't exactly climb down the chimney or fly in through the window the last two times. Maybe shouldn'ta done it that first time, but your tree was driving me mad, seein' it bare like that every time I drove past. You weren't in and the door was open, was only gonna be quick and then..."
You're not listening. Your heart has just stopped like it's been hurtled into a brick wall at 100mph. "Wait, you drive past my house?"
"Where else am I gonna fuckin' drive?!"
A thousand million volts straight to your chest, and your heart is beating again, racing, your voice raising with it, brandishing the pointy end of your key at him like it could save you now. "Have you been stalking me?"
"What? No! I live down the fuckin' street, I drive by to get to my house, I thought you knew that."
"Down the street?"
"Yes. I'm hardly gonna come from outta town just to fix your lights and your sink and fuck off again. I was just... bein' neighborly, I guess."
"You've been in my house fixing my shit without me here?"
It's just revelation after revelation. You can't believe it. You can't believe yourself for one, but you can't believe him either. Only you can. You very much believe him, and you hate that you do and you hate that, deep down, you know he's right and you're exactly the kind of idiot he's undoubtedly thinking you are.
"You ain't fuckin' noticed?! You had a light out in here, your kitchen faucet was drippin', your railin' in your hall closet was bust... you didn't notice anythin'? Are you even fuckin' in that pretty head o' yours?"
Suddenly you're feeling very stupid. The door is one thing, the minor home repairs another, but you'd been under the impression you were both on the same page this entire time. That it was some silly game you played, two strangers who had next to no clue about each other. All this time he knew who you were, but you were too fucking preoccupied and distracted and stupid to see that he was right there.
The heat in your checks crackles in your ears, misting over your eyes and making your entire body feel fuzzy. That fight or flight you'd been wondering about for the last few months has suddenly decided to make an appearance, settling on both as you fight back tears with a quivering lip.
"Get out." It's silent fury, building white hot as the seconds tick by with him standing, staring at you like you're the one dressed as a giant rabbit and not him.
"What? Darlin', c'mon, it's okay -"
"Get. Out." You wrench the door open, pushing him and his stupid fucking bunny costume out, shoving the basket of eggs into his arms once he crosses the doorway.
"Bye." You slam the door, the stupid fucking self locking door, and slide down it, head in your hands. You have never felt so fucking stupid.
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bumblehoneybee · 7 hours
Note
As a published author that has stumbled upon your content.
I would like to add more to this flame.
Here's my prompt.
Player is a teenager with very long hair thats extremely matted when they wake up to brush it. Dogday, as a parental figure noticed this and wants to help brush it out as a kind gesture. However, Player is struggling to trust Dogday, since previous people that have brushed it. Pulled thier hair out in painful ways.
With the Help of Dogday, player might only trust him to brush their hair.
Brush My Hair?
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"Hey. . . Dogday?"
Dogday instantly perks up at your nervous call. You stand before him, head ducked, shifting your weight this way and that. There's something in your hands, but he's too preoccupied with the twisted expression you wear.
"Yes, little angel?"
The nickname seems to help. Your shoulders droop, and while you keep your head low, you seem to relax off your toes, no longer looking ready to run at a moment's notice. It makes whatever's left of Dogday's soul swell up and sing. He wishes he could give you a hug, but that probably would be weird.
"Can I ask you a favor?" You ask him.
"Always."
Your hands shift, and Dogday sees you're holding an old hairbrush. He takes it, looking up at you.
"My hair's gotten really tangled." You explain, not looking at him. "Can you please help me brush it?"
Dogday blinks. You want help brushing your hair. He knows that your hair is precious to you, and maintaining it has helped keep you sane in this hellscape. He's offered before, help tying up your hair, brushing it, washing it, but you always refused. You shied away from his offered hands, but now. . .
Dogday swallows. The idea that you've grown to trust him enough to handle your hair has his chest feeling tight with pent up affection.
"Of course." He says, voice straining through his voice box as he tries not to get too emotional.
You give him a lopsided smile, quick to sit down facing away so he can see your hair better. It's as tangled as you said, and will probably take awhile to fix. But that's okay. That's more time spent with you, and maybe Dogday can get you talking.
This could be the bonding moment he's been waiting for.
"Tell me if I tug." He says to you. You grimace, shrugging with a nod he doesn't feel is all that truthful. Still, Dogday takes careful hold of your hair, starting at the ends. He tries to grip above the tangles so if he has to pull harder, the tension is between his fingers and not on your poor scalp. "Are you okay, little angel?"
"Huh?" You ask, straightening as though you just snapped out of a trance.
"You're not hurting?" Dogday asks instead of questioning it. He's disassociated out of this place plenty of times himself. "No ouchies?"
That gets him a huff of laughter. "No. . . no ouchies. . ." You pause as Dogday carefully works through one of the bigger knots. Once the brush passes through that section with no snags, you speak up. "You're good at this."
Dogday's hands freeze, but only for as long as it takes him to swallow down the lump in his throat. "I, um. . . I've had practice."
"With the orphans?" You ask, forced nonchalance lacing your voice. You're drawing mindless shapes in the dirty floor, trying not to act invested in his answer. Dogday worries how much you really might know about him, then worries he's looking too hard into your mannerisms.
After all, he hasn't seen you in a decade. You're not the same little kid he thought he knew. He probably didn't even know you that well back then either.
He doesn't know a lot about you, and it hurts, so very much.
"With my own kid." Dogday says. He kicks himself for it immediately after, seeing your hand stop moving. He wants so badly to tell you, but at the same time fear chokes the words. "I. . . used to brush their hair too, when they were small."
When I was normal, human, stupid, he thinks.
"Oh." You say. Your voice sounds so small. Dogday can't entirely remember how you used to sound; he wonders if it was similar to your little voice now. "Did. . . do you miss them?"
Dogday gives a shaky sigh. "Yes. . . so much."
"You must love them a lot."
"More than they could ever know."
You both stay quiet. Dogday brushes through your hair, fighting back the sting in his eyes.
When the brush falls from his hands, you turn on your knees, arms wrapping around his neck. Dogday clings to you, desperate to memorize this moment with you so close, so close. It feels like he's whole again, like he's not a monster and a deadbeat and a terrible-
"I'm sure they miss you too." You whisper, drowning out his thoughts. "And they love you too. . . so much."
Dogday sobs into your shoulder.
You cry into his.
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the-karma-cafe · 2 days
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arthur morgan x reader ("alllll my moneh")
(also posted on ao3 under same username)
based on Arthur's silly drunk line "I lost allllll my money... can I ... have *yours* laydey ?" yes arthur my babygirl you can have all of it
also fun hannibal reference cause i llove
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“Bye Ernie!” I called over my shoulder. The man behind the bar smiled and waved as I left the saloon, the doors swinging shut behind me. I brushed my hands off on my dress and stepped down the first couple of steps, eager to head home and away from the drunkards of Valentine. The job was fun, sure, but more often than not-
“I lost allll my money...” A sad voice called out to me from the street.
I glanced over, confused. The man in the dirt street stared at me through unfocused eyes, his stance crumpled and wobbly. He seemed to be searching for something to lean on.
“Can…” he hiccuped, “Can I have yours… laadyy?” his southern drawl lengthened the word.
Despite having dealt with drunk men all evening, I smiled, tilting my head to the side. “You alright sweetie?” He looked like a lost puppy, and, unlike the other patrons of the saloon, he wasn’t saying anything untoward.
The man gave a dopey grin upon hearing my voice, stumbling forward. “M’yeah.” 
I paused, glancing around the street. He didn’t seem to have any buddies with him. I stepped towards him, my hands out and ready to catch him if he suddenly pitched forward. “Hope you don’t mind my sayin’, but you don’t look it.” I pursed my lips. “Where’re your friends, baby?” 
He shrugged and almost fell into me before catching himself a foot away. “Camp.” 
I furrowed my brow in worry. I couldn’t in good conscience let this poor drunken fool wander around the street at night—he was sure to get robbed. “You wanna tell me where that is so we can get you home, cowboy?” I gently touched his arm and he leaned towards the feeling, eyes closing and opening at random intervals. He nodded mutely. 
I went to guide him over to my horse before he wobbled out of my light hold and back into the street, shaking his head. “No! Nooo.... No I don’ wanna go to camp.”
I sighed. “You’ve gotta go somewhere, darlin’.” 
He tried to focus his eyes on my form. “Why you..” he shook his head, planting his feet. “Why d’you care?”
I gave him a pitying look. “I don’t know, mister, but just let me help.” I searched around the street, my eyes lighting on the hotel. I looked back at him, hoping my expression was as comforting and gentle as possible. “You want a room in the hotel instead?”
He eyed me for a beat, suspicious, before nodding and humming in acquiescence.
I held out my hand to stabilize him and he grabbed it instead. I blinked down at our intertwined hands. Not exactly what I had intended, but not… unwelcome. He was closer now, and I could see that he wasn’t like the drunkards I was used to. Much more handsome, and so far, much nicer as well. 
Before he could question why we hadn’t started moving, I guided him towards the hotel, fortunately only a couple doors down, and helped him up the steps and inside. 
The receptionist welcomed us in, noting our joined hands. He smiled knowingly. “Not too loud, now.” He joked. I flushed, stammering out an excuse about how that was not what it was like at all, before paying for and receiving a room key. 
The man with me kept his eyes on me the whole way up the stairs, making no move to help me get him up there. I huffed. He wasn’t a small man. 
We reached the top of the stairs and I dragged him into his room, closing the door behind us. “Alright, mister, let’s get you situated.” His weight was fully on my side and I had to remove my hand from his grip (notably difficult) and wrap my arm around him to keep him upright. I grunted, working my way towards the bed.
He turned and I felt a cool rush of air on my head. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you- Are you sniffing me??” 
He coughed, whipping his head away. “D’fficult to avoid.”
I chuckled good-naturedly. “Hope it was everything you dreamed of.”
I pushed him onto the bed and he flopped over, immediately snuggling into it. I straightened up and exhaled, looking down at him. He looked… cute, like this. He was almost like a child, fisting the blankets and tucking his legs up near his torso. I shook my head, breaking that line of thought. This was silly.
Good deed for the day done, I placed the key on his nightstand and turned to leave. 
“Wait!” A warm weight held my wrist. I turned back to find him looking up at me from the edge of the bed with the sweetest pair of puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen. “Please stay.” He mumbled, like he didn’t want to say it, and definitely would not have if he hadn’t been in such a state. 
I tore my eyes away, looking at the ground. I didn’t know this man. It was enough of a risk just to take him up here—it was even more to stay and sleep here. 
His grip loosened, sensing my indecision. “I understand.” he nodded, not looking at me. “‘M scary.” 
My heart warmed. He was so cute. I reached out and cupped his cheek, guiding him to look at me. He leaned into my hand, eyes closed. “You are so sweet.” I cooed, brushing my thumb back and forth. 
He snorted, eyes opening. “‘M not.” His gaze wandered over my face. Heat rose to my cheeks, not expecting his eyes to hold such warmth and reverence in them. He reached out, his hand aiming for my face but falling and holding my arm instead. His palm was warm. “Yer gorgeous.” The heat in my cheeks flared, painting them a bright red. 
I knew I shouldn’t. 
But he was so sweet... despite his burly appearance, he seemed like he couldn’t hurt a fly.
I sighed and moved my hand from his cheek to run through his hair. He hummed happily, his head nodding forward slightly. “You want me to stay?” He looked up, eyes hopeful.
“Yes.” he breathed. His hand dragged down my arm, shifting and stopping at my hip. My breath hitched. “Please?”
I ignored the warmth seeping into my body from my hip, smiling at him kindly. “How could I say no to that face?” My hand at his neck brought his head closer to me. I heard him hiccup. I pecked the top of his head and ruffled his hair, pushing away from him. 
His hand fell from me limply, his eyes never leaving me as I rounded the bed, shedding my bag and shoes. I contemplated taking off my dress. I had undergarments on but… no, I’d be fine sleeping in my dress. I crawled into the other side of the bed, heaving an exhausted sigh at finally being able to lay down. 
It was quiet in the room, for a couple of minutes. I faced the ceiling, but felt his gaze on me. I turned. His face still held that reverent look. I blushed, unable to fight the smile twisting my lips. “You should get some sleep, sweetheart. That headache when you wake up’ll kill.”
He nodded, slumping over onto his side, facing me. I mirrored his posture, facing him. His eyes wandered all over, but never strayed from my face, despite this being one of my lower-cut dresses. My heart fluttered.  “What’s your name?” I whispered.
His face twitched. “Arthur.”
“Like the king?”
Arthur huffed a laugh. “What’s your name?” He asked instead, just as quiet. I told him. He smiled dreamily. “’S pretty. Suits you.” 
“Thank you, Arthur.” His smile grew hearing his name. “Though I can’t say you’re very kingly presently.” I teased.
He didn’t answer, instead reaching out, brushing hair from my face. I faltered, flustered at how gentle he was. Did he even hear me? His gaze dropped to my lips. “Can I kiss you?” 
I blinked in surprise, searching his face. He pulled his hand back, dragging it over his face and groaning. “Ohh, I’m a fool.” He rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his hand. 
I wanted to kiss him. I was surprising myself left and right today.
I reached out and touched his shoulder, pushing myself up onto my elbow. He shifted his hand to look at me with one eye. I forced myself to hold his gaze, feeling silly. “You can, Arthur, if you’d like.” 
Arthur dropped his hand. “Would you like?” I nodded.
He moved slowly, like he didn’t want to scare me off. He turned, moving his hand to cup my cheek. I tilted my head up, feeling my stomach flip nervously. He stopped, lips brushing against mine. 
Slowly, I pressed into them.
He groaned into my mouth, his hand moving towards my neck to bring me closer. I sighed happily, moving my hand to his chest. I wanted to explore further, feeling him up and down, but kept myself in check. Kissing was one thing, but... I didn’t want him to do something he would regret. He moved against me, trying to get impossibly closer.
I internally scolded myself. No further than this. I softly, regretfully, pushed against his chest, parting from him. He whimpered at the loss of contact, looking at me with sad eyes. I shook my head. "You're drunk, Arthur."
He frowned. "So?" His hand slid down from my neck, rubbing against my waist. He tugged a little, experimentally. His hand felt hot on my side, pressing me into the mattress. 
I bit my lip. "'S not right, cowboy, you know that." I poked his chest weakly. "If it was me you found out on the street like that, you wouldn't." 
He avoided my gaze. "Wouldn't I?"
"I don't know." I whispered, smoothing my hand over his chest. "I don't think you would, though." I didn't know why I was so sure. There was something about him.
He grunted, pushing into me and nuzzling his head into my neck. I made a noise of surprise, falling onto my back. "You don' know me." His lips tickled my neck as he spoke. 
I smiled, reaching my hands up to tangle in his hair. No, I did not know him, but I sure wanted to after tonight. He relaxed against my touch, almost crushing me under his weight. I didn't mind. I kissed his head, smoothing my hand down to rub circles on his back. Within minutes he was passed out, snoring softly. 
I debated leaving, but he had wormed his arms around me, snuggled in to my chest so cutely that I couldn't. I sighed, shifting my head on the pillow. The hotel was closer to the saloon than my house, anyway. This just made it easier to clock in come morning. (A flimsy excuse, but enough.)
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momdyke · 3 days
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Hi I'm new to your page and this kink, but I can't stop thinking about me, your teenage daughter, coming home wasted at 3am after lying about going to a party and you taking advantage of me to teach your daughter a lesson
hiding my equal amounts of disappointment and predatory lust as you stumble through the door, your slutty party outfit hiked up and messy, eyes unfocused as you fumble with the door. I take your purse and coat and help you upstairs, my hands drifting as I chastise you, telling you how stupid it was for you to be out alone in this state - how anyone could have hurt you and you would’ve been too fucked up to fight back. you’re mumbling half-conscious apologies under your breath as you undress, dropping your clothes on the floor, way too wasted to worry about modesty, just thinking of how nice it’ll be to get into bed.
but before you can do that (and before I can join you) you suddenly rush to the bathroom to puke your guts out. of course I follow even though you try to close the door out of shame, and as you bend over the sink you feel me grind against your ass. I really just can’t help myself - seeing you in this state, half naked and helpless, has made me rock hard. I can feel the heat of your drunken arousal through your panties, and even as I stroke your hair back from your face so you can dry heave my other hand is thumbing your hole through the thin fabric.
“see how easy this is, sweetheart?” I say as I stroke and press on you. “anyone could have done this to you.” you whimper something but im barely listening now as I slide your panties down past your ass and let them drop around your ankles, lowering my own waistband so I can slide my bare cock up and down against you. I grind, hard, knocking your hips against the sink, as the hand holding your hair back tightens into a fist.
you take me easily, too drunk and confused and turned on to fight, loose from how relaxed your body is. I fuck you through your nausea, groaning and praising you when you puke and the spasms make you tighten around me, and I send you to bed naked with my cum dripping down your leg, knowing it’ll all just be a bad dream to you in the morning
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archangeldyke-all · 6 hours
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Drunk sevika telling her gf that shes the love of her life and want to marry her,reader thinks that sevika will remember none of it but sevika actually remember everything the next morning.
this is so... so fucking cute i teared up a little
men and minors dni
sevika's not the most mushy gushy romantic person.
this isn't to say she's not a good girlfriend. she just shows you her affection in unique ways. where most people would buy you flowers before dates, sevika comes to pick you up with a special bottle of liquor or fancy cigars she's stolen from work.
and while she struggles to express her feelings-- especially the softer ones-- she never fails to show you how she feels. she's always making sure you've eaten, and whipping up snacks and meals for you when she learns you haven't. she refuses to let you walk home alone, and you're the only person in the world she lets tuck under her cloak with her on cool evenings.
you know she loves you. she's never said it, but she lets you say it to her. and each time, she blushes, looks away, then buries her face against your shoulder, pulling your body against hers. "i... you... you too, baby." she says each time.
tonight, though, sevika's showing you a whole new side of her.
apparently, work had gone well. real well. when you'd gotten to the last drop to pick her up, you'd found her surrounded by a group of silco's goons, all of them cheering and laughing and drinking.
the second her eyes meet yours, her smile grows double in size. she pushes her way through the crowds of people, jogging to get toward you, and when she finally reaches you, she picks you up and twirls you around in a circle. you squeal.
"sevika!" you laugh. she giggles against your shoulder then puts you down. "you're in a good mood to--" you're cut off when she smashes her lips against yours.
she finally pulls away a minute later, gasping and grinning at you. you're sufficiently flustered, your mind void of anything besides soaking in the sight of your drunk girlfriend in front of you.
"baby." sevika says through her smile. you grin at her, and she kisses your forehead. "'m gonna marry the shit outta you one day." she says.
you burst into surprised, flustered laughter. you know she's drunk-- blackout drunk, likely. she won't remember this in the morning, and she won't repeat this sober, but still... it makes something swirl in your stomach.
"why're y' laughin'? 'm not joking." she slurs. you blink rapidly, trying to clear your thoughts and find a response.
"how much have you had to drink?" you chuckle eventually. sevika's smile turns guilty, and you bite your lip to keep from cooing at how adorable she is.
"we got a lil carried away..." she admits, scratching the back of her neck. you snort and kiss her cheek.
"you're so cute." you giggle. sevika's blush deepens, and your smile grows. "fuck, i love you. c'mon let's get you home." you say, giggling and tugging her toward the main doors. except sevika doesn't come. she stays planted by the bar, and when you turn around to look at her, her eyes are already staring at you.
"'m dead serious." she says. you furrow your eyebrows at her and she scoffs, shaking her head. "y'r the love of m' fuckin' life, baby. 'm gonna make y' my wife."
butterflies burst in your stomach, and apparently, sevika can tell because she gives you a cocky smile and starts tugging you toward the doors.
"c'mon. 'm gonna rock y'r world when we get home." she mutters. you burst into laughter, stumbling after her to keep up with her pace.
"you're gonna knock out the second your head hits the pillow, babe." you say. she snorts and shakes her head.
"no fuckin' way." she denies.
she's asleep the second her ass hits the bed. you have to undress her unconscious body-- her heavy limbs impossible to navigate as you try to strip her of her pants and bra.
and despite the fact that she was sleeping like the dead when you were undressing her, when you crawl into bed beside her, she manages to wake up enough to roll over on top of you and press a kiss to your neck.
sevika sleeps until the afternoon, and you spend the morning cooking her a greasy breakfast and replaying last night over and over in your head, a goofy smile on your face the entire morning.
"what're you smilin' at?" sevika's gruff, just-woke-up, hungover voice asks. you grin and turn around to wrap her up in a hug.
"you. you're cute when you're drunk." you say simply, leaving out the details from last night that sevika would find embarrassing.
she just smiles at you sweetly. "really? i recall a lot of cursing last night when you were trying to get me undressed for bed." she chuckles. you huff a laugh.
"you were awake!?"
"i was tired."
"you couldn't have lifted your fucking legs for me?!" you screech. sevika cringes, then guiltily shrugs.
"i was really drunk..."
"wait." you cut in. "you remember that?" you ask.
sevika's cringe turns into a smile, and she reaches out to cup your face. "i remember all of it." she says. you gulp.
"oh." you say awkwardly. sevika's smile grows. "a-all of it?" you ask.
"you mean like, do i remember telling you i'm gonna marry you?" she asks. you bite your lip. "or when i said i love you?"
hearing it now, with sevika sober and still in her pajamas, her hair messy and her eyes bloodshot-- it's different. you let out a little squeak, and sevika's smile grows into a wolfish grin.
"sevika--" you don't really know what to say. she raises an eyebrow at you.
"yeah baby?"
"does that-- i mean, you don't have to but-- are you... what does that mean?" you stutter out. sevika chuckles, then swoops forward and kisses you. you melt against her.
"it means i love you." she whispers against your lips. "and i'm gonna make you my wife. real fuckin' soon, if things go my way."
you gulp, trying to keep tears from filling your eyes, and you slowly lean your head forward to knock your forehead against hers.
"is that okay?" she asks. you giggle and nod, your noses bumping.
"y-yeah." you stutter. sevika grins, kisses your cheek, then pulls away from you.
"did you make me bacon?" she asks, sniffing the air and wandering into the kitchen. you chuckle.
"and eggs and pancakes." you call after her.
"fuck, i love you. what's your ring size?"
taglist!
@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai
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carnivalcarrion · 6 months
Text
phone calls my detested
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eunuchve · 1 month
Text
tags: mdni, smut, dragon!morax, MONSTERFUCKING, rut/mating cycles, predator/prey, double dragon cocks, double penetration, CERVIX FUCKING, size kink, mentioning pregnancy, mating, bro has a worship kink, breeding kink hints (he's in a rut dont hold it against him) a.n: (what have i done) this is the first porn with plot I've written and I gotta say; it is damn long.... happy valentines my dears, enjoy! pairings: zhongli x afab!reader
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Lord Morax is a god; but he is more than that, he is an adeptus. illuminated beast. this fact needs no introduction, everyone knows. 
so when he took leave to a remote part of liyue somewhere, unknown to even his retainers, no one dared to bat an eye. the rain has fallen heavy, the season has become damp, and the scheduled time is near; Rex Lapis will have his rut.
it didn't take long for people to figure out the reasons for his absence; not when the lord became increasingly unfocused during stately meetings a week prior or when his eyes would turn to slits with a whiff of a woman's perfume for a month’s time.
You, the lone herb picker of a local pharmacy, didn't know any better when you stumbled upon a large hollowed-out cave that wasn't supposed to be there. you are familiar with the terrains, hell, you know it like the back of your hand -- so imagine your surprise when you find a nesting dragon inside, heaving, grunting alone; its horns glowing with a bright amber before its head snapped to your directly, eyes instantly turning to slits.
at first, you stumble backwards, watching as the figure slowly but surely towers over your frame; your neck cranes to meet its molten bronze eyes. it didn't take you long to realise whose privacy you had so ungraciously barged into; your mouth dries and you dropped your basket full of violetgrass, your heart beating out of your chest before your feet finally got some sense and took running to the woods. 
'fuck fuck fuck.'
you are going to die- you are so sure you are going to die. when your feet stumble and trip over branches and air, when you can hear him gliding through the sky; undoubtedly searching for you. The sounds of his scaled body burst through the leaves of the ginkgo trees, or of his deep, rough growls that echo through the forest. With every heavy step you take, you can feel him getting closer and closer. The thrill and fear mix inside of you, your body stirs with blood coursing through you. Weirdly amid the fear you feel-- somehow excitement came into the mix; something about your life being in the mercy of a chase?
Why is he there again? Rut? So will he fuck you or will he kill you? You certainly prefer one to the other. 
Your legs continue to run, even as you trip and fall, or when you stumble upon a rock or two; searching for an exit to a nearby village or open path; but no matter how far you run you can't seem to find the correct way. Your eyes scanned all directions before your body was suddenly pinned down under a sudden force and unmoving weight.
The paws of a creature so large that it covers your entire back, its talons digging into your back. The smell of freshly dug earth and exotic spices violates your nostrils and your heart can't help but thump against your chest just a little faster. You turned your neck, finding the dragon’s face mere inches from yours; his hot breath grazing the exposed skin of your neck. 
“Please don’t kill me.” god your voice sounds so desperate; with a hint of a broken whimper- even you are embarrassed by that fact. but your god didn't seem disturbed, instead he let out a low grunt, before hissing back a reply.
"don't beg."
"...huh?"
"don't." he spat the word, seeming holding something back. "beg."
"b-but--"
he didn't let you finish, picking you up by the scruff of your neck before throwing you to his back. he flew you back somewhere, you didn't care to notice since most of the flight back you are scrambling for something to hold on to; whether it is the golden spines or his actual body.
by the time you both arrive at the entrance of the familiar cave, he has waited for you to get off his back. you inclined, of course, shakily getting a feel of the ground below, catching your breath whilst adrenaline courses through you. once you get a feel yourself, your eyes travel to him, catching his large form walking slowly to the back of the cave.
"you won't kill me?" you find yourself asking; his head then slowly turns to you before, a visible look of confusion etched on it.
"Why would I?" his deep rough voice replies. he is definitely holding something back, the way his lips parted a bit to let steam out of his mouth, the sharp teeth that are visible from them make you gulp the pooling saliva in your mouth.
"Because... cave..."
weak reasoning, you'd have to admit, but if he won't kill you then you'd have to be sure of the other possibility. "then would you fuck me?"
the look on his face deepened before his head hung low, and a soft whisper came to you for a reply. "what makes you think of that?"
"It's your- Rex Lapis it's your time of..."
embarrassed, incredibly embarrassed; that's the feeling you felt, with the heat of blood rushing to your cheek and thumping heart against your chest only enforcing the fact.
"it is time for my rut, yes," he confirmed, his gaze thrown to the floor, avoiding your figure, "but I am not one with lost senses; sleep, it is night, it will be safer to leave in the morning."
you nod weakly, shuffling your way to the walls and plopping down on the dirt before curling up. the heat in your cheeks refuses to prevail as you watch him walk back, his long tail moves with each step he takes, the tuff at the end resembling that of golden clouds.
"My lord why are you moving so far away?" you asked, instantly biting your lip the moment that question escaped your mind, realising how desperate you sounded with that pretence.
"your arousal," he states matter of factly. "you. I can smell it."
you look at him wide-eyed, your face now comparable in its heat to the sun, your lips agape.
"it's safer for you this way," he continues.
"do you not want to?" archons you are greedy aren't you. "your rut- I can.. help..."
"I doubt it." his voice is precise, he says it like it's a fact, not even letting you have a space to express your desire. "they are the size of your thigh and their length..."
"I can try." bold- now you are being too bold. the size of your thigh he said? now you can feel your ears getting heated up from the shame. your thigh now pressed together as you imagine him inside of you; a second pass and your arms no longer placed nicely on your lap, instead instinctively protecting your chest.
his gaze looms over you, his snout now only a hairsbreadth away from your neck; a long deep breath he takes is audible before he groans out a reply.
"Do not test me human," something inside of him is threatening undone, you know it, "I will breed you till your womb is full and your consciousness lost-- if that is not what you desire then stay quiet and sleep; I shall bring you the village in the morning but until then speak not of this."
you gulp, now your lips parted before you crane your neck and place a shaky kiss on his scaled cheek, the heat of his body contrasting the cold of your flesh. "... that is what I desire--"
with that your clothes are torn apart; the valuable silk you spend months of your wage on is gone and your naked skin is exposed. the cold air hardened your nipples and he took notice, his head travelling down, his long forked tongue lapping sweetly onto them, earning your strangle out a moan.
"getting aroused from a chase," he breathes out, almost teasing you; hot breath contrasts that of the cooling saliva on your perked buds, sending vibrations down your spine. "thinking you can take a dragon's cocks, wanting to be the mother of my offsprings -- what bold actions you possessed."
you let out a whine, his tongue now travelling down, ever so subtly closing down to your cunt. you pressed your thighs together; embarrassed, already feeling your arousal seeping out of you before his claws forced them wide open, earning your moan.
"you are pooling my dear," he almost chuckled, his eyes narrowed as he licked his lips, his breath now grazing your quivering folds, unexpected whimper broken out of you.
"please?"
with that word you can feel the air snap hotter, his eyes now meeting yours; his form towering over you before he chuckle, training down kisses, his tongue now making sure you are covered in his scent.
"didn't I tell you not to beg?" his claws hold your thigh open and he took a lap of your cunt, almost smiling at your taste. "do you know why my dear?"
"n-no--"
your moans escape, feeling his tongue entering you, fucking you, stimulating your walls, not letting you escape. you arched your back, biting your lips as another whimper persisted. you feel his hand moving, now pressing his claws to your other hole, expecting you to open up; and you let him, your holes now stuffed full of him before you feel his tongue slip out of you, your whine tells him as much about what you want.
"Because if you beg..." he now moves his hands to your ankles, folding you in half and you watch helplessly, his two golden cocks decorated with geometric lines and veins on either side, one on top of the other- he does not lie, the size of those things are comparable to your thigh, its length will most likely penetrate your womb- "I will answer."
he chuckles subtly, aligning his cocks to both of your holes, its weight now pressing down on you, precum leaks out of them, lubricating you further.
"i am a god, my dear; I always answer."
with that he presses his cock head to your holes, hoping both of them will ease up. you moan his title out, causing him to snap his head to you, making him greedy.
Your little groan and hiss only help you muster up the strength to let loose, feeling your holes easing up before they let his cockheads in, making your chest heave.
he grunts against your neck; and you feel his teeth subtly tracing your shoulder, little nips that satiate his hunger, burying his head in its crook.
"Celestia." the way you feel around the tip of his cock is incomparable; the dragon finds himself clenching down his jaw, controlling his urges to slam you down to its hilt. "you are made for me my dear."
he grabs a hold of your hips, and you feel him sliding you down. you let out a low moan, your back still arched as you feel him inside of you more and more. the burn from the stretch doesn't scare you, even if you feel like you are being split in two- you only know the pleasure that waits for you not so out of reach.
not even halfway and you already feel him brushing against your cervix, your broken moan coupled with the way you rolled your hips almost makes him snap. his other cock too now deep inside of you- almost too deep; you feel the pressure against your throat, feeling his cocks twitch, almost making you jolt, your hand searching from his arm, nails now digging into his scales.
he looks at you, his parted lips letting out steam before his uneven breathing stops to let him speak. "I shall move now."
you look at him, biting your lips and nod firmly, affirming your readiness. you feel him trying to go out of you, your cunt and hole tightening around him, almost hungry before he slams into you, earning your cry of pleasure.
it persists; he goes out of you before he slips inside, messaging your walls before they tightened around him again, hungrily seeking him, your face now fucked out with pleasure, feeling him abuse your holes.
"I'm not even all the way in my dear." he almost smirks, you can see it. before you know it, you suddenly feel him picking you up, your walls being freed from his cocks, suddenly empty and you whine; letting him flip you to your stomach and holding your ass up in the air.
he marvels at the sight, seeing both of your holes gape yet clench down on nothing, it almost made him giddy.
"my beautiful follower," he mused, his claws now digging into your flesh before you feel his cocks lining up with your holes again; embarrassingly you can feel your cunt relaxing, ready to take him in once more. "will you be my mate now darling?"
"yes!" your desperation stays, you want him inside you so bad, "please Rex Lapis please!"
you didn't know what did, but you certainly awaken something in him. he brings you up in the air before slamming you down on his cocks, your walls now taking him fully, your stomach bulging out with his shape. your breath knocks out of you; you can feel him all the way in your womb, your hand can't help but trace the raised flesh, your spine almost shivering from the sensation.
"keep begging."
that sounds like an order; even your now fucked out brain knows that. so like the good follower you are you follow that order.
"Please make me your mate," you choke out, his slow rhythms that know your breath slowly but surely going faster, brushing up against all your pleasure spots, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. "please please please please I wanna- I want--"
he chuckles, the way you mewl your pleas, the way your warm flesh tightens around him; he can even feel your walls hungrily sucking him in so nicely. in his mind he is thanking Celestia; because fuck, you are a masterpiece.
"a human could die from this," he grunts out, going in and out of you with an inhuman pace, your cunt and hole loosening with his movements. "not you my dear; you are made for me."
you whine from his statement, the bludge he created only drives you to the edge, feeling something inside of you tightening, your nails digging into his scaled flesh, your face supported by his nose. "R-rex Lapis i- my-- i'm--"
"you want to cum my dear?" he almost teases you with the question, his cock brushing, bullying your g spot, making you dig your nails further, your head could only nod desperately at his question. "hold it, you could only cum when I do."
you whine out with his order, and he lets out a subtle groaning with it, chuckling at your reaction. his hand moves down, large talons brushing against your hard clit, teasing the nub; knowing exactly what it will make you do.
you wrapped your arm around his neck, his golden mane brushing against your flesh so softly; and your tug your face on them, muffling out your long moan and desperate cries.
"fuck- please lord mo- morax- r-rex lapis please- i want- i wanna- please please please-"
he kept his word, his face moving and kissing your neck, feeling you move your pelvis to fit him better, your inside hungrily brushing against his shaft. his brow knits, he feels himself almost coming undone.
"now."
with a final thrust, he fills both of your holes with white ropes of cum, you yourself arching your back, feeling your orgasm hits you harder than ever before. he hear your pants before he coils around you, closing gaps between the two of your while still being inside of you, wrapped up by your own warmth.
"i shall make the wedding preparation after the season's over," he breath out; your mind finally able to join the sentence together before you move your head, repeating the most important word again.
"wedding..."
"of course my dear," he kisses you, his snout pressed against your jaw before he tugs his head onto your collar bone. his hand travels to your stomach, rubbing the visible buldge that only grows with his cum, almost making look pregnant.
"the little ones will be coming soon."
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2K notes · View notes
togenabi · 6 months
Text
pick me up
roronoa zoro (opla) x reader
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♡—zoro never paid your jokes or pickup lines any mind. that is, until something happens that makes you stop.
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word count♡— 3.2k
genre♡— mild angst, fluff, straw hat!reader
content notes♡— opla zoro, fem!reader, reader wears a dress and tells very bad jokes, creepy dude oc, don't be creepy be cool yall, reader pulls off a heist with nami, zoro gets jealous, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, barely proofread
also on♡— ao3
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author's note♡— this is a request from anon! I'm sorry if I tweaked a few things, I'm not the best at angst hhhh I hope you still like it!
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“Okay, okay. Wait. I got it this time.” You say, already trying to keep from laughing. 
“Why were the kids having trouble in pirate class?”
Zoro only side-eyes you with his arms crossed, vehemently unimpressed. 
“Because they were overbored!” 
Watching for his reaction intently, you keep your eyes focused on his face... Nothing changes. 
You tsk, but aren’t seriously discouraged. This is how he always reacts to your jokes, after all. “I’ll get you one of these days, Roronoa Zoro.”
The swordsman only sighs, leaning back into his seat to take a nap. “You do that.”
“Don’t listen to him, love.” Sanji says from the other side of the kitchen as he cleans the counter. “I thought that joke was good.”
“You’re lying, but I appreciate the sentiment, Sanji.” You grin at him. Focusing back on the book you were reading, you miss the amused, challenging look Sanji sends Zoro.
Everyone hears Luffy approaching the kitchen before he enters. “Guys!” He bellows. “We’ll be reaching land soon. Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes!”
The majority of the day is spent restocking supplies. You were all split up into pairs, but before you left, Luffy pointed to a restaurant with a flashy, illuminated sign on top that reads: ‘Bistro of Light’. How cringey of them.
“We should meet there for dinner! You don’t mind taking a break, right, Sanji?” Luffy asks eagerly, and you think that no one could say no to him when he’s so enthusiastic. Sanji nods, and you all go through the town until the sun starts to set.
The inside of the restaurant is just as ridiculous as the sign outside. Chandeliers of every color hang on the ceiling. Huge fish tanks and fountains lined with lights almost blind you. You laugh when looking at it all causes Zoro to wince. 
“Hey Zoro,” You call for him. “You know what’s faster than the speed of light?”
“...”
“My heartbeat when I think of you!” You wink at him, proud of the joke even when he only sighs and looks away.
Usopp walks up to a receptionist standing behind a desk. “Hey. Table for six, if you would be so kind.”
“I’m afraid we’re at full capacity at the moment.” They respond. “You’ll have to wait, is that alright?”
Everyone shares a look. Except for Luffy, who looks dead set on eating here, you all feel unsure about waiting.
“When’s the next table going to be available?” Usopp asks. “We’re actually a really big deal. It’s gonna be really embarrassing for you guys if you don’t let us in.” The person frowns, face screaming, ‘is this guy serious’?
But before they can reply, a booming voice enters the restaurant. A tall man, dressed in a pristine white suit and wearing jewels on every finger, pushes you out of the way to yell at the receptionist. You stumble, but thankfully Zoro is there to catch you.
“What on earth is going on here?! Why are there so many people crowding the entryway?!” He fumes, angrily gesturing to your group. 
“If they’re not going to eat, then I strongly suggest—” The rich man freezes suddenly, his eyes trained on you.
You keep your face as emotionless as possible, but you die laughing inside when Nami swipes a brooch from his jacket while he’s distracted with you.
“Ah,” The man says. His tone softening a considerable amount as he walks over to you. “I thought I had the best jewels in my treasury, but you're the most radiant gem I've ever laid my eyes on.” It takes everything in you to not back away. Zoro tenses beside you.
“Why haven’t these guests been guided to a table?” He asks, turning back to the receptionist.
“We’re at full capacity, Sir.” Oh. He must own the place. It makes sense that the owner is as gaudy as everything else in here.
“That won’t do.” He looks back to you, and you swear you could feel your skin crawl under his gaze. 
“I am Helios. Welcome to my establishment.” The man introduces himself with a flourish, bowing to you. His jewels and gold accessories glint in the light. “What might your name be?”
Reluctantly, you introduce yourself. Had this been a normal situation, you would have turned around and walked away from him the second he saw you. But, you could feel the crew going hungry, and you’re sure Nami will want to snag another ring or two—so you play nice.
Helios smiles, repeating your name. He was probably trying to sound romantic, but he’s not doing anything for you. Not when Zoro says your name much better.
You keep Zoro’s voice in mind, remembering how nice it sounds. It’s easier to smile at Helios that way. Time to lay on the charm, “I was really looking forward to having dinner here. I don’t suppose you could help us out?”
“Follow me, my dear. You deserve to dine upstairs. The view is simply spectacular at this hour.” Helios holds out his hand to you, but Luffy—bless his soul—grabs it to shake it zealously.
“Thanks so much for letting us eat here, Mr. Helios!” Luffy claps him on the back. Helios looks dumbfounded, and the crew does an impressive job keeping their composure. 
Helios tries to walk beside you as he guides you all upstairs, but Zoro is steadfast on your right, and Nami smartly positions herself on your left. Luffy and Usopp tug the restaurant owner along, chatting his ear off. You almost feel bad for him. 
Nami murmurs, her voice carefully silent so only you can hear. “Treasury, huh?”
You smile. “Of course you’d be curious about that.”
“Think you could get us to his mansion?” She dares you, eyes aglow at the promise of a good heist.
“I know I can.” You pause walking to check your reflection on an ornate, sun-shaped mirror. After fixing your hair, you grin at your friends. “I’m irresistible, after all.”
Maybe if you weren’t busy buttering up your host, you would have noticed that Zoro wasn’t eating properly. Normally, you would force him to eat. You would pile food on his plate, telling that joke about fake noodles being impasta that always cracks you up.
Zoro frowns at the meal in front of him. The fish seems to frown back. Sighing, he decides to just order another drink. But no matter what he consumes, a bitter taste always blooms in his mouth afterwards. 
The glass in his hand almost cracks when he hears your voice sucking up to Helios again. “So, you own this place? Do you live around here?”
Helios leans far too close towards you, but you grin and bear it. “Would you like a private tour, my gem?”
You place a hand on his arm, he may read it as affection, but you hold him so he keeps that distance. “That sounds wonderful.”
Zoro huffs under his breath. He needs another drink. 
Thankfully, Helios serves good booze at his manor. Zoro almost didn’t want to drink any of it, but he needs alcohol in his system if he has to watch you flirt with this idiot so Nami can rob him blind. Whatever she steals better be worth all this, or else he might punch something. Or someone. Preferably Helios.
You share a look with Nami and give her an imperceptible nod. With that signal, she passes by and pretends to lose her footing. Wine seeps into your clothes, staining the fabric and sticking it to your skin. Did she really have to pick red wine? You liked this shirt.
“Oh, my dear!” Helios gasps. “You should get cleaned up. I’ll have my servants draw you a bath and bring you fresh clothes.”
“I’m so sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.” Nami loops her arm through yours. “Let me help you with that.” 
And so, with another fake smile sent Helios’ way, you rush with Nami to find the treasury.
“Be quick.” Nami says once you enter the luxurious bathroom prepared for you. 
As tempting as the bubble bath is, you only take a few wet towels to tidy up. You step into the curtained area, about to strip when Nami holds out a hand to stop you.
“Wait.” She says, her tone serious. A teddy bear holding a rose is propped up on a shelf behind you. Tapping its eyes, Nami scowls before throwing the bear into the trash bin.
“A camera?” She nods. “Seriously? What a creep.”
You and Nami inspect the room. It’s not clear if there are other hidden cameras, but she stands guard in front of the shower curtains just in case.
“Hey,” She starts. “Did you notice Zoro acting weird tonight?”
You frown as you change into the dress Helios prepared. “What do you mean?”
Nami hums in thought. “He’s just…” A dumbass, she wants to say, but doesn’t. “He seems extra grumpy.”
That causes you to laugh. “I guess I should prepare more jokes for him when we get back.”
She winces. “...I’m not that sure he likes those.”
“Hm… Maybe not, but,” You pause to think. He may not laugh loudly as Luffy does, but he never shot you down for being bubbly around him. “Zoro would have told me to shut up by now if he didn’t, right?”
“Huh.” Nami says. “You got a point.”
You push the curtains aside, grinning at her. “Come on, let’s break into that treasury.”
“Of course, my gem.”
“Oh my god, if that sticks I’m going to be so mad.”
The treasury was a vault full of everything from jewels to ornamental weapons. Nami playfully crowned you with a diamond tiara, and she put on dangling emerald earrings that looked stunning on her.
After filling your bags and pockets with the most you can carry, you and Nami head out to find the others. You run into Usopp on the way back to the lounge.
“I see you two cleaned up well.” He jokes. “Luffy and Sanji are in the kitchen. I was just on my way there.”
“Where’s Zoro?” You ask.
“With Helios. You know him, still drinking.”
“We should leave soon.” Nami insists. “We risk getting caught the longer we stay.”
“Right.” You hand Usopp your bag, his eyes widen comically when he feels how heavy it is. “I’ll just go say goodbye, I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Before you even enter the lounge, however, you hear Zoro speak your name. Are they talking about you? You press your back against the wall, straining to hear their conversation.
You almost wish you didn’t.
“She tells the worst jokes and doesn’t know when to quit it. Thinks she’s hilarious but she’s really not.” Zoro speaks in that deep voice that would usually be comforting to you—but his words now pierce through you painfully.
“What exactly is your relationship with her?” Helios asks, and Zoro is silent. It feels like your heart crumbles for every second he doesn’t answer.
You’re friends! You’ve been dreaming of more but, you’ve always been friends.
…Aren’t you? Doesn’t he think so?
“I don’t know.” Your heart fully shatters. What does he mean he doesn’t know? “She just sticks to me a lot. It can get annoying.”
“Well. That’s unfortunate, but it’s nothing to sob over.” Helios kisses his teeth. “I don’t care about her attitude. All that doesn’t matter as long as she has that pretty face.”
You wait for Zoro to say something. Anything. You want him to cut Helios where he stands.
But he doesn’t. The silence drags on. The air feels like it’s pushing you down, crushing your lungs. You have to get out of here.
You burst into the kitchen, trying your best not to cry. Nami immediately rushes to you, holding your shoulders to steady you. “What happened?”
Letting out a shuddered breath, you whisper, “You were right.” It’s impossible to think straight right now. “I want to leave.”
You look to Luffy, still shaken up. Your captain’s expression is serious as he nods. “Go ahead, we’ll get Zoro and catch up.” Not needing to be told twice, you head out the door.
Before she follows you, Nami hisses at Sanji, “Talk some sense into that dumbass, won’t you?”
The entire walk back to the Going Merry is silent. You’re grateful Nami doesn’t immediately press you for what happened, but you know that you should answer her questions. You finally get the words out in the safety of her cabin.
You sit cross-legged on the bed, and everything comes pouring out. “He called me annoying.” 
“Zoro?” She asked, offering you a box of tissues.
“Yeah.” You sniff, taking the box.
“I’m sorry. That was fucked up of him to say.”
Unsure how to properly comfort you, Nami gets up and retrieves extra pillows from a storage compartment.
“Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” Nami asks, offering you a smile. It pulls a smile out of you too, the first one you mustered since Zoro crushed your spirit. 
“I’d like that.” 
Zoro is confused to find that you and Nami had left before them. Luffy gave Helios some lame excuse that you weren’t feeling well, but Zoro knew better. If you were really sick, the whole crew would be panicking and rushing to get to you.
He stares at Sanji and Usopp, trying to piece together what really happened. They both turn away from him, refusing to say anything.
In the next second, a maid rushes out, panting and screaming, “Mr. Helios! The treasury has been robbed!”
Fine. Answers can come later. For now, they need to run.
Once they’re back on the ship, Sanji follows Zoro into his cabin. He stares at the chef blankly, “Get out.”
“Did you do something?” Sanji leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Get out.” Zoro repeats, about to push him out of the room when Sanji speaks your name.
“She was upset. Asked to leave as soon as possible.” Sanji’s gaze is almost menacing, and his frown deepens when Zoro’s face falls. So, that’s what happened. You had heard him.
“Fuck.” Zoro groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Everyone noticed you getting bitchy over Helios.” Sanji notes “Did you confront him or something?”
Scoffing, Zoro sits on his hammock, the fabric dips under his weight. “It was something, all right.”
Wanting Zoro to explain himself unpromptedly, Sanji just watches him and lets the silence hang in the air. After a solid, suffocating minute, the swordsman caves.
“I called her annoying.” Zoro breathes out deeply. “I said her jokes aren’t funny and that she sticks to me a lot.”
“Man, that’s screwed up.” Sanji gapes. “I thought you cared about her?”
“Of course I do, but I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Zoro defends. “Luffy’s the only one who laughs at her jokes, and she’s always by my side.” 
Sighing, Zoro continues, “...but I never minded any of it. I learned to care for those parts of her a long time ago. I was only trying to get that shithead off her back.”
“You’re an idiot.” Sanji concludes. “You have the emotional depth of a sink, sometimes.”
Zoro, surprisingly, doesn’t insult the chef back. He stares at the wall, slouched and looking the most empty Sanji’s ever seen him.
“What should I do?” He asks. “How should I make it up to her?”
Sanji’s eyes light up, he beams and claps his hands together in excitement. Even if Zoro hasn’t heard it yet, he already dreads the chef’s suggestion. 
“I have an idea.”
When you woke up the next morning, you had every intention of avoiding Zoro like the plague. It was still really difficult to look at him, the hurt you felt still stings your heart. 
But unfortunately for you, he had other plans. 
You’re gazing out into the sea on the forecastle deck when you hear a familiar set of heavy footsteps. You sigh. “I don’t want to talk, Zoro.”
“I’m not here to talk.” You turn to him questioningly, but you really shouldn’t give him the time of day. Wasn’t he the one who complained about you clinging to him?
You don’t say anything. Only glaring at him and hoping he sees how disappointed you feel. Zoro stands here, appearing strangely vulnerable. If you weren’t so hurt, you would have hugged him by now. 
But you are. So he has to wallow in the awkwardness of the consequences of his words. He—wait. What’s that on his face?
“I…” Is he… blushing? “I’m sorry I wasn’t around in the past.” 
You make a face and blink at him. What is he up to?
“...Can I be part of your future?”
That knocks the wind right out of you, your jaw practically falls to the floor. Did Roronoa Zoro just use a pickup line? On you? You can’t help but glance at your surroundings to check if the sky is still blue.
No—hold on. He can’t win you over just like that. He needs to explain why he said what he did. 
“You said my jokes are the worst.” You grumble.
“They are.” Zoro looks straight into your eyes as he speaks. “But you’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.”
“You said I always stick to your side.”
He doesn’t miss a beat and answers earnestly, “You do. And I wouldn’t want you to be anywhere else.”
“…You said you didn’t know what our relationship is.”
That causes Zoro to pause, searching your eyes as if he’ll find the answer in them. “…I don’t.”
Oh, this impossible sword-brain of a man. Your lips quiver, and you realize you can’t fight back your smile anymore. “I love you, Zoro.”
His expression shifts from anxiousness to shock, relief, and a bit of something else... 
“I love you, too.” Ah, of course. Love, that too.
Slowly, tentatively, he raises his arms, inviting you to an embrace. He’s adorable, looking a teensy bit nervous that you wouldn’t want to hold him. Giggling, you rush to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he envelops your shoulders. 
“I bet Sanji taught you to apologize with that line.” You murmur into his chest. “If you tell me another one…” Zoro cringes, his frame tensing. 
“...I’ll give you a kiss.” His expression lifts, seriously considering it.
After a minute, Zoro clears his throat. You almost squeal in excitement.
“Roses are red, violets are blue…” A classic. This is going to be good.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward, I just want to have dinner with you.” You gasp, squeezing him tighter. 
“Yes! That was perfect.” Laughing, you reach up and hold his face to keep your promise. 
You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips. When you pull away, he’s looking at you like he would fight anyone for you. He probably would, if you’re being honest.
“You’re perfect.” He breathes, mouth against yours and then he’s kissing you again.
Hiding behind a pile of crates, the rest of the crew whoop and cheer. (Silently.)
“That was such a good line!” Luffy whispers.
“I still think he should have used the ‘I don’t speak angel’ one.” Usopp whispers back.
“What are you talking about?!” Sanji angrily, quietly mutters. “That was perfect because he apologized and delivered the line.”
“Shut it, you guys. I was right, he didn’t last a day with her mad at him.” Nami holds out her palm. “Pay up.” The others groan, handing her some berry. All’s well that ends well.
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4K notes · View notes
strang3lov3 · 6 months
Text
VS
Summary: Yours and Joel’s newest patrol task is exploring the old mall not far from Jackson. You learn what Victoria’s Secret really is. (She was NOT having an affair with former president of the United States Colonel Sanders) AKA grumpy cranky joel and you get down and dirty in an old Victoria’s Secret.
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This is part 1 of my new series “Mall Rats”
Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, doin it in front of a mirror (thanks gracie!), reverse cowgirl, joel is a dick, joel is condescending, reader is charming just like me, Joel does all the work because reader is a lady and Joel is an asshole.
W/C: 4.7k
“Weird looking stairs,” you mumble as you take in the unique environment. Beneath your feet are metallic steps with deep lined grooves, in front of you is Joel, stepping down the staircase. In the enclosed building, the walls are lined with different shops, there’s a few different seating areas. Old posters, advertisements. Colorfully painted walls are overgrown with roots and vines. 
“S’cause they’re not regular stairs,” Joel says with a gruff voice. “S’called an escalator. Didn’t have to walk up and down the steps, you could stay stationary and it’d move ya up an’ down.”
“Sounds cool.”
“No,” Joel mutters. “Not cool.”
None of this is cool to Joel. In fact, it’s the opposite. 
Tommy and his crew had stumbled across this mall while on patrol. Of course they couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but they deemed it largely safe of infected. He wasn’t sure how picked over it was, but he figured it would be a good task for you and your curious mind. Comb it through for supplies, clothing, entertainment. Take notes and report back to him. 
So what was Joel there for?
To chaperone you, of course. Keep you out of trouble, keep you safe, answer your million and one questions. 
It was Tommy’s sick and twisted idea of a joke. Joel’s new patrol project involved two of the things he disdained the most: Malls, and you.
 Comedy gold.
“No,” you mock his tone with a silly face, “Not cool.”
Joel rolls his eyes and ignores you. When you reach the bottom of the steps, he looks at his surroundings as he reaches in his bag for his flashlight. Turning it on he says, “We’ll start down here and work our way up. Scope everything out, get familiar. Then you can start combing through the stores for supplies and what have you. You stick by me. No wanderin’.”
“Don’t you mean we?” you ask. “We comb through the stores.”
“No, sweetheart, I don’t. S’your job, not mine. I’m just here to keep ya from gettin’ killed.”
Whatever. Joel can bitch and moan about this all he wants, but you’re grateful for the opportunity to explore the infinite wonders of the mall. It’s not like you’ve got much else to do. You’re indoors, safe from the elements and infected. You’re not complaining. 
You reach into your own bag and pull out your flashlight. You turn it on, and the light flickers dimly. You smack it with your palm a couple times before the light finally goes out, then turn to Joel with a sweet smile on your face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a couple extra–”
“You’re lucky I do,” Joel glares at you as he digs through his belongings to find a couple of double A batteries in his pack. You hold out your hand and he begrudgingly drops the batteries in your palm. “Quit fuckin’ around. Be prepared next time.” He’s certainly jolly today. 
You replace the batteries and turn your flashlight on, and begin to make your way through the bottom level of the mall. Joel’s said nothing since giving you the batteries. 
“So what did you do here? Or, not here specifically. Just like, malls in general,” you ask as you make your way through tables and chairs. A big sign on a nearby wall informs you that this area is called the food court. 
“I did nothing. Malls were always packed with people, way too busy. Too many teenagers. Expensive too,” Joel scrunches his nose as he catches a whiff of something foul at an old hot dog stand. “But other people, they’d come here and shop for clothes, get somethin’ to eat. Could catch a movie f’ya wanted.”
“So where’d you get your clothes from?”
Joel shrugs. “Dunno. Just kinda always had them in my dresser, I guess.”
Sounds like Joel. 
There’s a Panda Express, something called Auntie Anne’s that you and Joel are looking through together. He’s eyeing the cooking equipment and you’re baffled as you stare at a five gallon drum of nacho cheese on the floor.
“That cheese is probably still good,” Joel comments. 
“You’re joking.”
“It ain’t the real cheese like we got back in Jackson. Auntie Anne’s was a pretzel shop, lotta people would dip ‘em in that cheese.”
Auntie Anne’s doesn’t have much to offer, so you and Joel move right along. Next stop is Kentucky Fried Chicken. You point to the man on the logo. “Who’s that?”
“Colonel Sanders. He was the president way back when.”
You know better. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Sure he was,” Joel says. “You weren’t there. You don’t know.”
He’s such a dick. You roll your eyes and leave him and Colonel Sanders to their own devices as you walk through the rest of the food court. 
Joel doesn’t realize you’d left. He tells you another Kentucky Fried Fun Fact and when he’s met with no answer, he looks up to find you at Cinnabon at the end of the food court. 
He makes his way to you then kicks you with his boot. “Didn’t I tell you to stay next to me?”
You ignore his question and ask him your own. “What’s Cinnabon?”
“M’serious,” he says. “No more wanderin’.”
“Yeah, yeah. No wanderin’.” you mock his Southern accent once more. But more importantly, you demand answers. “Tell me about Cinnabon.” 
“They’re just cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon. Bun. S’in the name, genius.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t like those much either, then.”
“Actually, they were pretty good. Big and gooey, covered in icing. You were supposed to split ‘em with someone but I never did.”
“Ah, right. You and your sweet tooth,” You smile. 
“I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Joel lies. “Keep movin’.”
So you do. There’s a lemonade stand here and there, but mostly shops now. A bookstore, jewelry stores. Something called “Wet Seal”. You ask Joel what it is, to which he replies “Fuck if I know.”
A shoe store has piqued Joel’s interest. He’s looking for a new pair of boots as you stare out the window of the shop, wondering who the hell Victoria is and what secret she’s hiding. Joel taps you on the arm to tell you to follow him as he leaves the shoe store.
“What’s Victoria’s Secret?”
“Oh,” Joel says. “Nothin’. We don’t need to go there.”
Oof. Bad move, Joel. Now you have to find out what the deal is with Victoria’s Secret. You take off for the store, ignoring Joel’s orders to stick by his side. “Did she have a secret affair with President Colonel Sanders?”
“No, god dammit. Get back here. We ain’t goin’.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t wanna.”
But you do. So you ignore his bitching and approach the store, stopping when you realize exactly what kind of store it is. “Oh.”
Joel catches up to you. “Mhm,” he mumbles. “S’just underwear. Now c’mon, I’m tired of chasin’ ya.”
“No way,” you argue. “I need new underwear. I’m actually going commando right now, so this is perfect.”
 Joel makes a face like he’s in pain and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Boundaries.”
You don’t believe in TMI. 
You enter the store, entranced by the women in the photos and the black sparkly floor. There’s a big table with panties laid on top, drawers underneath that indicate sizing. You open the drawers with your size and begin sifting through the underwear. All different styles, patterns, colors. Way cuter than the few you have back in Jackson. 
You pick out a few different pairs. Brown with pink polka dots, pink with red roses. Some bikini styles, some boyshorts. You hold up a white pair with lace and a little blue flower sewn on the center of the waistband. “Joel, look! Aren’t these cute?”
“Just adorable,” he mumbles without bothering to actually look. If his voice were any more full of sarcasm he’d choke. Joel keeps his eyes firm on the ground, like he’s being intimidated by the mannequins and their threatening panties. You giggle and he shoots you a warning look. 
You look for a few more pairs, then find a few pairs that look a little different. You hold one up, trying to figure out which side you put your legs through. When you look at the nearly bare-assed woman in the advertisement that reads 5 for $20 above you, you realize how it’s meant to be worn. Oh, you think. Neato. You stuff a few of the thongs in your bag. Could be fun. 
Joel’s still behind you, eyes still focused on the floor, off in his own, prudish little world. You wonder what he’s thinking. There’s a fire engine red thong in the drawer, with sparkles and lace. You know, the works. And you know it’ll be just perfect for a special someone. “Hey, Joel. Found some for you.”
“Not interested.”
You loop the thong over your index finger and pull back with your other hand, then shoot it at Joel like it’s a hair tie. It hits him square on his nose and he catches it in his hand, then throws it on the ground as he pouts. “Alright, enough. You’re done. We’re leavin’.”
You shake your head. “Tommy said I’m in charge.”
Joel groans. “Oh, for the love of god. In charge, my ass.”
You know better than to keep arguing. So you just walk towards the bras, ignoring Joel’s voice in the background telling you to get back here. He hates it when you walk away from him when he’s speaking, so he always follows you so that you hear every last word. It works out, though. You get to do what you want, and Joel gets to give you his stern talking-to. How’s that for a compromise?
The bras are set up similarly to the panties, with different drawers for different sizes. Joel’s still going off about how you never follow orders, how you probably don’t even need any of this, you’re just doing it to get under his skin. And it’s working. Something about how when we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to take me off of patrol with y–
You interrupt. “The fuck?”
“What?”
“What does any of this mean? 30A, 30B, 32A, 34C, 34DD?” You hold up different bras and show him the tags. 
“Those are sizes, sweetheart.” 
“Yeah, I gathered that, thanks. But what’s my size?”
“Why’re ya askin’ me? Just grab one so we can go. Christ almighty.” 
Men. No help at all. 
Surely a store that specializes in bras must have some sort of sizing chart or something. There’s end caps with different beauty products, you stuff a strawberry flavored lipgloss in your pocket as you search. The register might have something, you guess. And lucky you, you’re right. Under the counter are a few measuring tapes and charts. 
Predictable Joel follows you, of course. He says nothing as you read through the instructions. First wrap around your back, under your armpits and just above your bust. That’s your band size. Then do the same with your bust, and subtract the band size from the bust. There’s your A, B, C, D and so on.
You take off your hoodie and stand in just a tank top, no bra. When you said commando, you meant it. Joel watches you as you wrap the measuring tape around yourself. 
“Sweetheart,” Joel interrupts, and he sounds exhausted. “What are you doin’.”
“Making you a Cinnabon, what’s it look like?” you mumble with your chin smushed into your neck as you try to read the numbers on the tape. 
And Joel thought Ellie was annoying. 
You’ve got the measuring tape twisted and tangled behind you, and you don’t even realize it. The inner contractor in Joel can’t bear to watch any more of this fuckery. “Give me that,” he spits, yanking the measuring tape away from your body. “You’re useless.”
Joel looks over the directions for a moment before tapping your arms. You lift up, he wraps the measuring tape properly around your body. There’s a nearby pen and he scribbles the number down, then lowers the measuring tape, his thumbs skating over the clothed flesh of your breasts. Your nipples harden as his fingers brush them accidentally. 
And you thought the thong you shot at Joel was red. It doesn’t even begin to compare to the shade of crimson Joel’s face turns as he realizes what he’s done. Quickly, he drops the measuring tape and writes down the second number and your bra size. “Ther-” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “There. Go find your bra. Then we’re leavin’, and I’m not arguin’ this time.”
You smirk at his vocal mishap. “Okay. But I have to try them on first.”
“You never make things easy for me, do you?”
Joel follows you as you look for a few different bras in your size. You pick out a few that match your panties, and a few others. There’s a silky black bra with so much memory foam padding that it rivals your pillow at home. Again, perfect for your special someone. 
Joel’s smelling different perfumes when you sidle up to him and lay the bra on his head, the large cups sitting on either side of his scalp. “Mickey Mouse,” you tell him.
Joel glares at you as he removes the bra and drops it on the floor. “You are giving me a fuckin’ aneurysm.” 
You look pleased with yourself, which only makes him more pissed off. But the table next to Joel catches your eye. There’s a pretty satin babydoll dress, with a matching pair of panties. It’s a nice light pink color, with pretty floral lace. “Hmm.” you mumble, thinking to yourself.
Joel watches your eyes leave his face as you become distracted. “What?” he turns his attention toward where your vision is focused. “Oh. Nope. You don’t need that.”
 “Why not?”
“You said you needed underwear. S’lingerie. All them frills and lace…” Joel trails off.
“I think it’d be nice for a date night.”
Joel’s jaw clenches slightly. “I do not envy the poor bastard who takes you home,” he says. He’s probably just annoyed, at his wit’s end with you. Probably not jealous. Definitely not jealous. “But guys don’t give a shit what you’re wearin’, honey. Just wanna get what’s underneath. S’a waste of time.”
You shrug and grab your size in the lingerie anyway. Then you take off towards the dressing rooms to try everything on. You enter the first room on the right, and Joel sits at a bench directly across, just a few feet away from you. 
You try on a couple of bras and feel pleased when they fit and support you. They make the girls sit pretty, too.
You take off the bra and eye the pretty babydoll and its matching bottom. So you try it on, and it’s gorgeous. It frames you nicely, sits right above your ass to show off the panties. You admire yourself in the mirror for a while before deciding you’ll save it for a date night. Fuck what Joel says. Maybe he doesn’t like lingerie, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. 
Things are going smoothly until you try to unhook the babydoll in the back. It’s stuck or something. You fidget with it for a second, accidentally smacking your elbow against one of the dressing room walls in the process. 
“Y’alright in there?” Joel calls out to you.
“Fine, just uh…” You step out of the dressing room. “Need your help with the hook in the back. It’s stuck.”
Joel looks like a deer in the headlights when you stand before him, clad in your pink satin babydoll and matching panties. You leave the changing room door open, Joel stares at your ass on the mirror attached to it. He’s all flustered, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Lord have mercy.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re not a lingerie guy.”
Joel swallows thickly. “I don’t know about that, exactly.”
“No?” You raise an eyebrow. Joel, suddenly a man of few words. How much nicer he is when he’s quiet, you think. “How about you unhook it so I can change?”
“Yeah I could uh…do that.” Joel stands up, then carefully holds the straps of your dress between his fingers. His featherlight touch leaves goosebumps on your shoulders. “Shouldn’t be wearin’ this. It’s very impractical.” 
“I know, Joel. You mentioned that.”
His hands trail lower down the straps, his fingers resting against your skin. “Uh huh. Cheap material…could get torn very easily f’ya aren’t careful.”
And then his fingers are moving up the straps again. He places two hands on your hips and turns you around, fingers skating across your ass cheeks. You feel his body step closer to yours, his hot breath on your neck as he whispers, “M’sure it's not stitched too good. Probably not easy to clean, either.” He catches you off guard when you look at yourself in the mirror. He’s staring intently at the reflection of your body, then his eyes flicker to yours.
“Right,” you agree. 
Joel’s scanning your body again, observing how the fabric falls around your curves just so. He looks hungry, like the moment you peel your eyes from him he’ll devour you.
“Are you gonna take it off of me?” He ignores your question as he pinches the bottom of your babydoll between his fingers, the soft satin tickling your skin as he moves the fabric. “Joel?”
“Yeah, hon. I’m gettin’ there. Be patient f’me, now.” Your stomach flutters at the low timbre of his voice, the way he purrs in your ear. Joel absolutely does not like lingerie. Not one bit, god dammit.
His eyes are darkened with lust as he sucks in a breath, admiring the way your breasts sit beneath the clothing, the way it drapes over your stomach and rests on your hips. One of the straps falls off your shoulder and he clicks his tongue. “See? S’no good.”
“Guess so,” you agree, and he places the strap back on your shoulder, his fingers lingering for a moment too long as he contemplates his next move.
“Closer,” he pulls your hand towards himself, and you step backward. He lets his hands slide down your body over the lingerie and you watch him frown in the mirror, his hands stopping when he reaches the bottom of your dress. “N’it covers up all these pretty curves…” Joel lifts up the fabric, inspecting the craftsmanship of your panties. He takes note of the way they’re darkened beneath your core, sticky with your arousal. “These panties…thin, huh?” He traces a finger delicately over the strap on your hip, pulling it back and snapping on your skin. 
Your breath hitches in your throat. “Joel,” you breathe shakily, “You’re teasing me.”
“M’sorry, darlin’. Just tryna show ya somethin’.” You watch as he trails a finger over your mound, dragging it across the damp cloth and finding your clit over the fabric. He rubs steady circles as he whispers, “See, now look at that. You’re stainin’ em. Makin’ a big fuckin’ mess of yourself.”
You bite back a moan. “Joel, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like, I’m makin’ a Cinnabon.” Joel mocks you from earlier, but you don’t catch his snide teasing. You’re foggy headed and lost in this moment. “I just said I’m tryna show ya somethin’. Now hush while I’m speakin’.” He pushes your panties to the side, smirking when he feels how soaked your soft folds are as he drags his fingers up and down your slit. Your knees weaken and wobble, and Joel wraps an arm around your waist to guide you back some more. He sits on the bench with you on his lap, tapping a foot in between yours. You spread your legs and your stomach flutters feeling his hardness press against you. You watch him through the mirror as he speaks quietly into your ear, his breath tickling you as two of his thick fingers breach your entrance and push inside. “You said this lil’ number would be nice for a date, right?”
You nod while whimpering, turning your face into his neck. With his other strong hand, he holds your jaw and turns your attention back to the mirror in front of you. “S’matter? Don’t be gettin’ all bashful on me now,” he murmurs.  He’s curling his fingers, swirling them inside you and memorizing every inch of your walls. “Watch how I touch ya.”
You watch his fingers twitch and dance under your pretty pink panties. You peel your eyes away to look at his face, and he’s focused on his hand between your thighs. 
“S’pose it could be nice for a date,” Joel breathes. “You’d wear this, what, under a pretty dress or somethin’?”
You nod again.
“And then when that pretty dress comes off that evenin’, then what happens?”
“I-I dunno, Joel.”
“I know you don’t, sweetheart. I’ll tell you what happens. Your gentleman's gonna take one look at this little getup and rip it right off. Leave it in shreds on the floor and break your poor heart.”
You’re waiting for Joel to do just that. But he doesn’t, he just keeps fingering you under your panties. Two fingers deep inside you, thumb painting circles into your clit. There’s a heat building in your stomach, tickling you from the inside. Joel takes a moment to lift you up, undo his jeans and pull himself out before he begins to rock against you. His head nudges between your cheeks, warm and smooth and hard. How you wish you could see it, hold it in your hand, feel him with your tongue. You squirm against him and find his free arm, hugging it tight to steady yourself on him. Joel chuckles in a low tone.
“But I know you feel pretty,” Joel continues, “M’gonna work around it for ya, baby, but only if you’re good t’me. You know what that means?”
You’re irritated as you shake your head no. Joel’s using his fingers to taunt you, tease you. He knows just how he’s working you up, giving you just enough to keep you squirming but not enough to send you over the edge.
“It means–” Joel pulls his fingers away from your core and you groan. “Shush. Quit your whinin’.” He pushes you up by your hips so he can pull his pants down a little further, then sits you on his lap again, this time with his cock sitting between your folds and your panties pulled as far to the side as he could get them. With his hands still on your hips, he guides you up and down, up and down, coating himself in your arousal. You can just barely make out the shape as his tip rubs against your clit. He continues, “Means no more wanderin’,” he pulls the top of the babydoll down and watches your tits fall out, his both hands leaving your hips and sliding up to play with your breasts. “Y’come prepared for patrol,” he notches his stiff cock at your dripping entrance, “And I’m in charge. Not you. We clear?”
You nod. You’re not sure how he did it, but with Joel’s teasing, he’s seemingly melted away every bit of attitude in you.
“Good girl. Now don’t say I don’t do nothin’ for ya.”
With that, he thrusts up into you, parting your insides. You watch his cock disappear inside of you before throwing your head back on his shoulder with a moan. Joel smirks before using a firm yet gentle hand to guide your head back where he wants it. “Watch,” he coos, reminding you. “You’re pretty like this.”
Joel uses his hands on your hips to bounce you on his cock, then lets them glide up your body. He palms your breasts, squeezing and watching your flesh move and bulge under his fingers. He gropes you a couple of times while pinching and twisting your nipples, enjoying the way your moans change pitch with the action. 
While Joel plays with your nipples, you ride him. Your thighs ache and tremble, knees shaking. You bounce yourself on him a little longer before letting yourself go limp. 
Joel takes the hint, drops his hands to your hips and picks up where you left off. You lean back and let him do his thing. “Gonna make me do all the work for ya, huh?”
You say nothing, just let those sweet sounds fall from your lips as he fucks you. You reach between your thighs and touch what you can of him, unsatisfied with the way you didn’t get to before. Joel makes a noise, seemingly enjoying it.
He kneads your ass as he uses his strong arms to move you up and down, snapping his hips against yours. “Fuck,” he hisses. He lets out breathy sounds, grunts and growls tickling your ear and making the hair on your neck stand straight up. He’s sweating, soaking through his shirt and making your back feel damp. You’ll take what you can get of Joel right now, but you’re wishing you could see him better. Feel him more, his skin, watch his muscles twitch under you. Or above you. You don’t have a preference at the moment.
“Joel,” you moan. “Oh, Joel.”
He smirks, pleased with the noises you make. Pleased with your lack of words, your lack of attitude. How docile for him you are. He would have fucked you long ago if he knew you’d be like this. So well behaved. 
He turns his face into your neck and bites down. Hard. He soothes the marks over with his tongue, whispering nothings into your skin. You find your clit with your hand and begin circling it while Joel fucks into you. You think you have the right. Joel, however, disagrees.
“Hey,” he smacks your hand away. “What’d we talk about? Who’s in charge?” You move your hand between your thighs again, and Joel circles your wrist with his fingers and holds it away from you. “I asked you a question.”
“You are, Joel,” you breathe. 
“S’right. Means I take care of ya,” In the mirror, you watch Joel let go of your wrist and find your clit himself. “Thought you’d know better. Just sit pretty. S’all ya gotta do.”
“Joel,” you whisper, “Let me come,” 
“What’s the magic word, hon?”
“Please,” you beg. “Please. Make me come for you, I want–I wanna come on your cock, please. Please, Joel.”
“Wrong,”
You huff, exasperated and frustrated. 
 “It’s Cinnabon.”
Joel shifts himself on the bench, finding the perfect angle. He continues fucking you, effortlessly finding that sweet spot inside you. He pulls back the hood of your clit, fingers painting the sensitive nub as he begins his work. Your thighs tremble and shake, he keeps you pressed tight to his chest. 
He’s magic. You’re moaning with abandon, eyes darting between the picture between your thighs and his face, and he’s playing with you like he owns you. 
“Right there,” you tell him. “Right there, Joel.”
Soon enough, your moans become breathier and broken, spread out between a medley of curse words and Joel’s name. 
“Yeah,” he says. “Look at you, comin’ so nice on my cock.”
You squeeze Joel’s working arm as you come, nails digging into his hot skin, feeling his tendons and muscles twitch under your fingertips. Your walls pulse and contract with your orgasm, the pleasure built up deep inside you spilling over and coursing through your veins. 
You’re limp against Joel, letting him use you as he chases his own release. He sits you straight up, bounces you harshly for a moment before breathing through his gritted teeth. You pull your attention from the mirror in front of you and focus your vision on your lap, watching as he comes inside you. Watching yourself soak his cock. He keeps you moving, his spend spilling out of you and over your pink panties. 
Joel pulls your body off of him and sits you back down. His spend continues dripping out of you, spilling onto the bench. He gets your clothes out of the dressing room and places them next to you, then stands you up and unclips your babydoll dress in the back. You forgot about that. But he did say he was getting to it, after all. 
He pulls the garment off of you, then helps you out of your stained panties. He helps you into a new pair of panties, the white pair with the little blue flower on the waistband. “So you’re not goin’ commando anymore,” he says. Then he dresses you in one of your new bras, your shirt and your pants. The lingerie lays crumpled on the floor. 
“So you still don’t like lingerie?” you ask.
Joel shrugs. “Keep it. I don’t care,” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You tried your shit on, we’re leavin’.”
That’s fine by you. Next stop is Bath and Body Works. You spotted it earlier, and you actually know what that store is. You’re low on body sprays and you’re gonna make Joel help you pick out some new ones, even if you have to drag him kicking and screaming. 
‘Cause Tommy said you’re in charge. 
Part two here
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hairmetal666 · 1 month
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Steve parks at Eddie's, a plastic wrapped bouquet of roses so purple they're almost black carefully buckled into the passenger seat, and a nervous twist to his stomach. He didn't plan to do this. It's just, he was agonizing about his crush to Robin and she goaded him until it seemed like a great fucking idea to ask Eddie out on Valentine's Day, of all days.
The flowers were an accident. He saw them in the front window of the little flower shop in town, and it felt like fate, like they were practically made for Eddie Munson.
With a deep breath and a gritted teeth, he swings out of the car, flowers in hand. He's doing this, he's got this, he can ask Eddie out.
Music rocks from the trailer, drowning out Steve's knock. They didn't exactly have plans tonight, only they hangout every night since Vecna, so he figured...well, Eddie never said they weren't getting together.
He's a little miffed when his knock isn't answered. Even when the music is up, the walls of the trailer vibrating, Eddie always comes to the door. But the minutes tick by with no response until the annoyance turns to anxiety.
He stretches over, up on tiptoe, craning through the window to see if he can spot Eddie, probably distracted by planning for dnd or working on a song.
The kitchen is deserted, pots steaming on the stove. The two-seater table is covered in one of those paper tablecloths they have at Melvald's for a buck, patterned with bright red hearts. The table is set, two plates, two beers, a candle burning in the center of it all.
God, he's stupid. So stupid, with his nearly black flowers and his silly crush. Of course Eddie already had someone to spend Valentine's Day with.
He stumbles down the stairs, stomach fighting up his throat. The loud music makes so much sense now. He has to leave. He can't stand the thought of Eddie finding him here, letting him down easy; can stand even less seeing him with the date he has over.
Steve almost makes it back to the car before he hears the screen door slam, Eddie's voice calling his name. For a second, he considers ignoring him; for a second, he thinks about jumping in the car and driving off and forgetting this ever happened. But he could never do that to Eddie, not even when the consequence is his own heart.
"Oh, uh. Hey, man," Steve says. He runs his fingers through his hair, swallows. "Didn't mean to interrupt, thought we had plans but I guess they weren't set in stone." He's rambling and he knows it, but can't stop. "I didn't realize you--I'll get out of your hair."
Eddie's eyes flicker from Steve to the flowers clutched in his fist, the wrapping now sweaty and rumpled. "Are those for me?" Eddie asks.
Steve's mouth open and closes a few times, thrown off the track of his monologue and trying to think of a plausible lie. "I--they're--it's--"
There's nothing for it. He has to tell the truth and eat the humiliation. "I saw them today and--They're perfect for you. So, I wanted--" he shakes his head, shoves the bouquet into Eddie's arms. "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll let you get back to your date."
Eddie's face scrunches and it would be cute except for all the way Steve's heart is breaking. "Aren't you my date?"
"What?"
"Steve. We hang out every night. I thought--"
"But. For me--" He splutters. "The table?"
"Harrington, it's Valentine's Day! You bought me flowers!"
"Yeah, cause I was going to ask you out!"
This is what breaks Eddie, and he bursts out into helpless giggles.
"Don't laugh at me, Munson." But he's starting to laugh too.
"I'm sorry! I just--you," and Eddie isn't laughing anymore, he's looking at Steve with clear, shining eyes. "You brought me flowers."
Steve sobers too, hands over the bouquet. "I brought you flowers. You made me dinner."
"Yeah." He glances up at Steve from under his eyelashes. "I made you dinner."
"Sorry for--" He gestures broadly around himself.
Eddie shakes his head, soft smile on his lips. "You're something else, Stevie." The words are so fond they make Steve's heart flip. "Now, come inside before the food gets cold."
Steve walks to do the door, pausing before he climbs the stairs.
"What is it?" Eddie's eyebrows lift.
"Nothing. Just--" Steve licks his lips, notices the way Eddie tracks the movement. "I'm really falling for you, is all."
"No duh," Eddie says with a broad, smitten grin. "You bought me flowers."
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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year
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the little things
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Five times Soap questions the relationship between Ghost and the 141's Medic, and the one time he gets an answer. Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: mentions of blood, mild swearing Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.
part two. part three. part four.
The first time is purely by accident. 
It’s not like he’s trying to eavesdrop; it isn’t his fault the infirmary doors were left wide open, and it doesn’t seem like you and Ghost are trying to be quiet. Price called everyone for a meeting in twenty and, since the infirmary’s on the way, Soap figures he’d swing by and grab you. He’s walking towards the doors, paying attention to nothing in particular, when your unmistakable laugh echoes into the hallway. Soap stumbles slightly, caught off guard by the sudden noise. 
Someone’s enjoying themselves, he thinks. He’s almost six steps from the door when you laugh again, this time followed by the deep timbre of a familiar voice that makes Soap stop in his tracks.
Price was the one who had brought you onto the team, but it was supposedly Ghost who had recommended you. “Only medic I ever met who actually knew what they were doing,” he had said. Apparently the two of you had previously worked on multiple missions together, and that was made obvious by the way you two worked flawlessly around each other with an efficiency that could only have been cultivated through a deep trust and years of teamwork. 
Soap slowly approaches, all his stealth training coming to the forefront as he leans next to the door and focuses in on what you’re saying.
“It’ll only take a day, two tops. I promise.” Soap can hear the smile in your voice. Glancing at the glass panes of the doors, he can just make out your reflection. You’re standing beside an empty bed, behind an overbed table that’s covered in papers, leaning on your elbows to smile widely up at Ghost as he stands against the wall on the opposite side of the bed looking wholly unimpressed. 
“You want me to spend an entire day sitting in the corner and watching you give everyone on base flu shots?” 
“No, I’m asking if you’ll sit in the corner and look intimidating while I give everyone on base flu shots. The “look intimidating” part’s important,” you speak matter-of-factly. 
“I’ve seen you amputate a man’s leg at the knee mid-combat. You’re telling me you can’t handle a few shots by yourself?”
Soap makes a note to ask about that story later. 
“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. It’s everyone else that’s the problem here.” Ghost blinks at you, seemingly not believing you. “I get it, you’re all big, tough guys who face death every day-” Soap sinks his teeth into his cheek to fight back a laugh as you try to lower your voice in a very poor imitation of Ghost, “-but the way some of these guys act, you’d think I was coming at them with some kind of medieval torture device. I just think-” “That’d be a first.”
“-If I had someone that everyone respects, and is a little bit afraid of, sitting nearby then they’d stop with the whining and I can get my job done faster.” 
There’s a long pause as you and Ghost stand locked into a staring contest. Soap swears that, for a moment, something like amusement crosses Ghost’s eyes. 
“You think people are only a little afraid of me?” Ghost asks, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. You let out a loud, exaggerated scoff, throwing your hands up.
“Fine! Go lurk in a dark corner and scare children, or whatever it is you do, instead of helping me. Just don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly out of painkillers the next time you get shot.” You’re facing away from him, pouting like a child with your arms crossed over your chest. Both Soap and Ghost know you don’t mean it, your flawless reputation is too important to you, but Ghost sighs and nods anyways.
“Just tell me what days-” Ghost is barely done talking when you’re spinning around, nearly knocking the table over.
“Really?”
“Whatever will get you to stop being a brat.” Like water off a duck’s back, the insult runs right off of you as you clap your hands together. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to Price’s meeting.” Ghost pushes himself off the wall as you shuffle your scattered papers into organized piles to look through later. Soap leans back, taking a few quiet steps back from the door as you and Ghost start to leave the infirmary. 
“Hold on, one sec.” Soap pauses as he hears your hurried footsteps, looking back to your reflection in the glass. Eyes widening, his jaw drops as he watches Ghost let you grab his arm and push yourself up onto your toes to place a quick kiss to the cheekbone of the larger man’s plated skull mask. “Thank you,” you speak softly, taking a couple small steps back. 
Soap doesn’t have time to process as you and Ghost step out of the infirmary, immediately spotting him as he stands dumbly in the hallway. 
“Hey Soap! You heading to Price’s office, too?” Soap blinks, shaking off the shock and giving you a quick nod. 
“Yeah, I was just about to come get the two of you.”
“Let’s go, then,” Ghost says, turning and walking away without waiting for you or Soap. You fall in step behind him almost instantly, waving Soap over. Soap glances between the two of you as he follows. He knew the two of you weren’t strangers. He’d even speculated you might’ve been friends, but he’d never imagined you might’ve been something more. He wants to know more, but also gets the sneaking suspicion that this isn’t something he should be prying into. Ghost has always been a private man. 
Either way, he has no time to think on it further as the three of you enter Price’s office. 
-
The second time, he’s in far too much pain and far too tired to really remember if it actually happened. 
Despite everything, the mission had been a success, though the cost had almost been too much. Your team of seven has two unconscious, three severely injured, and the rest sporting a variety of bullet grazes and knife wounds. None dead, thanks to your quick thinking and efficient work. It’s late and the team’s holed up in an old safehouse overnight waiting for evac. Soap is sat up against the far wall, watching you with drooping eyes as you flit around the safehouse, tending to everyone’s wounds. He had been fortunate enough to only have a few minor wounds, but the adrenaline of the fight is fading fast and the comedown is hitting hard. 
Ghost is on watch and is the last person you check on, at his own insistence and much to your annoyance. He bats you away from any of the minor cuts and bruises, so you pull up a chair next to his and focus on the deep gash running across his right forearm. Through his sleep-hazed gaze, Soap watches you expertly stitch Ghost’s arm. He can hear the two of you mumbling to each other, but doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher your words. Once you’ve finished wrapping Ghost’s arm, you glance around at the others. 
You must assume everyone is asleep by the way you deflate, running a tired hand down your face and stretching your neck with a grimace. You scoot your chair closer to Ghost’s, shutting your eyes and letting your head fall against his armored shoulder. To Soap’s surprise and not to yours, Ghost makes no move to push you away, instead shifting so your head’s not at such an awkward angle and settling into his own chair. Soap can feel his curiosity creeping up, but sleep wins out in the end and he passes out not long after. 
When he wakes, Ghost is in the same spot, but you’re curled up in a beaten up arm chair across the room still asleep. 
When evac finally arrives, everyone is awake, and you and Ghost hardly acknowledge each other as he briefs Price over comms and you help load wounded into the helicopter.
-
The third time, he’s sneaking through the rain and blood-soaked streets of Las Almas, Ghost guiding him through his ear as he makes his way to the church. 
He knows he should’ve seen it coming, but Graves’s betrayal stings nonetheless. Soap pushes the anger down, instead focusing on reaching the rendezvous point so they can escape and rescue Alejandro. The banter helps, but there’s an edge to Ghost’s voice that Soap understands as worry. 
They haven’t heard from you since you all were separated. 
They both know you can handle yourself, and worrying about it won’t help, so they talk and sort through their situation: what supplies Soap can pick up, how bad tequila tastes, the tactical uses for dog piss. Everything is as fine as it can be while on the run from deadly mercenaries. Until-
“The mask. Take it off.”
“Show my face?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Negative.”
“Are you ugly?”
“Quite the opposite.”
“Can confirm.” Soap nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound of your voice. 
“Holy hell, where have you been?”
“Aw, you worried about me, Soap?” The teasing tells him you’re not in too much danger, or are at least somewhere you feel safe, but something in your voice feels…off.
“What’s your status?” Ghost cuts in.
“Managed to get out of the village,” you groan through a deep exhale, and give a haggard laugh, “can’t say the same for the Shadows.”
Ghost gives a quiet hum of praise, but all Soap can hear is the strain in your winded voice. “You alright, Doc? You sound-”
“Dings and scrapes, Soap. I’ll be fine. Meet up with you later.”
“Wh-”
“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, “just focus on getting to the church.” 
“Right,” Soap mutters. He returns his focus back to the mission at hand, rummaging through the drawers in front of him for rope he can wrap around his extra fan blade. 
It hits him just as he spots the reflective shine of a shard of glass on the floor. Can confirm, is what you’d said. Did that mean-
“The Doc’s seen you without the mask.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question. 
“Let’s worry about you, Sergeant.”
-
The fourth time, he lands hard on his feet in the pitch black of Alejandro’s safehouse. Soap has his back turned as Ghost climbs in the window behind him. Luckily for him, as Ghost sees the laser sight aiming right for Soap’s back. 
“Don’t move!” Ghost calls out, before launching a knife into the support beam across the room. Soap whirls around to shine his light at the beam just as someone calls out from behind it.
“¿Quién está ahí?”
Before either he or Ghost can answer, someone else stands and walks around to the front, “About time you two showed up!” Your voice is an instant relief as they both relax while you turn back to let Rodolfo know it’s safe to come out. 
“Either of you injured?” you ask, eyes scanning over Soap as Ghost hops down from the open window and Rudy returns his knife. 
“Nothing major,” Soap assures you, though your eyes linger on the bullet hole in his arm. 
“Found this one trying to climb in through the same window,” Rudy explains, nodding towards you. 
“I almost had it,” you laugh, leaning to the side to put your weight on the beam. They don’t miss the way you wince, and it doesn’t take long to notice your right leg is a deep red from the knee up.
“Your leg-”
“Looks worse than it is.” 
Soap doesn’t believe you, but the subject changes to Graves and he lets it go. The four of you settle around the table as the guys formulate their plan for Alejandro’s prison break. You set your palms atop the table, leaning forward to take as much weight off of your leg as you can so you can focus on the conversation. It doesn’t help much, but it helps enough and soon the plan is concrete enough to take action. While Rudy leads Soap to the weapons locker, you take a seat on a nearby box to check the haphazard bandages you’ve wrapped around your thigh.
“You’re staying here.” Soap glances over as Ghost speaks. You laugh quietly, leaning back on your hands to stare up at the man towering over you.
“Leaving me all by my lonesome?” You sound like you’re complaining, but even from a distance Soap can see the relief in your face. Your teasing does little to soothe the stress radiating from Ghost.
“Just-” Ghost lets out a long sigh before dropping his voice so low, Soap can barely hear his words. “Be careful. Please.” You sit up straight, face suddenly serious as you set a gentle hand on Ghost’s wrist.
“For you? Always.”
“Soap, can you grab the rest of the guns?” Soap snaps back to attention, nodding at Rudy and collecting what guns he can. It takes all of two minutes, and when he turns back, Ghost is sorting through papers and you’ve set to properly bandaging your leg. 
-
By the fifth time something happens, Soap is absolutely sure there’s something between you and the Lieutenant. He notices it everytime the two of you are together: the quiet banter, the dark jokes only the two of you enjoy, the way Ghost always seems to hover near where you’re standing. It isn’t until the 141’s every-so-often night out that his suspicions are confirmed. Gaz and Price stepped away for a round of darts ten minutes ago, and now Soap finds himself sitting alone watching you and Ghost talk at the opposite end of the bar.
“You keep staring like that, and they’re going to notice.” Soap chokes on his drink as Price takes a seat next to him, Gaz snickering as he flops down on Soap’s other side and claps him on the back. 
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Soap coughs out, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but the other end of the bar. Price sees straight through his lie, of course.
“Gaz, why don’t you see if the Doc wants to try a hand at darts?” 
“Sure thing, boss.” Another clap on the back and Gaz is making his way over to you and Ghost. Soap startles as Price leans close and nudges him in the side with his elbow. 
“Keep your eyes on him,” Price whispers, and leans away to sip at his own glass. Soap takes another drink, sneakily glancing up just as Gaz reaches you and Ghost. You smile widely at him, nodding when he gestures towards the darts board. You turn and say something to Ghost before standing from the bar and following after Gaz to the other side of the room. Ghost’s eyes follow you the entire way, never once leaving your form.
“Watches like a hawk, that one,” Price hums, “and I thought he’d be better at subtlety.” Soap turns to his Captain, brows furrowed in confusion. 
“You-” Price shushes him, and nods back towards Ghost. Soap looks back, and they watch as Ghost sets down his empty glass, stands, then makes his way over to you and Gaz. He posts up, leaning against the wall closest to you where you can easily smile at him every time one of your throws lands. 
“Like a lost puppy,” Price laughs.
“What’s the situation there?” Soap asks, glancing back at Price, but all Price can offer is a lazy shrug. 
“Don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s been happening for a long time.”
-
“Alright, just got a couple papers for you to sign and you should be good to go,” you smile, gently turning Soap’s head to examine the area you’ve just pulled his stitches from. 
“Thanks, Doc. ‘Preciate it.” You give a playfully dismissive wave, disappearing behind the dividing curtain. 
“I’ll be right back!” you call and Soap nods, more to himself than you. He glances around at his sterile surroundings, eyes bouncing from the white walls to the white floor to the white bedsheets. The overbed table sits just next to him, though this time there’s no mess of papers scattered atop it. Instead, there sits a single file and after twenty seconds of solid boredom, Soap can’t help himself. 
Lifting from the bottom corner of the file, Soap nearly drops it as he sees your picture clipped to a pile of papers. He looks behind him, pulling the curtain just enough to peer through. He spots you on the far side of the infirmary, waiting patiently at the printer. Letting the curtain fall, he quickly turns back to your file. He flips it open, picking up the paper with your photo attached. It’s an older picture, maybe from three or four years ago, but your smile is still as wide as ever. 
Flipping the picture up reveals almost two entire pages of solid black lines. There’s more redacted information here than Soap has ever seen. Soap skims through what few sentences are available, every so often catching things like SIS and specialty interrogation tactics and a slew of words he never would’ve associated with your cheerful demeanor. He gets to the final page that appears to be a printed copy of the photo and his heart nearly stops as he reads the name written at the bottom and everything clicks together in his head.
Your last name is Riley.
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eddywoww · 2 months
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I’m such a sucker for ill timed kink discovery
I’m talking about Steve Has A Hair Pulling kink but doesn’t really know it. He’s always really liked when people play with his hair but
He gets close to Eddie. Because Eddie gets close to Robin and they have a bond that doesn’t make sense to Steve and he’s a little jealous over it but whatever, fine. It takes a few months for Steve to really warm up to Eddie.
And then it’s over.
They start cuddling. Only, it’s not cuddling? It isn’t. Steve just gets high with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Eddie and everyone is so nice and so chill and things aren’t weird like they used to be. So Steve relaxes, splays his feet out in Robin’s lap as he lays his head in Eddie’s lap. It’s a first and Eddie definitely freezes for a good few seconds when Steve does it but he lets it happen
He doesn’t touch Steve the first time.
He touches him the second time. When they’re all hanging out and the lights are low and Steve does it again and Robin only halfway gives him a weird look. It doesn’t stop Steve form blinking tired eyes up at Eddie, watching the way he gulps and hovers a hand over Steve’s face.
“I like when people pet my hair,” He says unhelpfully, so high he can barely concentrate. Eddie makes a soft noise and blinks down at him. “You should- you should do that.”
Eddie doesn’t hesitate for long, his fingers carding through. Touching the scalp, nails catching.
It’s the first time Steve has ever broken out into goosebumps over something so simple.
And then it becomes a habit. Steve falls asleep in Eddie’s lap and it becomes a habit because Eddie can’t seem to stop and Steve can’t seem to stop him. So he sits in front of Eddie whenever he can. Lays all over him, high or not.
One day, it all goes to shit. He’s high again, head placed in Eddie’s lap. Ignoring whatever movie they’re watching in the dark. Eyes closed and mind drifting as Eddie pets him. Steve isn’t sure how his hands never get tired but he isn’t complaining.
Robin screams at an ill timed jump scare and of course, of course. The universe loves to mock Steve. Eddie’s hand clenched reflexively and he pulls, PULLS at Steve’s hair. Sudden and hard. Just yanks from the root and-
Steve feels it like a shock collar. Like a bolt of lightning. Right into his scalp, a shiver that works its way down his body. He’s half hard before he can really do anything about it. And of course he had to panic. What else can he do but bolt upright and off the couch? Stumbling toward the nearest bathroom before anyone can think much of it? Mumbles off an excuse about being dizzy.
Eddie is at the door once Steve gets out. Once he splashes his face with cold water and tries to wills away his sudden boner and WHY the FUCK he would get one in the first place. Past the whole “maybe I like guys” thing that he’s been ruminating on since freshmen year.
Eddie is so sweet to him, worried that Steve really got too high. He’s even ready with a bottle of water. It’s painful and it makes Steve feel even worse.
It isn’t supposed to happen again but it does. Yes, it does. The next time Steve gets high, he tries not to sit next to Eddie. They’re at the trailer this time. But Steve is Steve and high Steve loves attention. So he ends up laying all over Eddie again, eyes drifting shut.
It’s Eddie’s fault this time.
His fingers drift far into chestnut locks. Sinking deep, deeper than usual. Just to clench up and pull. It’s light, almost unnoticeable. But it’s enough for Steve’s eyes to pop open again. To look up at Eddie in wonder, mouth open on a silent noise. And Eddie is looking back, watching Steve with a deer in headlights expression. He goes “Huh.” Like he just figured something out, like he just solved a problem.
Steve should have seen it as a warning.
He also should have stopped using Eddie as a jungle gym.
The third time is even worse. Because they both know now, don’t they? But neither of them will talk about it. No, that would be too much.
Eddie pats his lap like an invitation and no one even thinks it’s weird. Steve doesn’t care if they do. He looks forward to these weekly movie nights more than ever now.
Robin isn’t on their couch tonight. She hasn’t given any inkling that she knows what’s going on but she probably suspects Steve has a crush. She won’t mention it, not yet. He loves that about her.
And Eddie. Eddie doesn’t even watch the movie, he watches Steve. As he plays with his hair, lips quirking when he finally wraps a strand around one finger and tugs at it and Steve’s back arches the tiniest bit and his blood drains south and he’s got his nails in the soft fabric of Jonathan’s couch.
“There you go,” Eddie whispers, just the tail end of some sort of praise and- and Steve can’t really take that, can he? He bites his bottom lip to try and hide the whine that wants to escape. Rubs his face against Eddie’s thigh. Feels the hard outline of his cock, so close to Steve’s face. Fuck. “I knew it.”
He knew it, he knew it. Fuck.
Nothing happens. Steve goes home with wide eyes and flushed cheeks and a stupid amount of horniness. Eddie smiles like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
The final time is the straw that breaks the camels back.
Steve sits at Eddie’s feet on the floor of his trailer. The rest of them are smoking but Steve isn’t this time. Doesn’t want to, doesn’t need it. Not when Eddie already has a hand in his hair and Steve feels boneless and wow, this is just normal now, isn’t it?
There��s little to no pretense once the lights go down. And the night is terrible and great in equal measure. Steve is so hard it hurts, head leaned back and eyes closed. Waiting for Eddie to give in and pull his hair again. He won’t do it. He won’t just-
Not until everyone leaves. Not until Robin rolls her eyes and huffs something like ‘finally’ on her way out.
Eddie pulls Steve into his lap and their lips meet and- and he grabs two fistfuls of hair and pulls hard. Hard enough for Steve to let out a groan that is embarrassingly loud. Loud enough that he hopes everyone is really gone.
Steve discovers a stupid little kink and Eddie gets a preppy little boyfriend.
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pathologicalreid · 25 days
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Can I please request protective Spencer x BAU!Reader who get "lightly" hurt or put in danger bc SWAT or local police made a mistake, and Spencer goes OFF on them. Hotch or Rossi have to calm him down because no one but the BAU knows theyre dating. I'd love to see protective Spencer if possible :)
no sign of danger | S.R.
when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: bloody nose, concussion, split lip, blood, mild violence. spencer reid says the f word. word count: 1.58k a/n: anon, not to be dramatic but something about writing this changed my brain chemistry. thank you for requesting!!! i hope you like it!
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The time between arriving at a scene and when SWAT cleared the building was almost always intolerable. There were too many variables at play. It made you uneasy.
So, you waited, leaning on the side of an SUV with your Kevlar already strapped on, you turned to look at Hotch, “We’ve got an audience.”
Breadcrumbs that Garcia had picked up led the team to a house in a small town in Arizona. Unfortunately, the FBI garnered a lot of attention, and neighbors were starting to gather around the house. Hotch nodded, “Reid, JJ, work with the locals on crowd control, and make sure no one is recording. The last thing we need is for the news crews to show up.”
You offered Spencer a small smile as he turned to follow the blond to the barrier. He waved behind his back as he walked away.
Chuckling from right next to you got your attention, just to see Morgan shaking his head, “You two have it so bad.”
“I like to think we have it good, actually,” you said, flushing slightly. The teasing came with the territory, dating within the BAU meant never knowing a moment of peace – especially with Derek Morgan around.
There wasn’t an opportunity for him to respond, because as soon as he opened his mouth, your radio buzzed to life in your ear, “Building is clear. No sign of danger.” At the sound of the SWAT commander’s voice, you and Morgan surged forward to enter the building, Emily and Hotch following close behind.
Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat, “Morgan, Y/L/N, take the two rooms in the back, we’ll take the front.”
Nodding at your orders, you and Morgan walked past the staircase and to the opposite end of the house, where the kitchen and the den were. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned,” you thought aloud, dragging your index finger along the kitchen counter, and cringing when it came back covered in dust.
As you wiped your hand on your jeans, you looked up to see Morgan sorting through a vinyl record collection. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like anyone’s even entered this house in years.”
You hummed, opening the first cabinet you saw, wrinkling your nose at the discovery that the house also smelled like it had been abandoned. As you went to close the cabinet, the one below you swung open, the force of the doors almost knocking you to the ground.
Stumbling back, you saw a flash of hands before you were slammed into the refrigerator behind you. Immediately, you dropped to the floor, watching as Morgan tackled the guy and shouted for Hotch and Prentiss.
“We need an ambulance, Y/N’s down,” Emily spoke urgently into her radio while Morgan cuffed your attacker.
You winced at the way the radio buzzed in your ear; the way Emily’s voice echoed combined with the throbbing pain in your head made you nauseous. “What do you mean ‘Y/N’s down’?” Spencer’s voice rang through the radios, prompting you to haphazardly yank the coiled wire from your ear.
Everything sounded like you were underwater, Emily and Hotch asked you questions as the fog cleared from your head, “You’re bleeding,” Emily said, there was a worried look in her eyes.
Hesitantly, you pulled your hand from your face, just to see it covered in blood. You weren’t even sure how long you had been holding your hand to your face. “Can you stand?” Hotch asked you, his tone was concerned, but there was something else buried within it.
Nodding slowly, both of them helped you stand. Emily hooked an arm through yours when you stumbled slightly, she led you out of the house and to the ambulance. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Morgan place his hand atop your attacker’s head, protecting it from the top of the police cruiser.
As soon as you sat down on the back of the ambulance, an EMT handed you a towel to hold to your nose. Your eyes flittered up to see Spencer approaching the ambulance, but to your surprise, he turned at the last moment and faced down the SWAT commander. “What happened in there?” He asked, his tone wholly accusatory.
“It looks like the person of interest was hiding in the kitchen when your team entered,” Commander Polk answered, obviously thinking Spencer was just asking for a sort of status report.
Spencer shook his head, “We’re hunting for a serial killer, and you had the audacity to miss the presence of an entire person?” He asked incredulously, “Did you even clear the kitchen?” He pointed in the direction of the house, where Rossi and JJ were now entering to look around more.
The SWAT commander faltered for a moment, “Someone did, but it wasn’t me personally.”
You winced as the EMT prodded at your face, surmising that your nose wasn’t broken, just bleeding badly as a result of the blunt force of the refrigerator. She pulled your hand from your face so she could inspect for any further damage. You opened your mouth to talk, but the EMT was quick to stop you, “You shouldn’t talk, not until we can look at the cut on your lip.”
While the EMTs got more supplies out, Emily helped you take off your Kevlar vest, undoing the Velcro for you and gently tugging it off. The entire front of it was covered in blood, you winced at the sight of the now-red letters.
“You need to figure out whoever checked the kitchen and make sure they know what they’re doing,” Spencer said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Commander Polk’s demeanor instantly changed, “I assure you, agent, we take training our team very seriously. This was just a mistake.”
Even from this distance, you saw Spencer roll his eyes. “First of all, it’s doctor,” he corrected – at which you rolled your eyes. “Second of all, of course, you take training seriously, it’s mandated by the federal government. This was a mistake, a mistake that ended in the injury of a federal agent,” you looked from Hotch to Spencer, hoping your unit chief would do something before Spencer got punched by the SWAT commander. “SWAT making mistakes gets other law enforcement officers killed,” he continued.
“What’s your point, doctor?” The commander asked.
Spencer cleared his throat, “I’m saying you’re fucking lucky she didn’t get killed, or else-“
“Reid!” Hotch called, stalking over to where your boyfriend was nearly getting into a fistfight with SWAT. He muttered something unintelligible to Polk before dragging Spencer away by the elbow, “What was that?”
Your boyfriend threw his hands up in the air, “He needed to be made aware of their mistake.”
Sternly, your unit chief shook his head, “They are aware, Reid, and I assure you I’m not going to drop it and there will be an internal investigation into what went wrong.” He raised his eyebrows, “That being said, it’s not your job to take care of mistakes made by other people.”
“No,” Spencer agreed, “but it is my job to take care of her,” he said, gesturing over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance.
Hotch pointed around to the locals and other SWAT members, “They don’t know that, Reid.” He whispered, keeping his voice down so he didn’t expose your relationship to everyone in the Arizona town. “Let me take care of it,” was his final statement before he walked back to Commander Polk.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Spencer spun around and finally walked over to you. Emily nodded at you before stepping away, “Are you alright?” He asked.
You flashed him a thumbs up, gesturing toward the EMT, who answered for you, “We just glued the gash on her lip, so she can’t really talk right now. She’ll be fine though, maybe a small scar, if anything.”
“Good,” Spencer said, ambling over and taking a seat next to you. “I was so worried about you,” he murmured, and you watched as he restrained himself from touching you.
Humming, you leaned into him for just a moment. Your movement was intentional, but it was quick enough that any passersby would assume you were just unsteady.
The EMTs left once the glue on your lip dried, directing you to ice it periodically to help with swelling and handing you care instructions.
You were left with a mild concussion, a split lip, and ruined clothes. All things considered, you felt like you were pretty lucky. The rest of the team piled into the SUVs, you and Spencer sitting in the back of one with Hotch at the helm and Emily in the passenger seat. “Who knew Reid had it in him?” Emily wondered aloud, eliciting a small laugh from you.
“I can’t believe you almost got into a physical fight with SWAT over a split lip and concussion,” you said, smiling slightly, but stopping as you felt the glue on your lip tugging.
Spencer rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t over the split lip and concussion, it was over the abhorrent display of-“
“Reid,” Hotch said in his no-nonsense tone.
Your boyfriend slouched back in his seat, “So, maybe it was over the split lip and concussion.”
Closing your eyes, you reached over the middle seat and took his hand in yours, “Thanks, Spence.” You whispered so that only he could hear, leaning over the gap between you and setting your head on his shoulder.
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erwinsvow · 28 days
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it’s like you were put on this earth to bother rafe.
everyday, without fail, come some sort of request—rafe, let’s go get coffee. rafe, i want ice cream. rafe, i wanna go to bed. he tells you to go to bed and you whine immediately after, letting out a faint “not alone! not what i meant!” before he rolls his eyes, one huge hand settling on your hip and the other one on your back, throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to bed. 
once you finally get him there it’s all laughs and giggles and avoiding his gaze, getting shy again, refusing to tell him what you really want. he rolls his eyes and gives it to you hard, like he knows you need it, so you’ll fall asleep and let him finish his work in silence. and it works—for a few hours, that is. then you're up again, usually with more requests.
“rafe, they’re having a sale.” you fiddle with your R pendant, the way you always do when you want something and can’t find the words to just ask for it. for a girl pawing at his dick and begging for it raw half the time, you get awfully shy. 
“so? how many fuckin’ clothes do y’need?” 
“you’re the one who keeps ripping ‘em up! not my fault-”
he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair.
"knock it off," he says, coming out louder and more frustrated than he meant.
then he watches you quiet down and scroll on your phone, biting your cheek. he thinks he messed up and made you cry. he feels bad the second it's done, because there’s definitely some pretty, tiny dress pulled up on the screen that you want to show him. 
he knows how your brain works at this point—you want him to get it for you, take you out to a cute dinner so you can wear it and then have him yank it off of you later that night. you won’t ask for it though, there’s your shyness again. 
you feel bad when he actually does buy you anything more than a six-dollar latte or a big ice cream that you can’t finish.
"what're you looking at?" he finally asks, not even a minute later, looking at your body resting on the complete other side of the bed now.
"nothing."
"you gonna do this right now?"
"do what?"
"just show me what you want."
"no, it's nothing. i'll just ask my other boyfriend for it, it's fine-"
before your sentence is finished, he's already on top of you, squishing your cheeks together, pinning you down. he stares into your eyes, maybe expecting tears, but they don't come. instead you look... satisfied. satisfied with yourself for riling him up like you wanted.
"yeah? other boyfriend?"
"jus' a joke, rafey." your voice comes out all quiet and squeaky since he's holding your face tight. your eyes are big and wide staring up at him. he hates that he's getting hard right now. he lets you go, rolling off and feeling your body sink into his bed.
“get your ass in the car.” it comes out as a statement, not a request. you comply immediately, leaning over to give him a wet, sloppy kiss before stumbling out of bed to grab your shoes. he gets up too, looking for his keys, when you come right back to give him a hug. you press your head against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck, eyes fluttering shut, breathing in his scent.
“thank you, rafe,” you murmur against his shirt.
“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he starts, but you don’t miss the way the tops of his ears are flushed with pink. “get the fuckin’ address for that place out-”
he does take you out to dinner, a cute place where he pulls out your chair for you and holds your hand in his on the table. he gets you flowers that match the color of your new dress, which are resting in the backseat of his car now. he kisses your cheek when he helps you put your jacket back on. then he slaps your ass when you’re getting into the passenger seat of his truck, because now it’s his turn to have fun with that dress.
later that night, close to sleep, you paw at his arm and ask for ice cream. the two of you are on the road five minutes later. he turns his head at the red light to watch you lick your cone. then you hold it up to his mouth so he can have some too, smiling and laughing when he takes a big bite.
he's starting to think he likes when you bother him for stuff.
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3K notes · View notes
skzdarlings · 1 month
Text
lady-like ; skz ; chan x reader
original ask: requested by anonymous: ❛ i'd say you need someone to put you in your place. ❜ W CHAN I BEG OF YOU + original ask: requested by anonymous: “You want gentle? Wrong fucking address”+ Chan <3
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pairing: bang chan/reader content info: enemies to lovers, established lovers. criminal!chan, masked!chan. dom!chan, sub!reader (background mentions of switching). choking, floor sex, rough sex, dirty talk. brief mention of some sexism in the workplace. word count: 2050 words.
masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.
enjoy!
-
It is the middle of the night and you are patrolling the art gallery yourself.  You do not trust your colleagues or the security team tonight.  No one believes there is any way to track the SKZ gang but you have found an undoubted pattern.  That motley band of thieves have struck this gallery more than once, making off with paintings and artifacts alike, but tonight you will catch them.
Tonight you will catch him.   
Your thought conjures him like a devil.  You turn a corner and a gloved hand escapes the shadows, covering your mouth.  You are yanked backwards, right into his chest, your back to his front. 
You feel a moment of satisfaction because ha, you were right.  No one believed you but you knew SKZ would strike tonight. 
Then you are furious because those rotten thugs are probably making off with a priceless artifact while their leader holds you hostage. 
“Hey there,” Bang Chan says in that too-friendly drawl.  “How’s my favourite girl tonight?”
You try biting his hand but the leather of his glove is quite thick.  Probably on purpose.  You have left more than one bite mark on him in past encounters.   
“Ah-nah-nah,” he says, steadying you when you wriggle. “Stop that.  We both know how this ends.  Let’s play nice this time instead, yeah?” 
You answer by stomping on his foot and throwing your head back.  The smack surprises him and he stumbles, giving you an opportunity to turn and brace yourself in a more defensible stance.  You face him, hands up, adrenaline thundering through your body. 
Chan is wearing all black, including a beanie and mask.  He removes the hat, revealing hair just as black, but keeps the mask while rubbing his jaw.  The half-hidden face somehow makes the dark intensity of his eyes look even more severe. 
You and Chan have a played a long game of cat-and-mouse.  You are so used to his teasing that you almost forget he is dangerously competent man.  A criminal.  A criminal you despise.   A criminal who is undoubtedly grinning at you under that mask, given the way his eyes crinkle with mirth.  It should not make your heart race. 
“Ouch,” he says.  He takes a step towards you, inching out of the shadows.  “You’ve been training.  Impressive.” 
“Not like I had a choice,” you snap. “Some no good criminal keeps attacking my art gallery.” 
“Criminal, yeah,” Chan says.  “But no good?  Really?”  He flicks a hand your way, not so much striking as testing your reflexes.  You bat it successfully and his eyebrows lift, showing he is moderately impressed.  
“You’re a dirty thief,” you say, taking a swing of your own.  Yours is much more deliberate, swinging at his head, but he dodges just as easily. 
You scamper backwards, his booted steps following swiftly.  You keep your hands up in defense.  He is still smirking under that mask. 
“Thief, yeah,” he continues to tease.  “But dirty?  Well… I suppose you’d know…” 
Heat pulses under your skin. 
This cat-and-mouse game has crossed many lines.  You cannot even remember how it first happened.  It feels like Bang Chan has always been in the shadows, stealing paintings and kisses alike.  One moment you were snarking at the infuriating cat burglar, then your hands were in his hair and his mouth was on yours. 
Sometimes he wins, distracting you or holding you, giving his team time to make off with something.  Sometimes you win, trapping him or his men and only letting them go if they relinquish their prize.  Weirdly, Chan seems to like it when you outsmart him.  It quite literally puts him on his knees.
Flustered, your next swing is more emotional than strategic.  He catches your arm and spins you again, trapping you against his body.  You grunt and struggle in his arms. 
“That’s not very polite, you know,” he says.  “I thought you said you were a lady.”
Yes, you have made such an insistence in the past, reminding him you are a lady of class, an educated woman, an intelligent academic.  He did not argue.  He did pin you to the wall and choke you in that infuriatingly delicious way, the way that gets you coming all over his hand in a second.   That’s it, he said, with a hand around your throat and another under your skirt.  Tell me what a lady you are.  Letting a criminal like me make you come.  Tsk, what would your co-workers say? 
You stamp the memory down because it is getting you hot.   He is holding you differently than before, so you cannot swing your head back again.  You writhe uselessly. 
“I didn’t just say I was a lady,” you snap.  “I am a lady.  I am a respected professional, unlike you—”
“I’m respected and professional, thank you,” he says, his tone still bright like he is having fun. 
It is fun. You hate to admit it, but it is.  Before he started breaking into your galleries, every day was the same.  Your life was such a monotony and you dread returning to it. There is a reason you never call the authorities on him.  There would be no triumph in that demise. You would lament his absence and forever feel like business went unfinished. 
You are satisfied when you can face this dangerous man and win, when you can push him on his back and put him in his place, when all that danger and power and skill surrenders to you and you alone.  Because Bang Chan has a notorious reputation for a lot of things, but fraternizing with civilians is not one of them.   
Except you. 
Except right now. 
“You know what I say, little miss lady?” he asks.
He gives you no time to answer.  Your breath catches when he circles that gloved hand around your throat and squeezes.  It softens every part of you immediately, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, instinctively and animalistically submissive in the claws of something powerful. 
You whimper, your knees going weak.  You know you are wet.  You know he knows. 
He pulls you against him.  You can feel every hard plane of his body, his bulky body armour, his weapons.  You feel either a buckle or his bulge against your body, but either way it is irrevocably suggestive.   When you wriggle, he squeezes your throat, and you go pliant again. 
“I’d say,” he whispers, “you need someone to put you in your place.”   
Oh, he has talked about your place many times before.  It’s with me, he will insist, fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come again and again, putting you on your knees and bringing out all the hidden dark and dirty parts of yourself.  Come on, he will say, we’re perfect for each other, yeah? You know it.  Join my team.  Come with me. 
You do admit, he respects your keen eye and talent, and he acknowledges your expertise far more than the other people at your gallery.  It took a year to even be allowed to do substantial tasks, relegated to fetching everyone’s coffee, getting spoken down to because you were a woman whose ambition was considered a nuisance. 
That is not enough to resort to a criminal life.  Surely? 
But for a moment, you can imagine giving into the darkness permanently.  Tonight, it is you that surrenders as he drags you both into the shadows and onto the floor.  He takes off his jacket and lays it out, pushing you down face-first onto it.  You take a dizzying gulp of air while his hands are occupied, removing his gloves, unbuckling his utility belt.   
You wait for the moment he lifts your skirt.  His breath catches when he realizes you are not wearing anything underneath.
You yelp because he smacks your ass.  You look back at him with as much fury as you can muster in your haze of lust. 
“A lady,” he says, grabbing your hips and tugging you back.  “Sure.” 
“I am,” you say, but your voice is rough, your breathing heavy just from his bare fingers gliding down your wet pussy, the evidence of your desire betraying your claims of propriety. 
“Sure, baby girl,” he says, because he knows it annoys you even while it makes you clench.  He can see the evidence of that too, swearing as he looks at you, making you feel even more exposed and flustered.   “You’re made for me, you know that, sweetheart?  Always feel so good on my dick.  God.” 
“You’re taking your time tonight,” you say dryly.  “Getting sentimental?  Turning into the slow and gentle type?” 
He laughs.  Then he grabs you by the neck, pinning you to the floor as he sidles up behind you.  The head of his cock presses at your entrance, wet with anticipation. 
“You want gentle?” he asks.  He is inside you with one deep thrust.  “Wrong fucking address.”
The truth is, even when rough, he is careful.  Your face never leaves his jacket and he knows where to squeeze and hit and press properly.   Bizarrely, ridiculously, you are safe in this criminal’s dangerous hands.   The biggest threat they pose are just how skilled and deft they are, making you forget about all of those details as he manhandles you and fucks your worries away. 
He wraps a hand around your throat and lifts you.  He is still in his mask, still almost entirely clothed except his undone fly.  Your skirt is up, your shirt in disarray, your chest and throat exposed to his hands.  You can hear him panting into his mask, your own breath as wild until he steals it.  You clench around him, making a weak, ragged sound as he chokes you and pounds into you. 
“You’re not gonna come like this, are ya?” he taunts, because he knows your body well, can feel you are the on verge just from his angles and rhythm.  “Tsk,” he says.  “That’s not very lady-like.”
You would tell him to shut up, but you can only manage a weepy moan as he drives you over the edge of a mind-numbing orgasm.  You feel drenched, dripping down your thighs, and he still doesn’t relent, pushing you back down and holding your hips as he drills through every sensitive nerve. 
“Fuck,” you say, twisting your fingers around his jacket.  Your knees will probably be bruised after this.  No short skirts or everyone will know something happened.  Would they guess you let the most notorious burglar in the country arch your back and fuck you on the floor?  Probably not.  You have always been a stickler for rules. 
Until this.  Until him. 
“Chan,” you say, breathless, rasping.  “Chan.”
“Fuck,” he says.  Then the weight of him is on your back, his hips grinding into yours.  His masked face brushes your ear and he speaks in a low voice, “Guess where I’m coming tonight, baby girl.” 
Your walls are still fluttering with aftershocks, pulling him deeper at his words.  It is not the first time, no.  God only knows how long ago that conversation first happened, telling him it was safe, how much you wanted it.   Letting him do things you never let anyone else do.  Breaking all your rules for him. 
“Fuck, Chan,” you say. 
“Yeah, baby,” he rasps.  “That’s who’s fucking you.  No one fucks you like I do.  God.  You can take it.  So good.” 
You can feel when he comes, his chest vibrating with his groan, the warmth inside you.  You slump in his arms, ravaged and sore and not the least bit sorry for it. 
You should be.  He won this round.  You should be furious at him.  You should be threatening him.  Your usual rapport. 
His mask comes off.  You hear it hit the floor.  Then he is grabbing your jaw and turning your face and kissing you deeply.  He holds your throat, not threateningly but possessively.  He is kissing you for so long, you almost forget who you are.  Then you surface.  You look at each other. 
“Come with me,” he says. 
The haze of lust has vanished.  You should be thinking clearly.  You fear, for the first time, you are.    
You suppose he has stolen everything else, why not you too? 
You put your hand in his.   
2K notes · View notes
pucksandpower · 2 months
Text
Blow Out the Candles
Charles Leclerc x birthday girl!Reader
Summary: the many ways that you and Charles celebrate your birthday throughout the years
Warnings: vague depictions of childbirth and labor
It’s my birthday today so this is my gift to you 🫶
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You let out a long sigh as you lean back against the cold concrete wall of the holding cell. This is not exactly how you pictured spending your birthday weekend.
The heavy steel door clangs shut behind you, the sound echoing in the cramped space. Looking around, you take in the sparse furnishings — a bench along one wall, a grimy leaking sink in the corner, and a single window so dirty that it barely lets in any light.
Charming.
You hear voices and footsteps approaching. Keys jangle and the door swings open again. A police officer steps aside and another person stumbles into the cell.
He looks to be about your age or a little older, with messy brown hair and a bewildered expression. The officer mumbles something about “sorting this out shortly” before slamming the door closed once more.
The new arrival blinks in confusion before noticing you sitting on the bench. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he says with an accent you can’t quite place. French, maybe? He runs a hand through his tousled hair sheepishly.
You give a wry smile. “Don’t worry about it. I take it you’re joining me for the complimentary holding cell experience?”
He chuckles, leaning back against the wall across from you. “Yeah, something like that. I’m Charles.”
“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, cellmate.”
Charles grins, and you can’t help but notice how his nose crinkles up when he smiles. It’s kind of adorable. “The pleasure is mine,” he says gallantly, giving a theatrical little bow that makes you laugh.
“So Charles, what terrible crime did you commit to land yourself in this lovely establishment?” You ask with mock seriousness.
He smirks. “Would you believe me if I said jaywalking?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he confirms. “I was trying to get to the bakery before they sold out of croissants. I may have darted across the street … outside of the crosswalk.” He shakes his head ruefully. “The things I do for pastries.”
You have to laugh. “A real menace to society, you are.”
He grins again. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re in for armed robbery or something.”
“Me? No way,” you scoff. “I was taking the metro downtown and I may have … accidentally used an expired metro card. The transit cops dragged me off at the next stop. I tried to explain it was an honest mistake but they weren’t having it.”
“Ah, a hardened criminal!” Charles exclaims in mock horror, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Clearly. Us lawbreakers need to stick together,” you joke.
You both erupt into laughter, the sound ringing brightly in the dreary holding cell.
As your laughter subsides, Charles regards you curiously. “So do you make a habit of riding the metro with expired cards, Y/N?”
You make a face. “No, I just grabbed the wrong card in my wallet this morning. I was rushing to get downtown and didn’t even think to check.”
“Why were you in such a hurry?”
You hesitate. The real reason seems kind of silly now that you’re stuck in a jail cell. “It’s my birthday today,” you explain with a self-conscious shrug. “I was meeting some friends for brunch downtown to celebrate. Guess I’m going to be late for that.”
“It’s your birthday?” Charles’ eyes widen. “Well, happy birthday!”
You crack a smile. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry you got stuck in here for your birthday,” he says sympathetically. “That really sucks.”
You give another shrug. “Honestly, this will make for a pretty funny story later. Not exactly how I wanted to spend today, but what can you do?”
Charles nods thoughtfully. A moment later his face lights up. “I know what we can do! Since we’re stuck in this lovely cell, we should have our own little birthday celebration. I can sing for you!”
You raise your eyebrows, surprised but charmed by the offer. “Really? You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s your birthday, of course I do!” He insists.
Clearing his throat theatrically, he launches into an enthusiastic, if not exactly tuneful, rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
His voice echoes off the concrete walls as he gesticulates dramatically, getting really into it by the second verse. You can’t help giggling as he puts his whole heart into hitting the high notes.
By the time he finishes with a flourish, you’re both laughing again.
“That was amazing, thank you,” you tell him, still chuckling.
He gives an exaggerated bow. “My pleasure, birthday girl. Sorry I don’t have a cake to go with the song.”
You grin. “That’s okay. 10 out of 10 performance.”
Charles smiles, looking adorably pleased with himself.
You regard him thoughtfully. “You know, you really didn’t have to do that. Singing for a total stranger in a holding cell.”
He shrugs. “I wanted to. You seemed like you could use a pick-me-up.”
“Well, it worked. I definitely feel better.” You study him for a moment. “You’re pretty strange, Charles.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs.
You shake your head amusedly. You have to admit, you’re really enjoying his company. For someone you just met under bizarre circumstances, he’s remarkably easy to talk to.
Charles checks his watch. “I hope they let us out of here soon. Those croissants are calling my name.”
“And I’ve got mimosas waiting for me,” you add.
As if on cue, footsteps sound outside. You both look up expectantly as keys rattle in the lock.
The door swings open and the officer from before steps in. “Alright you two, come with me. We got it all sorted out, you’re free to go.”
You share a relieved look with Charles as you both follow the officer out. After a quick stop to collect your belongings, you step outside into the sunshine.
Charles turns to you with a smile. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Y/N. Happy birthday again!”
“Thanks, Charles.” You smile warmly at your strange but lovely cellmate. “This turned out to be a pretty memorable birthday after all.”
He looks pleased. “I’m glad I could help make it special. Enjoy the rest of your day!”
With a little wave he heads off down the street, presumably in search of those croissants. You watch him go, struck by an impulse.
“Charles, wait up!” You call out, jogging to catch up with him.
He turns, looking at you curiously.
“I just wanted to say thanks again for making a crappy situation fun,” you tell him sincerely. “And, if you want, you’re welcome to come join me and my friends for brunch.”
His eyes light up in surprise. “Really?”
You nod. “It’s the least I can do after you serenaded me in jail,” you joke. “Plus, I’m sure the restaurant will have croissants.”
Charles smiles broadly. “Well in that case, I would love to.”
“Great!” You beam, linking your arm through his. “Let’s get out of here.”
***
You sink back into the plush leather seat, gazing out the jet’s window at the twinkling stars dotting the endless expanse of sky. This is definitely a step up from last year’s jail cell birthday celebration.
“Champagne, ma’am?”
You smile up at the flight attendant as she offers you a crystal flute. “Yes please!”
Charles grins at you from across the cabin. “And please keep it coming, my girlfriend deserves to be spoiled on her birthday.”
You still get butterflies every time he calls you his girlfriend. This past year with Charles has been amazing. After that fateful day, he easily slotted himself into your life. What started as an impromptu brunch turned into real dates, which turned into a real relationship. You’ve never clicked with someone so quickly or felt so comfortable so soon.
Now here you are, celebrating your birthday at 11,000 meters aboard a private jet chartered from one of Ferrari’s sponsors. You had balked at the extravagance at first, but Charles insisted. “It’s your special day, we have to do something incredible!”
You take a sip of crisp champagne, the bubbles tickling your nose. “So where exactly are we headed?”
Charles has kept your destination a surprise. “You’ll see soon, birthday girl,” he says with a wink.
You pretend to pout. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
He just laughs. “Trust me, it’s going to be an amazing trip.”
You don’t doubt it. Charles has a knack for making every day feel special and fun. Even just being cooped up in this plane with him feels like an adventure.
As the flight continues, you enjoy a decadent five course dinner complete with even more champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Charles keeps you laughing with silly stories and jokes. By the time you finish eating you have to stifle a yawn behind your hand.
“Someone’s getting sleepy,” Charles teases.
“It’s been a long exciting day!” You say through another yawn.
Charles grins and hits the call button. A flight attendant appears instantly. “Yes sir?”
“I think it’s time to get the birthday girl to bed,” Charles says.
The attendant nods and pulls back a partition, revealing a plush bedroom suite.
Your eyes widen in delighted surprise. “Wha … we can sleep in an actual bed on the plane?”
“Only the best for you,” Charles says, planting a kiss on your forehead.
You happily snuggle under the covers in the sumptuous bed, sighing contentedly. “Okay, this is an amazing birthday present.”
Charles chuckles, sliding in beside you and pulling you close. “The fun is only beginning, mon cœur.”
Within minutes you’re sound asleep curled up in his arms.
Sometime later you stir slowly awake, momentarily confused. The bedroom is dark and Charles is shaking your shoulder gently.
“Wake up, chérie. It’s almost midnight!” He says excitedly.
You rub your eyes and peer blearily at the clock. 11:58 pm. “Why, what happens at midnight?”
“Your birthday starts again!”
You look at him blankly, still not fully awake.
He grins. “We just crossed into a new time zone. Which means ...” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I get to be the first to wish you happy birthday again!”
As it clicks you start laughing. Only Charles would come up with something so adorable. You watch the clock count down the last seconds to midnight as he bounces giddily on the bed.
“Happy birthday!” Charles exclaims right on cue, tackling you in a hug.
You hug him back, still laughing. “You’re crazy, but thank you.”
He beams down at you. “I have so much planned, it’s going to take more than one time zone to celebrate properly.”
Over the next few hours, you dip in and out of sleep as Charles wakes you at each new midnight. Every time he sings and wishes you happy birthday again with infectious enthusiasm. By the fifth round you’re both delirious and silly from lack of sleep, belting out drunk duets of “Happy Birthday” and collapsing into giggles.
Finally he lets you sleep through until morning. When you emerge from the bedroom, blinking in the bright daylight, you gasp. Out the window is an ocean of clouds and in the distance, a tiny island just coming into view.
You turn to Charles with wide eyes. “Are we … is that ...”
He grins and wraps his arms around you. “Welcome to St. Barts! I wanted your birthday to be paradise.”
“Every day with you is paradise.” You kiss him soundly. “Thank you, this is the most magical birthday I could’ve imagined.”
Charles trails his fingers over your cheek. “You deserve magic every single day. I’m just doing my part to make sure you get it.”
***
You stir awake to soft kisses trailing down your neck. Opening your eyes, you find Charles gazing down at you, his brown hair endearingly rumpled.
“Happy birthday, mon ange,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.
You hum contentedly, running your fingers through his messy locks. “Mmm, now this is a nice way to wake up.”
Charles gives you his signature crinkly-nosed grin. “I have so much planned for your special day.”
Your heart flutters happily. After two amazing years with Charles, the connection between the two of you feels more intense than ever. You can’t wait to celebrate.
But his smile turns apologetic. “Well, so much planned for after the car launch.”
You nod in understanding. Charles has commitments. And today the new Scuderia Ferrari car is being unveiled in a highly anticipated event.
Charles kisses your pouting lip. “I’m so sorry, ma belle. I wish I could get out of it but-”
“Shh, it’s okay,” you assure him, silencing his worries with a kiss. “I know how important the launch is for the team. I’ll just miss you today.”
“I’ll miss you too. But I promise, as soon as it’s over I’m all yours.”
You spend a blissful morning lazing in bed, laughing over crepes Charles attempts to make for your birthday breakfast. Flour ends up more on him than in the pan, but you happily eat the lumpy results.
Too soon it’s time for Charles to leave for the launch. At the door he pulls you into his arms. “I love you. This evening will be perfect, I swear.”
You smile up at him. “Love you too. Go show off that new car.”
After one more lingering kiss he’s off. You distract yourself by meeting local friends for birthday lunch. But your mind keeps drifting to Charles. You hope the event is going well for him.
By mid afternoon you’re back in Charles’ Maranello apartment, curled up on the couch watching silly movies. You’ve just bitten into a slice of birthday cake when your phone rings.
It’s Charles FaceTiming you, his handsome face filling the screen. “Hi, mon amour!”
You grin at your adorable fiancé. “Hey you! How’s the launch going?”
“It’s good!” His eyes drop to your plate. “Are you eating cake without me?” He gasps in mock outrage.
You giggle. “Only a tiny cheat slice. Don’t worry, there’s plenty left for when you’re home.”
Voices sound faintly behind Charles and he glances over his shoulder. “Ah, the program is starting again soon. I just wanted to see your beautiful face.”
You blow him a kiss. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”
“I love you!” He says before the call ends.
Snuggling back into the couch, you focus on the movie again. But a notification keeps pinging on your phone. You glance over to see texts flooding in from Charles.
Can you watch the livestream?
The link is all over social media
It’s starting again soon 😘
You go on Instagram and click the link curiously. The livestream shows an auditorium packed with press, Ferrari team members, fans, and VIPs. Cameras flash as Charles takes the stage along with his teammate and team principal. They talk about the new car but you mostly just stare lovingly at Charles’ dimples on the big screen.
After the speeches, they unveil the sleek new car. Your heart swells with pride for Charles. But you can’t wait for all the events and obligations to be over. You miss him.
The hosts invite Charles to say a few words. He steps up to the microphone, smiling. “Thank you all for being here today. I’m so excited to get behind the wheel of this beautiful SF-26 ...”
He continues talking passionately about the team and the season ahead. But then his eyes flick to the camera broadcasting the feed. “Oh, I also have a very special announcement.”
You sit up, intrigued. Charles winks at the camera. “As some of you may know, today is my wonderful girlfriend Y/N’s birthday.”
Your eyes widen. You have no idea what he’s doing but it makes your heart flutter.
“So to celebrate this amazing woman, I thought we could all join together to wish her a very happy birthday.”
Charles starts singing “Happy Birthday,” looking straight at the camera with so much love. The crowd joins in, the whole auditorium singing to you. You stare in overwhelmed wonder as Charles blows you a kiss.
When the song ends, the audience claps wildly. Charles grins. “I hope you enjoyed your serenade, mon cœur. I can’t wait to celebrate you properly tonight. Happy birthday, I love you!”
The livestream switches off and you sit staring at your phone in shock. Trust Charles to orchestrate something so thoughtful and adorable. Only he could turn a huge unrelated event into a birthday present.
A few hours later, the front door finally bursts open. Charles rushes in and sweeps you into his arms.
“Surprise!” He laughs, spinning you in a circle.
You hug him tightly. “Charles, that was the sweetest thing ever!”
He beams. “I wanted you to feel special today even though I couldn’t be with you. Did you like it?”
“Like it? I loved it!” You punctuate each word with a smacking kiss.
Charles looks immensely pleased. “Good, because the celebrations are just beginning. Now, I believe I was promised cake?”
You spend the evening feeding each other cake and laughing over champagne. Charles serenades you again, because one impromptu singalong just wasn’t enough for him.
As you sway together, slow dancing in the kitchen, you whisper, “Best birthday ever.”
Charles smiles and pulls you closer. “We’ll make every birthday together your best one yet. I love you, Y/N. So much.”
Your heart swells with joy. No matter where life takes you both, with Charles every birthday is celebrated to the fullest.
***
A salty ocean breeze ruffles your hair as you gaze out over the glittering turquoise water. The sun is sinking low, painting the sky in dazzling pinks and oranges.
You sigh contentedly, snuggling back against Charles’ chest. His arms tighten around you as you sway together on the yacht’s deck.
“Happy birthday, mon ange,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your shoulder.
You tilt your head back to smile up at him. “I know I say this every year, but this is the best birthday ever.”
Charles grins, his nose crinkling adorably. “Well you deserve the perfect birthday getaway.”
You hum in agreement, perfectly relaxed and blissful here in his arms. Charles always plans the most romantic adventures for your birthdays. But after three amazing years together, just being with your favorite person is celebration enough.
As the sun continues to set you chat and trade soft kisses. The conversation lulls eventually into comfortable silence.
Charles shifts behind you. “Y/N, can you turn around? There’s something I want to ask you.”
You swivel in his arms to face him, curious at his suddenly serious tone. But a radiant smile lights up his face.
Slowly, Charles sinks down to one knee before you. Your breath catches as he takes your hands in his.
“Mon amour, these past three years with you have been the happiest of my life. You are my best friend, my heart, my home. I want to laugh with you, explore the world with you, and grow old with you.” His eyes shine with emotion as he gazes up at you.
“So Y/N, will you make me the luckiest man alive by marrying me?”
Joyful tears fill your eyes. “Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”
Charles’ face splits into the most delighted grin. He moves to stand but wobbles slightly, the boat swaying beneath the two of you.
You reach out to steady him. “Careful!”
“Sorry, just excited,” he laughs breathlessly. With exaggerated care he pulls a ring box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.
Your smile widens impossibly further. The sunset lights the gems ablaze from within.
Charles takes your left hand gingerly, his own hands trembling. “I hope you lik-”
But his unsteady fingers fumble and the ring slips from his grasp. You both gasp, hands shooting out too late to catch it. The diamonds glint once in the dying sunlight before plopping into the blue water.
“No!” Charles cries in horror. In a flash he’s scrambling to rip off his shoes and shirt. Before you can react, he’s diving in after the lost ring.
“Charles!” You rush to the railing, scanning the rippling surface for him. Bubbles appear where he dove down. The seconds stretch nerve-wrackingly until finally he surfaces, gasping for breath. In his clutched fist, the ring gleams triumphantly.
Relief crashes over you as Charles swims to the ladder. He clambers back aboard the boat, soaked and panting but grinning ear to ear.
“I got it!” He crows, holding up the retrieved ring.
A delighted laugh bursts from you. Only Charles would dive headfirst off a yacht to save an engagement ring. You throw your arms around his dripping shoulders, not caring that you’re getting drenched too.
“My hero,” you kiss him soundly.
Charles wraps you in a soggy hug. “Couldn’t let this ring get away when I still have a very important question to ask you … again.”
He sinks down once more to his knee, water pooling around him. With his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes soaked through, he looks adorably bedraggled but still so breathtakingly handsome.
Grasping your hand again, he asks earnestly, “Y/N, will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?”
“Yes!” You don’t think you’ve ever smiled so wide. “Yes, Charles, yes!”
Charles whoops triumphantly, surging up to kiss you passionately. This time his hands are steady as he finally successfully slips the ring onto your finger.
Admiring the shimmering diamonds you joke, “This ring might need a free cleaning after that swim.”
Charles laughs, pulling you close again. “I’ll get you a new one if you want. Anything for my future wife.”
Wife.
The word sends a thrill through you. You cup Charles’ face in your hands. “This is the only ring I’ll ever want. Because it’s from you.”
His eyes soften. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” You lean in for another searing kiss as the last light fades behind the horizon.
When you finally draw back Charles wrinkles his nose. “As romantic as this is, I should probably get into some dry clothes.”
You laugh, plucking at his soaked shirt. “Good call. Then we can continue this celebration in proper style!”
Charles grins and sweeps you up into his arms. “I like the way you think, Future Madame Leclerc.”
***
“One more push, you’re almost there!”
You squeeze Charles’ hand with all your might, face scrunched in exertion, as you bear down to bring your baby into the world.
This is not exactly how you envisioned spending your birthday this year. But as you give one final push and hear your daughter’s first cries, you know this is already the best birthday of your life.
“She’s here! You did amazing, mon amour!” Charles says through joyful tears, kissing your sweat-damp forehead.
The doctor holds up the squalling, wriggling newborn. “Congratulations, it’s a girl!”
Charles cuts the umbilical cord with shaky hands before the nurses whisk your daughter away to be cleaned and checked. He turns back to you, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. She’s perfect.”
You beam tiredly back at him. The child you created together, your little family, is finally here. After long months of waiting, your birthday wish has come true.
Soon the nurse returns, swaddling your baby girl in a soft pink blanket. “Say hello to your daughter,” she says gently, placing the tiny bundle in your arms.
You gaze down at your daughter, tears of joy and wonder sliding down your cheeks. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes — she’s absolute perfection.
“Hello Juliette,” you whisper. “Happy birthday, my beautiful girl.”
Charles perches gingerly on the edge of the bed, staring at you both like you hung the moon and stars. He reaches out a tentative finger to stroke Juliette’s downy head.
“She’s so small,” he marvels. “And so perfect. I can’t believe we made this little human.”
His voice cracks on the last word. Your tough Formula 1 driver melts into a puddle of emotion in the presence of his daughter.
You glance up at Charles, your husband, your soulmate, and now the father of your child. The utter love and joy shining from his eyes in this moment eclipses every birthday and every milestone you’ve shared before.
“I used to think so many birthdays were the best day of my life,” you say softly. “But now … this is it. The real best day.”
Charles smiles through his tears and leans in to kiss you tenderly. “This is just the start of so many best days together.”
You both gaze back down at the baby nestled between you. Juliette blinks up at you tiredly and the sight of her green eyes looking back at you takes your breath away.
Charles lets out an awed little laugh. “She has my eyes.”
He holds out a hand and Juliette instinctively grasps his finger. Charles completely melts.
“Hello, ma petite princesse,” he coos. “I’m your papa. And I’m going to love you forever.”
Juliette seems to study his face intently before giving a big yawn that makes you both chuckle. Your heart feels fit to burst watching Charles bond instantly with your daughter.
The next hours pass in a blissful blur of feeding, diaper changes, and stealing each moment possible to just gaze at the miracle you’ve created. You almost forget it’s even your birthday until Charles speaks up.
“You know, I had something else planned to celebrate today but Juliette decided she simply couldn’t wait,” he laughs.
You just smile. “This is the greatest gift I could have asked for.”
He leans down to brush a feather-light kiss to Juliette’s forehead, then yours.
“I guess we’ll just have to plan an extra special party when you’re both home,” he says with a smile. “Our little princess deserves the biggest birthday bash for entering the world on such a special day.”
You grin up at him. “I have a feeling her daddy will go all out.”
“Only the best for my girls.” Charles winks.
Juliette stirs in your arms, letting out the tiniest of baby sighs that melts you both instantly.
As Juliette drifts to sleep cradled between you, her little fingers curled around yours, you know this birthday marks the start of your greatest adventure yet and many more amazing birthdays still to come.
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