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elvensorceress · 1 month

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not quite tuesday tidbit teases

it's probably tuesday somewhere and this just popped in my head and I wanted to share. what do you think? do we want more?

tagging if any of you want to share something 😘 @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @messyhairdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @tizniz @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @diazsdimples @watchyourbuck @wh0re-behavi0r @911onabc @chaosandwolves @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rogerzsteven @epicbuddieficrecs @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @the-likesofus @hoodie-buck @lover-of-mine @mikereads @jesuiscenseedormir @lemonzestywrites 💕

It’s just after midnight and Buck is going to bed.

He’s been saying this for a couple hours but YouTube had too many AItA videos and Instagram had those gorgeously edited food recipe posts and he doesn’t even want to talk about the doomscrolling of TikTok. But he had a day off and it was supposed to be with Tommy so they could take the weekend and go somewhere fun and romantic, but then Tommy had to work. Buck could’ve gone in with the rest of A shift. But it was nice to have some alone time for himself so he took time for himself.

His phone goes off with a call five seconds after he’s gotten into bed. It’s a number he doesn’t know. So he could ignore it. Or wait until they’ve left a message. But who would call at this hour for no reason? Or for scamming, telemarketing reasons?

So Buck answers.

“Buckley?” The man on the other end says. He sounds vaguely familiar but not enough that Buck came put a name or face with a voice.

“Uh, yeah? Who is this?”

“Mehta. Captain Mehta. Of the 133.”

“Oh, hey,” Buck says, automatically friendly and smiling. That makes sense now. “What’s up? Why the— why are you calling?” Why would he call in the middle of the night?

Why does anyone call in the middle of the night.

“Buckley,” he says and it sounds… it sounds… it sounds like…

They have him now. They’ll take care of him. Why don’t we get you cleaned up. He’s in good hands. They’ll rush him to surgery. You don’t have to worry. Let’s get you cleaned up.

Lets get you cleaned up.

Buck can’t breathe. His whole body is cold. Frozen.

He tries to get out of bed. He tries, but just slides to the floor beside it. He doesn’t make it any further.

“Buckley, there was a helicopter crash. Your team, our team we went to rescue the pilot. Your, uh, sorry, I don’t know what you call him, but your boyfriend? Life partner? He—”

Oh god. No. No, that’s not. That’s not happening. That is not what is happening right now. This can’t be a, Tommy is dead and I’m letting you know. It can’t be that. It’s not. They were going to—

They were supposed to have a romantic trip together. Wine tasting and some kind of museum Tommy thought Buck would love and maybe a visit to a hot springs up north and they were going to watch the sunset and the sunrise and—

And he can’t be dead. He can’t be.

“He’s alive,” Mehta says. “We’re at Cedars-Sinai. He’s alive, but. It doesn’t look good. He’s in the ICU now. He’s critical.”

Buck pushes himself up. Has to. He has to be there.

He barely remembers to thank Mehta or even end the call before he switches off his phone and runs out the door.

The drive is a blur. The drive is probably very illegal and he doesn’t know how he doesn’t crash, but he doesn’t have time to wait for an Uber or for anyone else. He runs as fast as possible to the ER lobby, and almost runs directly into Chimney.

Not almost. Buck crashes into him and almost knocks them both to the floor but that almost actually is an almost because Chim somehow steadies them both.

He’s pale. Shaken up. His eyes are red. He’s been crying.

“Chim,” Buck says as broken as he feels. “Chim, where— where is he? What happened? How did this happen? Please tell me he’s okay. He can’t be dying, right? That can’t be happening?”

Chim opens his mouth and grips Buck’s arms tighter, still trying to steady him. “Buck, we— we don’t know yet. It was bad, but he’s tough. You know that. He could be fine.”

Buck lets out a broken whimper and backs away from him. “No. He is fine. He’s fine and this isn’t happening. I just— Chim, I just found him. I can’t lose him already.”

There’s a flash of something on Chimney’s face but there’s movement around Buck, too. Other people. Bobby, he’s pretty sure. And Hen. They would be here. They would try to comfort him. But they don’t need to because it’s fine. Everything is fine and this isn’t happening.

It can’t be happening.

He can’t be dying.

There’s more movement and it’s all blurry, probably filtered through tears, but then everything stops. The world stops.

Tommy is right in front of him. Whole, alive, real, a little rumpled and there are bloody scratches and bandages on his face and around his arm. But he’s here. He’s fine.

Buck slams into him, throws his arms around him, and sobs as he clutches him.

“Baby,” Tommy says softly as he hugs Buck tightly, cradling him, comforting him, and Buck can breathe. He’s not frozen. Everything is okay. They were all wrong. Buck knew they were wrong. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tommy tells him and holds him tighter.

Buck pulls back just to look at him. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He takes a deep breath and smiles because Tommy is fine. He’s right here and everything is good. Buck touches Tommy’s battered face and caresses him gently. He’s bruised and also pale, and very soggy. It’s been stormy tonight. Another reason why Buck wasn’t all that eager to go out in it. “They told me— fuck, they scared me. I thought— I thought I lost you. I was so scared. I don’t want to lose you. He told me—Mehta, Captain Mehta— he called and told me there was a helicopter crash and my boyfriend was in the ICU and he’s critical and it didn’t look good, and I can’t— god, I can’t. Tommy, I—”

Tommy’s face isn’t good. It’s pale. Bad. Not smiling. Not relieved. It falls and he can’t even hide the devastation on it. He looks like guilt and death, and his mouth moves but nothing comes out. “Evan,” he finally says, barely says. It’s too quiet, too broken. “Evan…”

No. No, Buck doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to throw up right now. And he just might. His heart is rabbit speed lightning and his legs don’t exist anymore and there’s an awful blackhole of apocalyptic world-ending destruction swirling and growing in his stomach.

Someone takes his arm. Someone needs his attention. He’s moved from Tommy’s arms because there is no safety or comfort anymore. There’s no relief. There’s no happily ever after, nothing will ever be okay.

Buck knows why Mehta said what he said. He knows who isn’t here. He knows who would have come to him and immediately comforted him.

He knows.

He knows what this is now. It can’t be that. It can’t. Buck doesn’t know anything.

Hen tells him. She holds his arm and says calmly even if it’s broken. Everything is broken. They’re all broken. “Buck. It’s Eddie.”

No. No, it isn’t. It isn’t that either. Buck really can’t take that. It was bad enough, unimaginable enough the other way. It can’t be this.

He’s already done this. They did this before. More than once. Forty plus feet of cruel earth and a whirling burst of metal and blood all over him.

Eddie’s blood was all over him.

“The helicopter went down and got stuck on the cliffs. He went in so he could pull Tommy out, and we got Tommy out,” Hen tells him, every word a knife stabbing through both of them. All of them.

“He saved me,” Tommy says, quiet and full of regret. “He saved me and went down with it. They thought it was stable enough. It wasn’t. They got him out after. But…”

Buck collapses to his knees on the floor and holds his head in his own hands as if he can somehow hold himself together when there’s no holding himself together.

It’s Eddie.

It’s Eddie it’s Eddie it’s Eddie.

Buck shatters like flimsy glass and sobs in all the pieces that are ripped out of him. What about Chris? What about Abuela? What about Eddie’s parents and sisters and friends and everyone else who loves him?

What about Buck? They can’t be BuckandEddie without Eddie.

“I need to see him,” Buck suddenly says to the closest person who will listen. “I need to be with him. Please. Please.”

There’s arguing that happens. Bobby yells at someone. Hen, Chim, and Tommy stay around him like a protective guard. Until someone finally agrees. He’s not in surgery, they can’t take him to surgery yet. He’s not stable enough. But he’s on a ventilator, life support. They warn him and Buck doesn’t care. He knows how bad these things can be. He’s lived through several.

They give him five minutes.

They’ll have to drag him out with an armed guard if they think Buck will agree to only that. But at least it’s something.

It’s something.

Eddie is mostly covered. Blankets, wires, tubes, IV lines, bandages. He’s paler than all of them. Slightly blue-purple, cyanotic. They tell him a few things but Buck can’t hear them. He just wants to be with Eddie.

Buck sits beside him and rests a shaking hand over Eddie’s hand, under the blankets where it’s trying to be warm. Buck would give anything to keep him warm, and alive.

Eddie needs to stay alive. He needs to.

Buck rests his forehead on the side of the bed near their joined hands. He would say something if he had the capacity to form words and sentences. The only thing in his head right now is, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.

And that’s probably all he can say. All that really matters.

Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please, don’t ever leave me.

(read now on AO3)

#tease tidbit tuesday #jenwyn wip #buddie wip #mentions of #bucktommy #but this is me okay lol anything and everything is about buddie #911 #buddie #fic: if i should fall

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secret-sturniolo · 2 months

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tour bus - matt sturniolo

based on this request - Pls do one where the reader and Matt decide to fck in the tour bus while everyone else was inside of target getting stuff, can Matt also be sub and have a mommy kink? Thanks youuu :)

warnings - smut, sub!matt, mommy kink, a little bit of praise kink sprinkled in

a/n - iv'e never written sub!matt or a mommy kink before, so you guys will have to tell me if you like it or not.

Me being Matt's girlfriend, he invited me to come on tour with them. Of course, I said yes. We were now halfway through their month-long tour, which meant it has been a while since Matt and I were able to have sex, and we were both pretty pent up at this point.

We were on the road again traveling to the next venue, and I had been subtly teasing Matt all day. Little things like placing my hand on his thigh, slowly moving my hand farther up. Things like that, that I know drive him crazy. His breath would hitch, and he had to pull himself out of his trance to engage in the conversation, so as not to become suspicious to those around us.

"Baby, you have to stop." He whispers in my ear. I just smirk at him in return.

I decide to give him a break from the teasing, going back to the conversation with Chris, Nick, and Madi. It wasn't long before we got off the highway to stop at a Target since the others had some things they needed to pick up.

"Y/n, Matt, you guys coming in?" Nick asked us as he was getting ready to leave the bus.

I answered for both of us. "No, that's okay, we are going to just stay here."

Nick shrugged his shoulders and left the bus with the rest. Once I knew they were gone, I turned to Matt.

"So, it looks like we're all alone for a while." I said suggestively.

"Come kiss me?" Was all he said.

I moved to sit on his lap, and cupped his cheeks in my hands. Our lips connecting in a scorching kiss, both of us finally releasing our pent up feelings. His hands were on my hips, holding me close as our tongues clashed with each other.

"Are you gonna let mommy make you feel good?" I say, kissing his neck.

"Y/n....We don't have a lot of time!"

"Then we better get started, hm?"

He inhaled deeply. "Shit, how could I say no to that?"

I kissed him deeply once more before moving off of his lap so I could pull down his sweats. I could see that he was already semi-hard and sensitive. I began to palm him through his boxers.

"Y/n, no teasing, please!" He begged.

I made him look me in the eyes. "No, you do as mommy says, remember?" I told him sternly.

I was desperate to make him feel good, (and make myself feel good), so I gave in to what he wanted, pulling down his boxers and letting his dick spring out. My hand grabbed the base of his cock, slowly jerking it before leaning down to take him in my mouth.

"Ah fuck! Please, mommy!"

"Please what, baby?"

"Please ride me!" he whines.

"Have you been a good boy? Are you sure you deserve that?"

"Yes, mommy I've been so good, you know that!"

I moved again so that I was back on his lap, and teased his tip at my entrance before lowering myself onto his cock. We both sighed at the relief as I began bouncing up and down. My hands were gripping on to his shoulders, while his hands remained on my waist. Strings of curses left both of our mouths as Matt began thrusting up, meeting my hips halfway.

"Fuck, Matt! Making mommy feel so good..." I trailed off, lost in a trance of pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum! Can I cum?" Matt asked me.

"Go ahead baby, I'm close too!" I said, a moaning mess.

Within seconds we came simultaneously, him filling me up with his hot cum. Out of breath, we both stayed still until we realized that our time was quickly running out.

"Fuck, as much as I want to savor this moment, they are probably going to be coming back any minute, so we better get cleaned up." Matt told me.

I realized he was right, and not wanting to get caught, we both made our way to the busses bathroom and got cleaned up. Just as we were walking back to the couch, Nick, Chris, and Madi burst through the door holding shopping bags.

"Hey guys! You didn't have any fun without us, did you?"

Matt and I shared a small smirk.

Little do they know...

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #secret sturniolo

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jd07201990 · 4 months

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One might think I went a little overboard when I used my talents, to give my old college buddy Charles Wentworth II, the son he'd always wanted. Life threw him a curveball when his little boy just, stayed little. It took only 8 months to change that.

At 19, he was almost fae. 5'4" 110lbs soaking wet, the 3rd Charles in the line was thin, lithe, soft-tempered and good mannered. Clean and neat, always top of his class, the boy was head of the Student Council in High School, when his Father hoped he'd have excelled in Football, the same as his old man.

Charles II knew I'd gone into psychiatry out of college, majoring in Behavioral Studies with a minor in biochemistry. He'd seen what I could do to a person with just 10 minutes of talking. Out like a light, I'd fill their heads with all sorts of triggers, innocent fun to make the guys in the dorms laugh.

But Charles II knew where my interests really were. Behavioral Modification. He'd only seen this one time during our school days, when I tranced Jimmy Palter, the school's most annoying nerd, and by graduation, he'd packed on 50lbs, mostly in his belly, dressed like a hick, and went off to drive Big-Rigs across the country, adding notches to his creaking belt as he screwed his way across country, bedding pretty Diner girls as he hauled goods for my Dad's transport company. Last I'd checked, he was still trucking, with a wife and 5 kids somewhere out west.

Anyway, the strapping young stud you see here, with absolutely no intelligent thought behind those handsome eyes, is Charles Wentworth III. Or, as he preffers now, Chett. Sometimes his football buddies call him Chetworth, but one headlock with their faces pressed to his sweaty pits is enough to stop even the strongest of them, at least for a while. He's an aggressive, hot-blooded powerhouse, and doesn't let anyone forget it.

It had only taken an hour to wriggle my influence into his good natured, innocent mind. His father had asked him to come see me, and an hour later, the boy was thrilled to have sessions with me every day for the foreseeable future. I'd given him a perscription for what he was convinced were vitamins, but were really prototype HGH and Testosterone boosters a friend at a Pharma-Lab in Serbia gives to, well, select clientelle, with the agreement that we send the results asap. Some of this stuff may as well be nuclear Hormone-bombs, its no wonder the FDA refuses to even look at it!

So, A month in, and the boy was a nervous wreck. Trembling with excess energy, his feet tapped anciously during the first sessions, the supplements and my trances sending his body into overdrive. He said he felt like he was on fire, all the time, hot and clammy, and that his body tingled, pent up, wound tight like a spring. I let him suffer with this for a few weeks, I watched as the confusion led to annoyance, and he finally came to my office in the middle of the day, skipping class for the first time in his life, asking me for help. I tried to hid the wicked smirk on my face, and really got down to it. It was easy to drop him down into trance, and from there, My work really began.

4 months in, Chett had gotten a bit of weight on him, his body now tight and toned, working out alone when the gym was empty. The supplements really kicked his body into overdrive, sweat poured from him, soaking his shirts and shorts. He'd complained about it for only a short time, until I convinced him that was the smell of Effort. Of athletic Prowess. Of well-worked Male. As usual, anything I said became the truth, and I soon found him taking sniffs of himself after working out, flexing absentmindedly as he noticed the changes to his body.

By the 6th month, the supplements had shot through his body, setting it into a second puberty of sorts. He grew taller, hitting 6', his legs long with a solid densness that rivaled some of the soccer players. His torso was like a marble statue, each muscle easily traced, as he had very little bodyfat. The Chett was stuffing himself with pritein and calories at my suggestion, really pushing for some size, but his pesky metabolism just wouldn't let him bulk. His father decided that, "Behemoth" as the original plan had intended, wasn't necessary, and we went with "Classic All American Boy" instead. What began as a shrimpy welp, turned into a marble stature, then the beginnings of a diamond-cut stud.

His shoulders widened, giving him that perfect masculine taper, while his face lost its boyish softness, replaced with sharper, more intensly sharp features. His size 7s grew quickly, his feet ruinding sneakers left and right, until he'd leveled off at a wide size 13. His chest began to grow a smattering of hair, his pits were thick, dense wiry bushes. He had that Pretty-Boy look. Fuzzy in all the right places. Sure, he reeked like a Varsity Locker room, but hey, Charles II wanted an athletic son, he knows from our own college days what that entials.

I could see the Sorority Girls and cheerleaders beginning to take notice, but for now, I'd kept Chett firmly away from women. That would come later. I recieved several new prototype supplements, each targeting a different system of the body. By the time he'd finished taking these, he was 6'2" 170, a tall, well built stallion, with nothing but the gym and my trances to quell the neverending storm of energy and hormones flooding his system. He was pent up, on edge, ready to go off anytime. And I knew just what I had to do.

I'd had him on edge for the last 8 monnths. his grades slipped until he nearly got ckicked from school. Luckily, I miraculously had a place for him on the Football team. And he eagerly joined, wanting nothing more than to try and burn off all the aggression on the field. He was a beast from his first practice, I'd programmed everything he'd ever need to know about the game into his mind for months. He absolutley plowed through opponents. It was incredible to see.

I finally let the damn break after a hard-fought summer Game. he'd performed just as I expected. Like a perfectly trained, expert player. Nobody would ever guess Chett had ever been a weedy little boy. Expecially not after I'd set him loose, allowing him to notice the girls all over the field, cheering and buoncing about from player to player. when Sandra Rinaldi, heir to an immense national Grocer's fortune slid up to him, pushing the sweaty hair from his eyes, he couldn't help it. One look at her, and he pounced, kissing her hard right there in the field. 8 months of hormones and denial had been released.

From what I learned through locker room talk in the days following, Chett had given Sandra quite the workout that night, and every day since. Although the two weren't exclusive, Chett tending to get his dick wet anytime, anywhere, with anyone just as programmed, Chett seemed to have a natural incling toward her, and ended up asking her to marry him just after graduation, his father thrilled at the possibility of grandkids and Sandra's inheritence bolstering their own family's fortune.

From tiny waif of a boy, to a true blue American Stud, Charles Wentworth III was now both satisfied and thrilled with his family's future. His strapping, handsome Jock of a son made him proud, cleaning up well for his father to parade him around Gala's and business events, other big-wigs taking notice of the Wentworth's "good genes", not knowing what it took to build the boy up as you see here.

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the-californicationist · 6 months

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The Orchard

A gift for my sweet, darling @vampirekilmer...

Price has had enough of your bratty behavior, so he chases you through the woods to teach you a lesson.

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

TW: Primal play, breeding kink, dubious consent

You scrolled back through all of your text messages with a nasty sort of pride. You’d gone above and beyond with just how sexually explicit and arousing your poses were, splurging on outfits and toys, really putting on a show. John had been on a job for the past two months, deep undercover, and he could receive your messages but he was not able to reply. So, you started off slow; a nip-slip here, a bare butt in a mirror there…but, you’d become almost feral as his leave drew nearer, and your slutty selfies reflected that. You knew you were in trouble, and honestly, you couldn’t wait.

You got his first message in the middle of your bath, and when you checked your phone, your blood ran cold.

I am going to ruin you.

Then, the picture loaded. Price was still in his uniform, driving, holding up a fist full of paracord. He wore a wide, bone-chilling smile, and you knew deep down that he was ready to use his tools against you.

You scrambled out of your bath and threw on your clothes. You opted for leggings and a tee shirt, grabbing your running shoes and a thick pair of socks. If he was on his way, you needed to get a head start.

This wasn’t the first time you’d made him hunt for you. He had bought the giant 100 acre ranch for a reason. Price loved space, and he loved chasing you through it even more.

You sprinted through the house, out of the back door, and into the wide clearing, heading straight for the treeline. The grass crunched beneath your feet. You found some sort of pace other than frantic, and you chose some of the trails less-traveled, hoping to give him a challenge. He found you every time, but you were getting better and better at finding little hiding places.

This time, though, you were heading for the orange grove. Months ago, you and John had discovered a naturally occurring orchard on the property that you hadn’t seen on the map. The smell from the fallen, rotting fruit was heady and citrusy in the best way, and the ripe globes were full of sticky juice. It was an Eden.

Now, though, it was the end of spring, and the blossoms on the trees were heavy and wilting. Thousands of petals had fallen to the ground, but thousands more still remained in the branches, white and pink, looking like perpetual snow. The petals made your footfalls soft and inaudible. You found a large tree to hide behind and waited.

You didn’t have to wait long.

You heard his boots on the path. He was running, full out, coming for you without hesitation. When the grove came into view, he stopped. You could hear his panting breaths. Even though you couldn’t see him from your hidden spot, you could tell he was still in his fatigues. The swish of the canvas gave him away.

He didn’t care. John wanted you to hear him. He called to you from the edge of the orchard,

“I know you’re in here, sweet girl. I hope you’re ready.”

There had been times when he didn’t let you hear him coming. Once, you’d hidden in a small cave in the north quadrant of the ranch, thinking you’d finally outsmarted him, and just as you ventured out to check your surroundings, he had snatched you from above the cave like some sort of cryptid, silent and threatening. He dragged you up the rocky hill and ripped your clothes off at the seams. Your screams echoed through the woods, falling on deaf ears. He’d fucked you til you passed out, and he made you walk back with him, naked, his come dripping down your legs shamelessly. He didn’t let you sleep that night.

This time, though, he was toying with you on purpose. You heard him whistling skillfully. It was one of his favorite folk songs to whistle, sometimes while he was cleaning his guns, or just puttering around the kitchen in the mornings. But now, in the dusky woods, it felt deeply ominous and threatening. His tone was so pure and low, and he held each note out, sending it toward you like a lance, hoping to land his strikes.

“Come out, come out…” he called again, “Don’t make me wait, darling.”

There was a long, eerily silent pause, and then, not twenty feet behind you, you heard him growl through gritted teeth,

“I’m not a patient man.”

You turned your head to see him standing there in the trees, menacingly smiling at you. His grin was full of genuine joy. The lips were pulled wide, showing sharp white teeth, stretching his full beard, grown out from his time away, and the creases of his lids folded together, pulling tight around his bright blue eyes. His body was enormous. He always seemed bigger when he came home from his tours, as if the muscles had been overused, overworked, swollen from their stimulus.

You could see how his huge shoulders made the fabric of his shirt ripple and tug across that wide, furry chest hidden beneath the soft cloth. His waist was thick and strong, built like the trunk of some great tree, and his legs looked like they were taken from some Greek statue, referenced in all of the prototypes of strength and speed.

His gloves were gone, as was his hat; he was dressed for speed. You noticed, in these milliseconds you took to witness him, that he was clutching his paracord in his left hand.

At that sight, you bolted. Much like a rabbit running from its wolf, you sprinted through the grove, weaving through the thin trunks. You heard him right behind you, his boots ruining the soil, ripping up roots and gaining on you.

Finally, you felt him lunge for you, and you were caught around your waist, slamming to the ground, chest down. You reached for the roots of one of the trees, putting up a fight with your legs. You knew he liked to feel your fury, and you gave it to him. But, you were already tired, and he was so strong. His stamina allowed him to breathe normally after only a few seconds of having you pinned. You heard the sharp whine of the paracord being let out, length by length, just for you.

He reached for your hand, panting into your ear,

“C’mere, girl.”

John grabbed your wrist so hard it hurt, and he wrapped the paracord around it cruelly. When he grabbed your other wrist, you fought him, bucking him off of your back, trying to find your footing.

“You bloody little brat. Why are you pouring fucking kerosene on my fire, hmm? Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in?”

He put his hand over your mouth and pulled your head to his chest, forcing you to arch your back. He whispered to you now, dark and threatening,

“Sending me those fucking pictures, tempting me. Making me mad, had me wanting to fuck my hand until I was raw. I’m starving , and you’re the only thing I want to eat.”

With both hands bound behind your back, he let you collapse to the floor of the orchard, your chest and face thudding into the ground, knocking the breath out of you. He raked your shirt and bra up over your breasts roughly, letting your skin feel the cold grass and soil.

“John, please,” you started to beg, “I promise I’ll be good. I didn’t -“

“Good? You’re gonna be so good for me. Fuck, you’re gonna feel so goddamn good,” he was almost talking more to himself than to you. He was reckless and frantic, pulling your pants down to your boots, letting them bind your ankles on their own.

He’d left your panties in place, and he began to tug on them, gently at first and then not, letting the back of the thong dig into your flesh. Then, he pulled from the front, lifting your ass up towards him to do so, making the fabric tighten between your wet folds, framing your clit. John let go, but he didn’t bother to return the cloth to its normal position. He left it askew, knowing it would rub against you awkwardly.

He grabbed the back of your head and pulled you over to him on the grass. The petals and dirt sticking to your skin. John was kneeling, and he let you fall back prone while he undid his belt. You listened to his metal buckles and zippers as he freed his fat, flaccid cock from his pants.

Your furious lover grabbed your head again and held it up to his hairy base, his rod thicker than the tree roots around his feet. He smiled,

“Suck me hard, love. Won’t take much. Be a good girl, yeah?”

You nodded, but he wasn’t interested in your response. He was already lifting you up, one hand tangled in your sweaty hair and one beneath your chin, angling you to put his cock in your mouth.

Without hands, you could only use your lips and tongue. You rubbed your cheek against him, trying to find the fleshy tip, trying to show him you could be so good. Eventually, you managed to line him up, and as you did, he pushed forward, filling your mouth with his wide girth.

He left it there, letting you swallow around it. You couldn’t move your head; you had no leverage. So, once he knew you were good and settled, he moved it for you. He grabbed you by the hair at the base of your skull and pulled you on and off of his soft cock until it began to swell with his warm blood. When it was hard, you started to gag. It was filling up your throat, cutting off your air, puffing out your cheeks with its largeness.

John began to fuck your throat in earnest. He pressed himself in and out of your mouth, growing harder and thicker with each thrust. He grunted as he fucked himself into you, vulgar and animalistic. Finally, he removed you from his shaft and looked at your fuck-drunk face. He laughed, pushing you back down again,

“You like that cock in your mouth, huh, sweet girl?”

You moaned around him, unable to speak. He continued to praise you,

“Such a perfect fucking throat. Swallow it down, love. Just like that, fuck…”

He moved his hand from your chin to hold your neck in his warm palm, feeling his cock expanding your skin. With his thumb, he massaged long, soothing circles into your throat, almost like he was jacking himself off through your body. You felt tears run in hot rivulets down your cheeks, fighting your gag reflex to the point of pain, and your chin was coated with your drool. You were fully at his mercy.

Just to reinforce your helplessness, he shoved your nose into the root of his cock, burying your face in his dense fur, and the soft hairs tickled your nose and lip. You started to panic, realizing you couldn’t inhale nor exhale. Your body turned and writhed, and you could hear the snapping of the leaves as you fought against his unbreakable grasp. He pet your cheek with the back of his hand, coaching you through it,

“Shh, sweet thing. You know better than that. Count to ten for me. I know you can do it. I won’t let anything happen to you. Relax - ungh! - yes, that’s it. Fuckin’ perfect, such a good girl…”

His praise made you melt, and he was right. You weren’t going to suffocate. You were just panicking and needy. You took a moment to calm down, and you began to count.

One… two… three…

His cock slipped further down your throat now that you had managed to relax your muscles, filling you up in a sinfully delicious way.

Four… five… six…

He began to let out a low-toned whine, reeling from the pleasure of feeling you swallow him over and over and over, clenching your throat in a predictable rhythm, slithering your tongue along his aching shaft.

Seven… eight… nine…

The captain was breathing through his teeth now, struggling to hang on. You decided to push his limits and nuzzled into the thick hair, trying to lick it, matting it down, wet and sticky. He moaned and shuddered when you did, much to your acute satisfaction.

“Goddamn, you got me close,” he moaned, but then he pulled himself from you, letting you breathe again, “But, I have other plans. Been thinking about tonight for a long, long time.”

John left you there on the wet ground, and you caught your breath amongst the fallen petals. When you coughed, you could smell and taste the rotten orange blossoms, sickly sweet in your nose and mouth, tinged with just the slightest hint of botanical decay.

He was behind you now, spreading your legs as far as they’d go with your ankles still bound, and you felt the cool night air rush across your wet center. His fingers traced the outline of your pussy, touching all of its swollen parts except the middle where you needed him most. His big, strong fingers lingered there for too long, petting you softly like a child pets a bunny, the backs of his two fingers feeling your softness and playing around your edges.

Then, he stopped, and you felt yourself clench around nothing, aching for release.

“John?”

A loud slap rang out through the trees and you cried out from the pain, crawling away from him, your bare ass cheek burning like it was on fire. He hit you again, and left his hand there to dull the pain. Tears burned in your eyes as you wrenched them shut, feeling almost nauseous from the ache he had caused.

“That’s for teasing me, you little brat, and this,” he slapped your other ass cheek just as hard, “is for making me chase you through the bloody woods.”

You sobbed out an apology, hoping it would be enough,

“Please, John, I won’t do it again…please…”

You bit your lip to keep from crying, feeling his fingertips graze over the stinging flesh, making it spark and glitter like electricity.

“Naughty,” he rubbed his dripping cock over his handiwork, “You knew what you were doing. Beggin’ won’t help you now, hm?”

He positioned himself at your entrance and pressed his head to your hole, letting your body know he had arrived. Your pussy grabbed for him, clenching as he popped his flesh inside of yours, sinking into you with a long sigh of satisfaction. It had been so long since you had felt full, and with every agonizing inch of progress, he chased away the emptiness within you, making you whole again.

It felt good. Too good…

Suddenly, you realized he was fucking you unprotected. You usually used condoms, and he was always so careful. You craned your head to look back at him.

“John, do you have a condom?” You asked, your voice sounding meek and small, strained from your overwhelming pleasure. He knew you had a safeword, but you weren’t ready to use it.

“No, love,” he chuckled darkly, “I’m gonna breed you, right here in these bloody fucking woods, tied up like the naughty little brat that you are. Gonna fill you full of my come… all… fuckin’... night. Right here,” he shoved himself up against your womb, reaching it easily and pressing on it until it ached like a bruise, “Right here, deep, fuck…”

His hands were gripping your ass cheeks fiercely, pulling them apart so he could watch himself disappear into you. You felt your body working up an orgasm for him - not for you - he was coaxing it from you like a snake charmer, forcing it to build and build until it grew within you, hot and ready to burst.

You whimpered under his heavy form, feeling the cold grass licking at your sensitive nipples, tickling your belly and mons, feeling how your walls were gaping open to accommodate John’s huge girth.

“That’s it. Be a good girl and come for me. Want you nice and ready,” he grunted, feeling your contractions as your pleasure mounted to a head, tightening in your core and making your legs shake against his thighs, “Mm, fuck, that’s it! Fuck!”

“John, don’t come in me,” you whined, your voice slurred from your uncontrollable bliss, “I’ve been off the pill. You’ll get me pregnant if you…ungh…oh, my God…if you - shit!”

Another one, an aftershock, rocked your core. You heard it, wet and sticky, dripping down around his shaft. It made lurid, slick noises that made your cheeks flush with shame. The idea that he would willingly breed you out here in your forest made you unbelievably horny. It was so primal, so brutally feral, and with as much restraint as John usually used with you, his ruthless pounding was making you high on his affection.

“Yeah, sweet thing. I fuckin’ know,” he bent himself over you to suck on your neck, “I’m gonna bloody well make sure you are,” his voice became a little sinister as he whispered in your ear, “I took a pill before I chased you out here. Won’t be soft for a good while. I’ll just come and come and come until it’s fuckin’ pourin’ out of you. Want you to be drownin’ in it, yeah? Gonna… make… damn… sure.”

Each thrust was an ordeal with how sensitive you were. You could feel his heat pooling inside of you from the incredible friction. You couldn’t help but bear down on him, and he cried out, unable to hold himself back for much longer.

“John, please…” You weren’t sure what you were even begging for anymore.

“Say it, love. Use the safeword. Say it, before it’s too late. C’mon…”

You turned your head and met his eyes. The blue of them pierced you like a knife, and the turmoil they displayed made you even hornier for his spilled seed. You managed a tired smile and shut your mouth, turning away from him, knowing you’d won.

“Oh, fuck me,” he lamented, unable to keep himself contained.

You felt his hot, heavy ropes coat your insides for the first time, and it was everything you thought it would be. The gooey, warm sensation made your whole body tremble, and your pussy fluttered around him as if trying to stroke it all out of his shaft, hungry for more and more of his sweet, spun sugar.

He buried himself to the hilt and took a few deep breaths. Then, John turned your body over and kept rutting into you, hoisting your ankles over one of his shoulders and grabbing your thighs for support. He was completely fuck-drunk, his pupils blown wide like he was high, and he laughed softly as he looked down at you,

“Look at you, dirty girl. The flowers… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your hands were tied behind you, digging into your back, forcing you to arch up into him, and the position pushed your breasts up into the air, your nipples filthy with mud and soil, covered in white and pink petals from the orchard’s fallen blooms. He freed one of his hands to smear the vegetation all over your skin, pawing at your breasts and gathering up more petals from the ground to paint your body.

He rested his hand over your lower belly, right where he could feel himself spearing into you, his palm right over your womb. John pressed down with a closed fist right at the end of your hole, where your flesh stopped him, and he pushed his knuckles down, tightening your walls from above. It was a singular sensation, and your body decided it was a good one, sending all sorts of confusing, panicked signals to your brain. You screamed from it, and he chuckled,

“Mm, yes… squirm for me, sweet thing. I love it when you try to get away. Can’t, can you?”

“Fuck! John! Please! God!” You were trying anything and everything to keep from coming again. You wanted to fight, and you weren’t ready for him to have the satisfaction.

But, you were helpless to him. He pounded into you hard and slow, vibrating your whole body every time he hit your wet, sticky end, and you fell into another wave of orgasms. They were difficult to pick apart. You weren’t sure where one ended and the next began. John did not seem concerned about over stimulating you, pinching and holding your clit between his finger and his thumb once he removed his fist from your womb.

“Good girl… Gonna look so beautiful when you’re all swollen, hmm?” He pet your womb again, unable to stay away from pressing on it rhythmically, “Those breasts full and heavy. Needin’ me. Needin’ me like I fuckin’ need you.”

He thrust harder, pushing your legs down over your arched belly, slamming his length into your stickiness, chasing another orgasm. He found it in you, and you could feel his cockhead nuzzling your womb as it throbbed as if begging for entrance, painting your walls again.

Then, swiftly, he pulled out of you, lifting your ass into the air, making you take your weight on your shoulders. He put his face between your legs and started to shove his tongue into your pussy, lapping at his own come as it mixed with yours. It was feral and grotesque, and you loved every soft lap of his tongue. He was shoving it inside of you, spitting himself into your swollen slit, using his clean hand to push his come deeper inside, curling his knuckles to rub you to another painful orgasm, watching you come undone. Then, he went back to licking you, gathering any lost spend from your folds and fucking it back inside you with his pink mouth.

Satisfied with his efforts, he kept you vertical and began to eat your asshole, licking and licking and licking like a hound. He managed to squeeze his tongue inside it, writhing around, sticky and warm. His fingers joined in, pistoning in and out of you together in tandem, convincing your body to clench around him, desperate for more relief.

He held you tight, digging around in his pocket for a moment before showing you his gift. It was a t-bar plug. You thought he’d slip it into your ass, but he managed to wedge it into your pussy, keeping his come inside of you, safe and sound.

“Tha’s it. Sweet girl. Doin’ so good, hm? C’mon. Let’s get you inside. Got a long night ahead of us.”

He picked you up around your legs and hoisted you over his back like a sack of flour, marching you out of the orchard and towards home.

#captain john price #captain price #john price #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod #cod fanfic #captain johnathan price #feral

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 6 months

Text

Never Say Never

Chapter 1

Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader

Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.

No posting schedule. With also writing Everybody Hurts, I don't want to make promises and fall behind. I'm a working mom with a hectic life and don't always have time to write every single day. I've been wanting to write this Steve book forever and once I got the first chapter down, I couldn't wait to share it.

18+ only for eventual smut

Word Count: 4.3K

“No, Janice, it’s absolutely hopeless. I am telling you. I’m done with dating,” you sighed as you wiped the crumbs off the table and into your hand from Eli’s after school snack.

Making your way to the garbage can, you brushed them in. Grabbing the empty cup of chocolate milk, you popped it into the dishwasher, trying to stay on top of things so you didn’t have to do a last minute clean-up when all you wanted to do was go to bed.

“You can’t just give up,” your friend urged. “Come on, girl. You’ve only been on a few dates so far. I know they’ve been duds but the right guy is out there. I know he is.”

“I really don’t think he is. I’ve been on four dates in the last month and they have all been awful. And I only went on those dates because you’ve been pushing me to put myself out there, might I remind you. I was perfectly content with my life the way it was. The only guy I need in my life is my son. I’m telling you. Good guys don’t exist.”

“Except you know that’s not true because you had one.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the reminder. That familiar pain that tightened its hold until you felt you couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter that it had been two years. Any mention of Justin’s name and you were instantly sent straight back there, struggling, fighting for air you couldn’t find, descending into the pitch black of despair that had swallowed you whole for far too long.

But you couldn’t let it consume you, not anymore. You knew what you needed to do. Remembering your therapist’s words, you didn’t fight it back, letting the pain wash over you for a moment. Accept your emotions. It’s okay to feel them. Let them come, acknowledge them, and then move on. Don’t get stuck. Forward motion. Always forward motion. Remember the 3-3-3 rule when it gets overwhelming.

Your eyes roamed through your kitchen, searching for three objects. The box of Scooby snacks that Eli had, the smiling face of his favorite cartoon dog looking up at you. The tulips on the table that you'd picked from your garden two days ago, bringing a little spring into the house. The bright painting to the left of the fridge that Eli had made for Mother’s Day last year, his handprints creating bright yellow and orange flowers, with the words If mothers were flowers, I’d pick you.

You felt yourself returning from the dark, your chest loosening as you closed your eyes, focusing on sounds now. Your son’s feet moving across the floor of his bedroom, a lawnmower running a couple houses down, the low rumble of a motorcycle driving down the street.

It was working. You wiggled your fingers, rotated your ankle, rolled your head around on your shoulders. 3-3-3. Three sights, three sounds, and three movements. And just like that, you were back. Hand on the table, you slowly sat down in one of the wooden chairs you'd so lovingly sanded and refinished the summer after you and Justin bought this house, opening your eyes. You were centered. You were okay. You were moving forward whether you wanted to or not.

He was gone. There was no changing that. And as much as you'd wanted to curl up and die after it happened, you knew you couldn’t. You had Eli, this sweet little soul who depended on you, who was hurting too, and you had to be what he needed. You had to pull yourself out of your grief to be the stability and strength he needed. Fake it until you make it, right? That had worked for a while until it didn’t.

“Hello?” your friend’s voice called through the receiver. “Hey, are you okay? Is it happening again? Do I need to come over? Come on. Just say something, honey.”

“No. No. I’m okay.” Your fingers pressed gently against your forehead, wondering if it would ever get easier. Everyone said it would and sometimes you could even go hours without thinking about him but when you did, it would all come crashing down around you. He’d left you alone, alone to care for your son, alone for eternity based on the dating pool out there. “Sorry. I just…I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because I’ve already got my keys in my hand and I can be there in ten minutes.”

You smiled. Of course Janice already had her keys in her hand. She was your lighthouse in a storm, your safe harbor, your source of encouragement and support. She’d been there to pick you up when you could barely lift your head. She’d been the one to convince you to go to therapy. She’d been the one to come over and cook dinner for Eli, playing games with him, amusing him so he wouldn’t notice that mommy was falling apart in your bedroom on days when you just couldn’t find the strength. Janice was your lifeline and you had no idea where you would be without her. You certainly wouldn’t be the functioning human being you were right now.

“No. Really. I promise you, Janice. I am fine.”

“Okay…but you know I’ve always got you. Just say the word, girl and I’m there. Anytime. Anything you need.”

“I know. And I love you so much for it.”

“I love you,” Janice stated. “You’re my soulmate, you know.”

You laughed, “What about Matt? I don’t think he’d appreciate hearing you say that.”

Your friend snorted, “Oh, he knows. It was part of our vows. Didn’t you know that? He took this woman and her best friend on the day we got married. He’s aware of his place in my life and he’s okay with it because he loves you too. Also, he doesn’t have a choice because he knows I’d get rid of him before I’d ever let go of you if he tried to make me choose. You’re always my first choice.”

Matt would never make her choose. Janice had met Matt a little over a year ago and they had just gotten married in July. It had been a beautiful outdoor wedding on the beach. You'd been the maid of honor. Janice hadn’t even asked you, not really, just rolled her eyes when you asked if she planned on it and said she didn’t have to ask because it should have been assumed. Eli had been so handsome in his little tux as their ring bearer. You had fought back tears throughout the day, memories of your own wedding day ripping you apart. But you'd held it together, reminding yourself that this was your friend’s day. You were supposed to be overjoyed for her, not wallowing as you tripped down memory lane.

You loved Matt and the feeling appeared to be mutual. He was perfect for your best friend. He was the rational to Aly’s crazy, the simple to her complicated, the organization to her chaos. He was absolutely crazy about her and every single one of her little quirks, including her intensely close friendship with you and Eli. He’d been openly accepting of you being their third wheel from day one.

They’d only gone on five dates when he offered to take Eli to the batting cages for a few hours so the girls could enjoy an afternoon. When Eli got back, red-faced and shiny, a huge smile on his face, you had given your friend a look that said everything without you having to speak. It said hold onto this one. And your friend had been smart enough to do just that. They were already talking about trying for a baby and you couldn’t wait to plan a shower and shop for all the cute little baby things. To be Auntie, to cuddle a sweet little one against your chest again, to inhale that delicious newborn smell.

Everyone always said it went by too fast. You'd thought they were crazy when you were in the midst of sleepless nights and a screaming baby, feeling it would never end. But they were not joking. Your sweet little baby, with his head of downy blond hair, just like his father’s, had somehow become a little boy in what felt like a span of seven minutes instead of seven years. You found yourself willing time to slow down, to let you keep him little for just a while longer, but it just kept racing ahead, leaving you frantically trying to catch up.

“So, anyway, what was so awful about this one?” Janice asked, bringing you back to the present moment.

“Ugh…what wasn’t awful? He showed up to the restaurant already drunk. He kept trying to touch me, stroking my arm and placing his hands on my thigh. He kept slurring about how he was going to show me the night of my life. He ordered spaghetti and was eating it with his fingers, just picking up the noodles and dropping them into his mouth. It was disgusting. His hand was in a cast and when I asked what happened, he told me he broke it punching out the car window of his ex because he caught her cheating on him last week.”

“Holy shit!”

“Seriously! I can’t make this stuff up, Janice. It’s so bad out here. I don’t know why women even bother trying. From the guy who seemed okay until I walked into his place and he had the pile of toenail clippings on his coffee table to the guy who asked for the barista’s number while I was standing next to him to the guy who invited his ex so she’d see him with me to this guy, I’m just done. Maybe we only get one shot at real love in our lives and Justin was mine. Maybe that’s all I get. I mean, it was only ten years but a decade of happiness is more than some people get. Shouldn’t I be happy with that?”

“No. I refuse to believe that,” Janice argued. “You are far too amazing to spend the rest of your life alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have you and Eli.”

“Yes, but one day, Eli will be all grown up and move out and start a life of his own. And yes, you will always have me but do you really want to live in that house all by yourself? Don’t you want someone to fall asleep next to, someone to wake up next to, someone to rub your feet after a long day, someone to be your person?”

“You’re my person. Justin was my person.”

“Oh, honey…”

“Janice, I just…this dating site thing isn’t for me.”

God, it was so awful. With the birth of the internet, online dating was a fairly new thing. But when you weren't getting e-mailed dick pics or getting asked if you were looking for a booty call, then you were getting tricked by guys who acted like they were normal until you met them and found out they were anything but.

“Okay. So, ditch the dating site. Honestly, it probably wasn’t the best idea but Lauren was going on and on about these hot guys she’d met on there. She said it was like a pond full of fish and any woman could have her pick of them. I figured it would be worth a shot. At least, it would be a good place to start. I should have known better. It’s Lauren. She’ll hook up with anybody and gets bored way too easily. I am sure a different guy every night is exactly what she’s looking for. Maybe you just need to meet someone more organically?”

You sighed, “And how exactly do you think I’m going to do that between work and Eli? I don’t have a lot of down time.”

“No, I know, but maybe try to pop into the coffee shop more or the bookstore? I mean, you could do the bar but you’re more likely to find a sleaze who’s just looking for a one night stand or the guy with the tan line where his ring should be. Lord knows I’ve made that mistake more than once. But a bookstore, a coffee shop, the library? You might find a nice guy there, an intellectual who reads and writes poetry in his spare time. Oh! Maybe find your own Mr. Coulson.”

“Except I’ve actually been kissed and I am not a reporter and I definitely am not passing for a high school student,” you laughed, remembering how in love you and Janice had been last year in the theater. “And trust me, Michael Vartan is not teaching at the local high school.”

“Okay, fair enough. But don’t give up. You deserve the world, my friend. You deserve a man who looks at you like you’re the moon and stars because you are. I know he’s out there.”

“Janice, I…”

“Mommy! You have to take me to baseball practice, remember?”

Your eyes shot over to your son and then up to the clock. You'd completely forgotten. After Matt had gotten him into baseball, he’d begged you to let him join the little league team this year at school. You'd dreaded having to lug him to practices and games, giving up what little free time you had, but you could never deny your son anything. Their first practice started in fifteen minutes and now you were going to be late. Just one more reason for the mothers in this town to judge you and your inability to do it all as a single mom.

“Shit! Janice, I have to go. Eli has baseball.”

“Okay. Ohh, maybe you’ll find a hot single dad.”

“Oh my god. Good bye,” you huffed, hanging up. Your brain raced, thinking back to the paper that had come home with him about practices. What did he need to bring? “Okay, okay. Eli, go grab your mitt and I’ll fill up a water bottle for you.”

Your son raced off up the stairs and you groaned, knowing he’d probably be yelling down to you in two minutes that he couldn’t find it. You grabbed his bright blue water bottle, quickly filling it with tap water. Was there anything else? You smacked your forehead loudly. Cleats! You were supposed to buy him baseball cleats and you hadn’t.

“Mommy! I can’t find my glove!”

You closed your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose before making your way to the stairs, “I’ll find it. Just change into your athletic pants and a long sleeve shirt. And grab a sweatshirt, honey. It’s kind of chilly out today.”

Eli sat on the floor, pulling his pants on, when you entered the room. Your eyes did a quick scan, instantly finding the glove, lying on the floor right next to his bed. With a small smile and a shake of your head, you bent down and grabbed it, tossing it to your son just as he stood up, all dressed and ready.

“Ready to go?”

“But my shoes. I don’t have baseball shoes!” he yelled, pointing at his feet as if you weren't aware.

“I know buddy. I’m sorry. Mommy forgot but I will stop tomorrow right after work and grab you a pair, okay?”

“But then I won’t be ready for baseball! All the other kids are going to have the right shoes and I won’t!”

“Eli, we don’t have time to stop at the store right now or you’ll be late.” You walked up to your son, cradling his face, your favorite face in the world. Cobalt blue eyes, so like his father’s gazed up at you, anxious about not fitting in, not having the right things. “Look, I will explain to your coach. I’m sure he will understand.”

“He’s really nice. He’s Jeremiah’s dad. I like Jeremiah. He’s my best friend. We play superheroes at recess all the time. He’s Superman and I’m Batman. And sometimes we swap lunches because his dad always packs peanut butter and jelly and you always pack bologna and sometimes we like to switch. I asked you if he could come over and play and you said maybe but he’s never come over. Remember?”

You winced at your son’s words. It came back to you, months ago, Eli asking if his new best friend could come over to your house. You'd said maybe, the answer you gave when you didn’t have one or you were too busy to stop and really answer him. Being a single parent was hard. It was exhausting, often leaving you feeling like there wasn’t enough of you to go around.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I shouldn’t have said maybe and then forgotten about it. I’ll talk to his parents about it after practice today, okay? Now, come on. Let’s get going so you’re not too late.”

__________________________________________________________

You barely had the car in park before Eli was jumping out, racing across the pavement, eager to join his teammates on the diamond. You made your way over, taking in the gathering of young players, the air full of energy and excitement. Bringing a hand up to cover your eyes against the glaringly bright spring sun, you watched as Eli ran up to a young boy with a full head of caramel brown hair.

That must be Jeremiah. Wow, that kid was going to be all the girls could talk about when he got older with a head of hair like that. Eli pointed at him with a huge grin and you gave your son a thumbs up, letting him know you'd seen. He would never let you forget it if you didn’t follow through on setting up a playdate.

“Aly! Hey! Eli’s playing this year?”

“Oh, hi Tracy,” you replied with a smile as Jackson’s mom walked up with a coffee in hand. “Yeah. Janice’s husband, Matt, has really gotten him into baseball and he was so excited to play.”

“It’s so good that he has someone to stand in as a strong male role model in his life. You know, with his dad gone and everything.”

Your teeth gritted, the smile you were working so hard to keep plastered on your face now painful. Of course. You couldn’t possibly be enough for your son. He had to have a man in his life to be whole. It didn’t matter that you worked your ass off to make sure that your son never went without. It didn’t matter that you'd had to step up and work even harder, take on the job of two people. It would never be enough.

“Yeah, we’re really grateful for Matt. He’s really great. Eli just adores him.”

Tracy leaned in, looking like the cat who got the cream, your faults as a mother forgotten. “Have you seen the baseball coach?”

“No. I…I just got here but I do need to talk to him. Eli’s become best friends with his son this year and he’s never going to let me live it down if I don’t don’t talk to him about Jeremiah coming over to our house to play.”

“Lucky you. I’d do anything for Jackson to come play at our house if it meant his dad would come over to play too.”

“Umm…aren’t you married?”

Tracy laughed, shrugging, “I mean, what Tom doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? Seriously, wait until you see this guy. I am talking about grade A beefcake, honey.” She rolled her eyes, her head following, over to the right where a man was bent forward, pulling baseballs out of a bucket. “I just want to take a bite out of it. Have you ever seen anything so delicious?”

“Ooh! Are we talking about the coach?” asked Lilian as she idled up, her tongue running along her upper lip. “Have you ever seen such a delectable slice of cake in your life?”

You grimaced. No, they weren’t wrong. The ass that was currently up in the air, making it impossible for you not to notice, was quite nice. No. That wasn’t fair. There wasn’t a Georgia peach in existence that could outdo the one in front of you. He filled out a pair of jeans better than most women did. However, the way these women were drooling over him was pathetic. They were married. They were moms. And this guy, no matter how great his ass was, was a person. He wasn’t some piece of meat to be ogled.

“Well, thanks for pointing him out to me. I think I’m going to try to talk to him before he gets busy,” you said, eager to get away from these bored, spoiled housewives who were looking for excitement to fill their monotonous days. Striding over to him, you paused, realizing you had no idea what his name was. “Uh…excuse me? Coach?”

He straightened and turned and you gasped. Oh hell. The front view was even better than the back. Two eyes, the color of honey, peered down at you, coating you in their sticky sweetness, filling your mouth, making it impossible to speak. Jeremiah came by that head of hair honestly, this man's caramel locks falling effortlessly around his face. He smiled and it was even worse, lightning striking you where you stood. His entire face was pure sunshine, warming you from the inside out.

“Yeah?” he encouraged when you hadn’t said anything.

“Uh…oh…I’m so sorry,” you stammered, eyes closing, shaking your head. What the hell was wrong with you right now? “I’m Eli’s mom, Y/N.”

His eyes lit up with recognition, his hand running through those beautiful locks. Another lightning strike, but in an entirely different place, when you realized how large his hands were. Long thick fingers that had you thinking things you really should not be while standing at a child’s little league practice. Shame filled you as you realized you were no better than those moms you'd just judged. You simple weren't saying your thoughts out loud.

“Oh! Of course. Jeremiah talks about Eli non-stop. He’s been bugging me for months to have him come over.”

“Well, that’s actually why I came over to talk to you. Eli’s been bugging me too and I promised him that I wouldn’t leave practice without setting up something with you. So…is there any time over the next week that works for Jeremiah to come play?”

“What works for you?”

“Any afternoon or evening is okay, as long as there’s no practice. But of course then Jeremiah would be unavailable too so that would be silly. And obviously, you’d be coaching so you know when there’s practice. But I, yeah, anyway, I work in a pediatrician’s office and I get off at three every day so that I can get Eli from school. So, I am available for a date. I mean, for the playdate. For the kids. To have a playdate. At my house.”

The corner of his mouth curved into an amused smile and you just wanted a hole to open up in the dirt and swallow you. Why were you tongue twisted like a fifteen year old girl who was trying to talk to the cutest guy at school? You were a thirty-two year old woman. You'd been a wife. You were a mother. You were a nurse. You were educated. You'd gone to college. You should be able to string words together to make a coherent sentence.

“How about tomorrow?” he asked and you noticed how his eyes flitted down to your left hand, your recently bare ring finger. You'd removed it a month ago when Janice had kindly urged you it was well past time. “I actually have a meeting tomorrow night and my best friend is busy so I have no one to watch Jermiah. If you wouldn’t mind him coming your way for a couple hours, it would really help me out.”

“Oh, no. That would be fine. What time?”

You did not focus on the fact that he needed a babysitter. You did not think about how it sounded like Jeremiah’s mom wasn’t in the picture. You definitely did not feel a thrill that made your stomach flip at the thought of what that could mean for you. Nope. No reason for you to care if he had a woman in his life.

“Four thirty? My meeting is at five. It shouldn’t take more than an hour so I should be there by six thirty.”

“Four thirty is great. I’ll make the boys dinner and I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to have a couple hours to play. No need to rush or anything.”

His head tilted, tongue tracing his bottom lip, one eyebrow lifting, “Or I could grab a pizza on my way over. You know, as a thank you for helping me out and everything.”

“Oh…” Your stomach twisted at his words, the drop on the roller coaster, plunging fast, fear and excitement colliding within you at the thought of him hanging out at your house. The two of you sitting at your kitchen table, sharing food, talking. Those warm eyes, like the earth when the sun comes up in the morning, staring into yours. “That would be nice. I mean, Eli will be ecstatic. He would eat pizza every night if I’d let him.”

“Great.” He flashed you that smile again and you swayed on your feet, completely dazzled by that flash of white teeth, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Daddy! Come on! Stop talking! We’re ready for practice!”

“Duty calls,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows as he leaned in, his mouth so close to yours that you could smell the peppermint gum on his breath. “We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah…see you tomorrow.” You stood, frozen as you watched him make his way toward the group of second graders eager to start running around the bases. No, you definitely were not checking out his ass again. Nope. Definitely not. It suddenly hit you that you still didn’t know his name. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you yelled, “I didn’t get your name!”

He turned, grinning, “Steve! Steve Harrington!”

Chapter 2

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sturniolodreamz · 6 months

Text

tour bus - matt sturniolo

warnings - smut, sub!matt, mommy kink, a little bit of praise kink sprinkled in

a/n - iv'e never written sub!matt or a mommy kink before, so you guys will have to tell me if you like it or not.

tags: @ashleighpray23 @sturniol0z @ethereal-lovers

"Baby, you have to stop." He whispers in my ear. I just smirk at him in return.

"Y/n, Matt, you guys coming in?" Nick asked us as he was getting ready to leave the bus.

I answered for both of us. "No, that's okay, we are going to just stay here."

Nick shrugged his shoulders and left the bus with the rest. Once I knew they were gone, I turned to Matt.

"So, it looks like we're all alone for a while." I said suggestively.

"Come kiss me?" Was all he said.

"Are you gonna let mommy make you feel good?" I say, kissing his neck.

"Y/n....We don't have a lot of time!"

"Then we better get started, hm?"

He inhaled deeply. "Shit, how could I say no to that?"

I kissed him deeply once more before moving off of his lap so I could pull down his sweats. I could see that he was already semi-hard and sensitive. I began to palm him through his boxers.

"Y/n, no teasing, please!" He begged.

I made him look me in the eyes. "No, you do as mommy says, remember?" I told him sternly.

"Ah fuck! Please, mommy!"

"Please what, baby?"

"Please ride me!" he whines.

"Have you been a good boy? Are you sure you deserve that?"

"Yes, mommy I've been so good, you know that!"

"Fuck, Matt! Making mommy feel so good..." I trailed off, lost in a trance of pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum! Can I cum?" Matt asked me.

"Go ahead baby, I'm close too!" I said, a moaning mess.

Within seconds we came simultaneously, him filling me up with his hot cum. Out of breath, we both stayed still until we realized that our time was quickly running out.

"Fuck, as much as I want to savor this moment, they are probably going to be coming back any minute, so we better get cleaned up." Matt told me.

"Hey guys! You didn't have any fun without us, did you?"

Matt and I shared a small smirk.

Little do they know...

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

Text

With Good Weather Brings Good Breedings (18+ Fic) 🐰🌸

Pairing: Poly!KiriBaku x Black!Bunny Girl!Reader

Synopsis: In which your spring cycle comes a little earlier than usual and you’re too afraid of your boyfriends–whom you’ve been dating for five months–thinking you’re weird instead of telling them about your cycle during mating season. However, during a picnic thrown especially for you, your two favorite pros are more aware than you realize and are more than happy to help you with your little problem.

Story Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS STAY TF AWAY), Poly Romance, AgedUp!Pro!Bakugou & Kiri (they’re in their late 20s), Black!Reader, Bunny Girl!Reader, Mating Cycle, In Heat, Dick Crazed, Public Sex/Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Foreplay, Nipple Play, Light Foot Fetish (Toe Sucking), Clit Stimulation, Overstimulation, Deepthroating, Biting/Nibbling, Hair/Ear Pulling, Tail Stroking, Spanking, Face Fucking, Light Hints of Dacryphilia, Degradation, Name Calling, Pet Names, Multiple Positions (Doggystyle, Full Nelson, Mating Press), Non-Protected PIV/Non-Safe Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Mentions of Breeding, Squirting, Creampies, Facials, Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Happy spring, y’all!! Decided to celebrate by giving y’all another smutty short fic. You’re welcome, enjoy & thank you tons for the love on my work so far. Stay safe out there cuz COVID ain’t over. Wear your mask!! -Jazz

Chapters: Two, Three, Four, Five

Read on AO3 here!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

CHAPTER ONE: GIRL TALK

You step out of the Uber you bought minutes ago after saying thank you to the driver and tipping him for his safe driving and comfortable leather seats.

As he drives away, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the clean, cool, sweet-smelling air, hints of the warm sun, and fresh grass shavings from the park behind you infiltrating your senses.

‘Finally,’ you think as you stare up at the clear, blue sky. Spring is here.

Well, not technically since it’s a week away, but it might as well be officially here with the gorgeous weather now settling in. Gone are the cold winter days and snow on the ground. Now, all you see are flowers blooming on trees, kids in the park, and people sitting outside of the bistro you stand in front of.

You decided to meet up with your friends for lunch, both of who work at different agencies than you. Still in your cute little office fit from today, you walk into the quaint little bistro. It is not as packed on the inside as it is on the outside, so you’re able to find your friends immediately. They sit at a round table near the window, already having their cocktails and appetizers ready.

Mina aka pro hero Pinkie waves from her spot next to Jirou aka pro hero Earwig. “Y/N!” she shouts even though you’re a few feet away. “Over here!” You can see that Mina is dressed for the occasion in a pink sundress and a cropped jean jacket.

You giggle at your friend’s cute antics as you walk over to the table, giving each of them a squeeze. “Thanks for meeting me,” you coo as you take a seat across from them.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Mina replies before giving you a whistle. “Damn, girl, you look cute! I’d kill to have my ass look that good in a skirt!”

“Please,” you scoff but flush at her compliment. You admit you wanted to look cute today for the weather, your lunch date, and two particular people at the agency you work at. You went for a nice sweater, some comfortable heels, and a pencil skirt with the fabric cut out in the back to let your little cotton tail breathe.

You sit across from your friends with your ears free from the elastic band you usually put them in at the top of your head, both of them drooping down due to your relaxed state. As an animal hybrid, specifically a rabbit/bunny hybrid, you do everything in your power to be as discreet and as safe with your “animal parts” as possible. That means ruining your clothes to let your tail stretch and tying back your ears to avoid them getting pulled on.

“Thank you, but you look good in anything,” you tell Mina. You glance at Jirou in her oversized sweater and jeans that hug her slim hips. “You both do.”

“I tried to get her to ditch the sweater,” Mina says, nudging Jiro who playfully glares at her. “But I did manage to get her in the jeans!”

“And I look damn good,” Jirou snickers as their waitress comes over. You order your own cocktail and main course before the waitress hustles away and you dig into one of the appetizer plates set before you. “So how was work?” Mina asks as Jirou sips on her whiskey smash. “Since you changed the time for us meeting up, I’m guessing it was busy.”

“Oh, man, was it,” you huff, feeling good to have some food in you now. And to be sitting. Despite being an office assistant for two years, you were on your feet all day: scanning; running from floor to floor delivering papers; answering calls; sitting in on a meeting that your boss organized to meet with another agency CEO in America, and taking tons of notes, etc. Your poor little feet were about to explode!

You couldn’t wait for lunch to come which finally arrived at 1 PM. Once it did, you announced your departure to your boss and you were out. All your boss told you was to enjoy it. He trusts you and likes your work ethic, determination, and hardworking personality (as he’s told you before). You’re the type to stay late when no one else will and help out with extra tasks. That’s why you get extra leeway, such as having a two-hour lunch instead of just one.

“I’m shocked those two idiots even let you outside when you dress like this,” Jirou comments, nodding at the way your skirt hugged your hips. Mina giggles as you flush, sipping your cocktail. “Maybe Kirishima,” she purrs, wiggling her brows at you. “But definitely not Bakugou. I’m sure he’d force some sweats with his name printed on your ass for you.”

At the mention of your coworkers and boyfriends, you feel yourself get hot under your cashmere sweater. You sip your cocktail, twirling your tongue around the straw as you do, and advert your gaze from your all-too-knowing friends. They knew those two idiots at you by the heart, but they also knew you had them wrapped around your finger.

You’ve been dating Bakugou Katsuki aka Ground Zero and Kirishima Ejirou aka Red Riot for five months now. You’ve known them for two years since you worked at the same agency, though in different departments. While you were usually in the office, they were out patrolling and fighting crime, but occasionally stopped by to pick up reports or sit in meetings. You called them your coworkers since you technically worked together.

At least that’s what Kiri always dubbed you whenever he’d see you down the hall or in the cafeteria. “Hey, coworker!” he’d greet you with that big ass, sweet grin on his handsome face. You found yourself looking forward to seeing that smile and hearing that nickname as time went on and you got to know him better.

You didn’t know what to make about Bakugou for the two years you knew of him. He always seemed so cold and snapped easily, so you did your best to keep your distance. However, you still gave him a ‘good morning’ every time you saw him in the elevators or a ‘good night’ when you left the agency for the night. He never gave you so much as a nod or a look that always rubbed you the wrong way. You thought at first that he didn’t like you, mostly because of you being a bunny girl.

You weren’t blessed with the strength and phenomenal thighs of the bunny hero Rumi, but you did have the ears and the tail. Which is why you were sure Bakugou disliked you. People often have a misconception when it comes to bunny hybrid people, especially bunny girls: they’re too hyper; too jittery; too horny. None of that was true, which is why when you saw an opening for Bakugou and Kiri’s agency, you took it.

You wanted to prove to everyone that you were more than capable of being a ‘normal’ human being and a professional worker. Bakugou seemed to notice that eventually because one day, out of the blue, he complimented you on the PowerPoint presentation you gave for a meeting he and Kiri sat in on. “Nice presentation,” he said in his raspy, grumbly tone, which you realized was just his voice. “You know your shit.”

You were shook, blinking at him in shock. But he wasn’t being sarcastic or playing with you. Those vermillion eyes, which usually made you nervous, said it all. “T-Thank you,” you stuttered out.

That was over a year ago. Since that day, you, Bakugou, and Kiri became close friends. You ate lunch together, texted each other, and they walked you to the bus stop after work until they began driving you home. The romantic feelings that developed between you three came on strong but slow, but when it hit you, it hit you hard.

It hit you real hard. You began feeling that warm zing whenever they touched you or feeling your heart race whenever they gave you a smile. You were more than happy to keep these feelings to yourself, but they weren’t. So one Saturday night, they treated you to dinner and game night at their place. Under some candlelight and your belly filled with some good ramen was when they each took your hand and stared you down across their kitchen table with their eyes like sunken treasure.

“We like you,” Kiri had said softly, his cheeks a pale red. “Not just as a friend. As more. We want to be more with you.” You were in shock. Here two of the most popular and sexiest heroes were confessing their romantic feelings for you. You. Out of every model, celebrity, or famous woman in the world.

“We want you to be a part of what we have,” Bakugou added, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. “So don’t say yes unless you’re sure, dummy, ‘cause that’ll piss me off.”

After picking your jaw up off the floor and smoothing down your ears that shot straight up in excitement, you gave them both a genuine, needy yes and had the pleasure of tasting both of their lips for the first time. Each of their kisses had your foot twitching to thumb against the floor and your cotton tail begging to be stroked, but you managed to play it off cool. You three ended the night with some Mario Kart, ice cream, and cuddling on their couch.

Since that night, it’s been no one but you three. The past five months have been nothing short of amazing for you. While your relationship is still under wraps since people like to talk, Bakugou still walks past your cubicle to check up on you and Kiri always makes sure you get off and on the bus safely by standing at the stop whenever you’re going to or from work. It feels good to have them protect you. Worry over you. Adore you.

And though the five months have been amazing, there is still one thing missing. The sex. And that’s what you invited your two closest friends to talk about.

You sit up straight in your seat, feeling somewhat confident now that the alcohol is in you. “So I called y’all out here for a reason,” you begin, folding your hands on the table. “I wanted us to talk about something that’s been bugging me.”

Mina and Jirou sit at attention immediately, eyes on you even when the food comes. “We’re all ears, boo,” Mina says as she begins to chomp down on her burger. “Shoot!”

You wriggle your fingers nervously, trying to come up with a way to start this right. “So,” you begin, clearing your throat, “you when certain animals go into cycles when the spring comes?”

“You mean in heat?” Jirou asks, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, Momo and I have a kitten that went through that last year before she got her neutered. Why?”

You flush, embarrassment blooming in your chest, until Mina giggles. “Y/N, we know you go through heat, silly girl! You’re a hybrid; a bunny hybrid at that. Of course, you go through mating cycles!”

“But that’s just the thing,” you groan, frustrated already. “I haven’t been in a relationship while in heat in years. I’m usually always alone, so it’s easy to just hook up with someone or just use my toys. But now, with me being with Kiri and Katsuki…” You trail off, shame lodged in your core.

You have yet to talk to Katsuki and Kiri about your little “spring cycle.” Due to spring being mating season for many animals (especially mammals) you, as a hybrid AND a mammal, get it big time. It happens every year around the first week of spring but then fades over time and gets easier to manage when summer begins to come. It’s sort of like a period cycle except there isn’t any blood, cramps, or bloating.

However, you do ovulate, have tender breasts and mood swings, and become overly sensitive in terms of your body. Especially your nipples and clit. I’m talking about going braless and avoiding any mentions of sex to avoid your pussy going into hyperdrive. But this only happens during the first week of spring, which is the hardest stage to manage your life in.

You get so unbelievably, annoyingly horny. You awaken for days in a sweat and your pussy wet from the nastiest dreams you could imagine. You’ve had to have several bathroom breaks at work to get a nut because you’re unable to focus. You can hardly sleep at night, haunted by fantasies of getting bent over and fucked into a trapezoid, leading to you walking around with dark circles under your eyes and no tolerance for people who ask if they can touch your tail.

No amount of toys or stimulation with your fingers will help you during this stage if your body doesn’t agree with how many times you make yourself cum. Lately, you’ve been searching for hookups to cure you of your urges, but last year after one of your one-night stands pulled on your ears, you decided to cut off all kinds of physical contact with anyone when you’re in heat.

Well, until Kiri and Bakugou came into the picture.

But after the first stage is done, you’re usually fine. Once that first week is up, the second week is the second stage, and though you’re still horny, the level goes from 100 to about 50. You’re finally able to focus on daily tasks. You can sleep better. Giving yourself one nut is enough for you.

But now that you have two amazing, loving, and sexy partners–two that aren’t just hookups or FWBs–you are more than reluctant to tell them about your cycle, let alone have them even see you during it. You’ve already felt the first few symptoms of your cycle beginning to take root: naughty daydreams of the three of you together, hands and mouths on you; your body growing hot when one of them touches you; your tail and ears twitching at their scents.

You don’t know if you can handle your cycle this time. Not with Kiri and Bakugou in the picture. You’ve thought about asking them for a break until the spring ends, but even thinking about asking that of them makes you sick.

“Well, girl, that’s a given!” Mina replies to you, snapping out of your thoughts. Jirou nods, her mouth full of her lunch. “I’m sure Kiri and Bakugou know about your cycles. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be dating you. I mean, they have to know from the sex, right?”

Your friends look at you expectantly. You advert your eyes, instead staring out the restaurant window at the park across the street. Mina gasps, making you cringe. “No way,” she says, shocked. “You haven’t had sex with them yet? Y/N, it’s been five months!”

You stir your straw around your cocktail glass, biting your lower lip. “W-Well, we wanted to take it slow,” you murmur. “I told them about my less-than-satisfying past when it comes to relationships and sex, so we agreed to wait and get to know each other more.”

And it’s true: Kiri and Bakugou were more than happy to put sex on the back burner in the five months you began dating. You’ve come close a few times–nights during heated makeout sessions on your couch, Bakugou’s hands on your ass, Kiri’s hands cupping your face as his lips move against yours. But you’ve never gotten each other’s clothes off. You don’t even know what their dicks look like…but fuck, do you want to know. You’ve never wanted anything more!

But because of your past relationships ending before they began due to most of your partners wanting you to be a bunny girl out of a porno, and hookups that barely left you satisfied, you decided to act against temptation. You brought your concerns to your men’s attention three months into your relationship at your place after a movie and Bakugou’s hands down your pants.

“I just think we should slow down,” you said softly, each of your hands in theirs. “I really like you both, and I just don’t wanna move too fast, y’know?”

“Of course, cutie,” Kiri had cooed, nuzzling his face into your cheek. “Whatever makes you comfortable. We’d never cross any line with you to make you feel pressured.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Bakugou added. “Just stop wearin’ these around me unless you wanna get fucked silly.” His hand slid across your jeans, his fingertips squeezing your asscheek.

You almost regretted saying anything that night. While you were incredibly happy with them without that kind of physical contact, you couldn’t deny that you wanted them all over you. You wanted them to touch you; kiss you; tease you; use you; fuck you in every position possible and then cover you in their cum. You wanted to be covered in their kisses and smell like their cologne, their scents imprinted on you like tattoos.

But how the fuck are you supposed to tell them that? Plus, with the rep bunny girls get anyway, you wouldn’t want them to think of you the way other men you’ve been with have: a sex-crazed slut. When you did finally have sex with your boyfriends, you wanted it to mean more than just getting a nut.

“Well, how is this gonna work when you’re in heat?” Jirou asks curiously. “Don’t you have to fuck someone as part of your natural cycle?”

You looked down at your food, pushing it around your plate with your fork. “Well…yeah,” you admit. “Hence my past hookups. Usually, I’m good with just myself to help me out, but as I’ve gotten older, my urges have gotten more intense. But it’s different with Kiri and Katsuki! I really care about them and I don’t wanna jeopardize our relationship because I’m horny.”

“Did you ever think about them caring about you so much that’d they help you regardless of the sex?” Mina asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You blink at her because no, you haven’t thought about that at all. Mina hums knowingly. “Knowing those two and how crazy they are about you, they’d do anything to make sure you’re comfortable, Y/N. So if they have to make you cum ten times to get you out of your cycle, then so be it!”

Though she’s probably right, you still feel that uncomfortable tug of anxiety in your tummy. How can they be so sure Kiri and Bakugou would be okay with this?

As if hearing your battling thoughts, Jirou reaches for your hand from across the table. “Just talk to them about it,” she says encouragingly. “That doesn’t hurt, right? Just bring it up the next time you see them and see what they say.”

That’ll be tomorrow since Kiri and Bakugou took off today for a break. “I’m sure you’re just freaking yourself out here, Y/N,” Mina says brightly. “Those morons would give anything to see you smile.” She smiles at you, winking. “Trust us.”

And though you smile back, you still feel those nervous butterflies fluttering about in your stomach.

This is gonna be a long spring.

#my works #my fic shit #smutty smut #suki baby #kiri the shark boi #poly smut #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku x black reader #kiribaku x y/n #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #bunny girl

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blingblong55 · 7 months

Text

Ghost of the past -Alex Keller

Based on a request:

Alex Keller angst with f reader? 👀 Do your worst, break my heart --- F!Reader, angst, death of character, cheating, established!relationship ---

It's perfect, a relationship between a soldier and his civilian girlfriend, nothing more than happiness and great talks. That is what the plan was meant to be like. The day he met her, something you wish to know how it went. Platonic, is all he explained, but she was not meant for that and neither were you. Farah, the girl he worked with, was so sweet you too swore she was just a friend, clung to that. Just a friend. His gaze, was not on yours but on her as she wore a gown to the military ball. Oh sweet sight he held dear to him. He never called your relationship love, something you did behind his back. The chilly autumn wind, the scarf that he kept in his home even to this day. Last reminder of what once was.

Singing in cars, dancing in bars and kissing at American football games when his favourite team won. Getting lost in the woods so he can have just five more minutes of you. Family album his mum swore you and he would create the minute he married you. "Come on sweet pea," something he always said to you, now said to his oh-so-sweet love. The love he had for you is long gone, something he wished to hold for just five more minutes, get lost in the woods with you for that time. Just him and you.

Dancing in the kitchen's dim light, the fireplace keeping you warm as the winter winds came by. Your scarf on the sofa as he made love to you that night. His clothes and boots were under your bed as he claimed your body over and over again.

"Alex Keller will be your teammate for this, Farah," what a way to meet the jewel of his glimmery eyes. The family home you swore he'd grown old in with you, now left abandoned at that mossy end of the road. No more drives to the airport for him, no more keeping up with American football teams for when he came back home to ask who would be going to the Superbowl. He lost the one cheerleader that kept her chant even at the worst of times. Hand in hand, hospital rooms, sick days and now...tombstone he cleans.

"Alex!" you giggle as he carries you through the field. His brothers chasing you both. Flag football, trying to win the heart of his dear sweet pea and the carrot cake his lovely mother made. Did she know you were the first girl he took home? Did she know you were the one who held his hand when she failed to cover for him on the battlefield? Maybe not but could she care he lost it all after you?

Now, he walks through that empty football stadium alone, the January wind making his nose red. The same one you kissed with his rosy cheeks. "And this was him at 5, Halloween at the old house," his mum shared the picture of the young Alex.

"One day, you and I will walk that same street, trick or treating with our children," he kisses your temple on that November night.

"Wait, what does that mean?" you ask him, he chuckles and cups your face. "They are going to the Super Bowl, sweet pea," the Eagles t-shirt hung from his shoulder.

"WE WON!" He raises his arms and then turns to you, a smile on your face. Eagles shirt, worn by you.

Springtime came by last spring morning with you. The night time came quickly and so did the end. You drove to the local shop for some medicine and then you saw it. Her hand, greeting his mothers. Your heart ached. Was this the reason why for Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Year's he told you, he would be away and not contact his family? Was he creating those memories with her? Deception, betrayal and solitude. All given in the blink of an eye by the man who fathered your unborn child.

Flashbacks swarm you. August, when he kissed your forehead and drove you to the first of many lectures you gave as a professor. September, the way he made love to you, how by morning he made breakfast, how in that night of love, you made the child that would hold his last name. October, the sweet nothing he whispered before he went on deployment. November, December and January of that time, how you didn't hear from him or anyone of his family. Betrayal began on the second of October. March only brought blues and grey skies.

April brought black gowns.

"R/N, please let me explain. I got carried away, I forgot-"

"You forgot me, Alex! You forgot me!" you cry, the resentment felt by the child growing in you. "It's not that, I swear it's just-"

"Was it not enough? To give you all of me? I never asked for much. Respect and honesty? Was it so hard for you to even give me the decency to not run around town with her?"

"It's not good for the baby-"

"Don't you pretend to know between right and wrong!"

That night, it is said that a soldier so fierce and strong like him became the weakest of them all. He lost the battle between you and life. He became a man...no...he became the ghost of a man. A ghost that haunts the home he made with you. The empty cradle, the empty side of the bed that belonged to you. The two tombstones he visits every day. The picnics and conversations he has with two souls who wanted him home, all as he created another home with a woman who fell in love with someone else.

Wise men say, don't chase two lovers, not when the right one is there, playing the fool as you chase the one who can't give you more than a glance or a word. Stay with the one who made you feel safe in a danger zone. Stay with the one who even after all, made you soup, tucked you in bed and reminded you of how strong you are, all whilst she carried your child. A child he never met, a child that went with you to the great big sky.

"I'm sorry, sweet pea," the drunken man cried to the tombstone of what was his beloved. Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, all watched him beg to the skies for a second chance at this. To press replay on that time of his life, when he had it all. The girl of his dreams, the woman set to carry his blood, the woman who cheered him on during war. Now, all that is left of you, is all you left at home. The way you set the portraits, the furniture and the nursery, to only be watched by the ghost of him. Fool, the man he became.

A/N: I love Farah, okay, so this is no hate for my baby Farah, I just needed to make this interesting

Tags: @liyanahelena @sadisticfiremelon @aquavenus58 @iamashadows-blog

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seijorhi · 1 year

Text

Scar Tissue

here there be monsters :))

Miya Atsumu x female reader

w.c 5.8k

tw: blood, gore, body horror, character death, people are munched does that count as cannibalism? sort of implied non-con, horror themes, yandere themes

Standing in the middle of an empty cabin, you find yourself slightly nonplussed.

Every once in a while guests forget to check out on time. It happens. You give them the courtesy of an extra half hour and eventually they show up at the front desk a little frazzled but mostly apologetic. No worries.

Once or twice it goes past eleven, and you’ve had to knock at the door and politely remind your guests that checkout was at ten, so if they please wouldn’t mind hurrying it along so you could begin checking them out, that would be greatly appreciated.

In the grand scheme of things, an hour or two delay isn’t the end of the world, it just means you need to kick your ass into gear to get the space ready for the next visitors. So long as they’re not rude about it, you’re happy enough to let it slide without charging them extra.

This, however, was a first.

With the rain setting in and the humidity only rising, you’re in the beginning of the shoulder season, meaning the few bookings you do have are sparse and sporadic, the cabin set to be vacated this morning not due to be occupied again ‘til Thursday.

Ten o’clock had come and gone, then eleven, and you’d once again grabbed your spare set of keys, intent on marching down there to find out what the hold up was.

Except there was no answer when you’d knocked, and when you’d finally relented and let yourself in, you’d found the cabin empty.

Not just of its occupant, but his belongings too. The bedroom’s a mess, sheets rumpled and dirt tracked through, there’s dishes in the sink, a pot of stone cold tea sat on the coffee table, a half empty cup beside it. You desperately don’t want to see the state he’s left the bathroom in.

The keys, mercifully, are by the door.

Which is… odd. You have the guy’s credit card details on file so charging the room isn’t an issue, and yeah you’re not thrilled about the mess (why, exactly, did he feel the need to track half the forest in with him?) it’s more that, well, you have an out of hours key drop box for that very reason. If he’d wanted to check out early or there was some kind of an emergency… he could have at least let you know.

You had better things to do this morning than waiting for a no show.

—

In the busier months when tourists show up in droves to see the mountains and the hot springs, your cousin drives up to stay with you, and you usually get one or two of the girls from town to come help keep the place clean and tidy and running smoothly.

At present, you’re it.

Sheets and towels have to be washed and replaced with fresh ones, you have to vacuum the floors, sweep the dust and the dirt away, mop, clean up the kitchen and the bathroom, wipe everything down – all in all, it takes a solid hour or so, and by the time you’re done, lugging the dirty washing off to the laundry, it’s early afternoon.

A little after four thirty, you hear the telltale sound of tires on the gravel driveway out front. A car door slams and a minute later a familiar face pops up in the entryway.

“Makoto,” you greet. “I missed you yesterday.”

The park ranger, tall and handsome, smiles back at you, “Yeah, well, even lowly rangers get the occasional day off. Taishi came ‘round, right?”

“He did. I told him the same thing I always tell you.”

Makoto lets himself in, closing the door behind him and making his way to the countertop that acts as your front desk. “Which is?”

“That as much as I appreciate the concern, I’m not some helpless damsel all alone in the woods. You don’t need to keep coming up to check on me, Mako.”

The ranger shrugs, “I know.” He smiles, brown eyes crinkling in the corners, “You remind me of my little sister s’all. I wouldn’t like the idea of her out here all by herself, either.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what Taishi said, minus the whole sister thing.”

He hums, “If it makes you feel any better, we used to come check on your grandma too before you moved up.”

“Oh, she told me. She’d go on and on for hours about the strong, handsome, young forest ranger who’d stop by – I think she was a touch smitten.”

Makoto bursts out in a bout of surprised laughter, and despite the painful tug inside your chest, you find yourself smiling at the sound.

In his mid-thirties, tall, broad shouldered and more importantly, raised right, these days you think she might’ve been onto something.

“Well, in any case, no bear sightings, maulings, creepy strangers or break-ins to report. Nothing but rude, messy guests disappearing into thin air,” you huff. When he lifts an eyebrow, you’re quick to elaborate, “Not like that, he just didn’t bother coming to check out and he left the place a mess.” You sigh, “It’s not really a big deal, more annoying than anything.”

“I can imagine.”

Before she passed, your grandma had instilled in you a strong sense of hospitality towards any guest who entered your home. “D’you want some tea? You’re on the overnight shift this week, right? I have coffee if you’d prefer that.”

It’s a dance the two of you have perfected over the past few months.

You offer him a drink, he politely refuses.

You offer him something to eat; snacks, leftovers from the night before, onigiri from lunch – you’re still adjusting to cooking for one, there’s always plenty left over and you’re more than happy to share – and he politely declines that, too.

Then, you remind him that the daily check-ins aren’t necessary and he doesn’t have to go out of his way to keep dropping by, he makes some non-committal noise, and come tomorrow, he’ll be back on your doorstep and you’ll do the whole thing all over again.

Only this time, he doesn’t get the chance – interrupted by the reception door swinging open, a tall man in worn jeans and a rumpled shirt ducking his head to step inside.

No, not a man, you realise with a horrible jolt.

A ghost.

It’s the dark hair that strikes you first. Scruffy, longer than you remember, it’s missing the bright, bottle blond of his high school days – so much so that for a split second, you think it’s his brother who’s appeared out of the blue.

And then he grins – smirks, really, and any doubt vanishes from your mind. That expression isn’t one you’re likely to forget any time soon.

Hooded eyes flicker towards Mako, giving him a brief, dismissive once over. “‘m not interrupting anythin’, am I?” he drawls.

Makoto answers before you can, which is a good thing, you think, because currently, words seem a bit beyond you.

“No, no ‘course not. I was about to head off soon, anyway.”

Despite saying it, Mako appears perfectly content staying right where he is.

If you spared him more than an ounce of your attention right now, you’d see the small wrinkle in his brow, the way he shifts, straightening his spine, his shoulders, how he angles himself between you two – calm, yet wary, ready to intervene if need be.

But you don’t.

It’s been years since you last laid eyes on Miya Atsumu.

Back then he was a senior with you, a talented volleyball player on track to join the national youth team and undoubtedly go pro. There was even talk of the Olympics, he was that good. You were… not nearly as interesting.

Mere weeks from graduation, that changed for the both of you.

“Miss me?”

Your throat dries. “… Miya.”

“You two know each other?” Makoto asks, glancing between you.

Atsumu chuckles, wearing that same lazy grin, “Aw, we’re old friends. Been a while, though, hasn’t it?”

Not nearly long enough.

“Yeah,” you say with a halfhearted nod. “Something like that.”

Before you can stop to think better of it, you take Makoto’s hand in yours and lean over the countertop to press a kiss to his jaw. “You should get going,” you tell him, your voice light and breathy. Play along, your smile begs. “I’ll call you later.”

And you could honestly kiss him again, because Makoto sighs then, rolling out his shoulders, “Yeah, I s’pose. Taishi’s on patrol tonight, he mentioned he’d stop by if he had a chance. I think Yuki made you something for helping out with the baby shower.”

Yuki had indeed gone to the effort of baking you some thank you muffins, Taishi dropped them off yesterday when he’d come to check up on you. Mako knew that.

She’s not alone out here, asshole.

“I’ll keep an eye out. Now go, you don’t wanna be late.”

Mako gives you a soft look, slowly withdrawing his hand from yours. “Call me if you need anything, love.”

He spares Miya, watching your interaction with a faintly bored expression, a short, perfunctory nod, “Nice to meet you, excuse me,” and with one last look your way, he leaves.

And you immediately wish he hadn’t.

You’re not the same girl you were in high school, though. You won’t cower behind Makoto – no matter how tempting the thought is.

“Boyfriend, huh? Ain’t he a little old for ya?”

Whatever fondness had been on your face quickly vanishes, and you turn your attention back to Miya. “I can’t imagine how that’s any of your business.”

Swaggering on further inside, Miya takes the place Makoto vacated, leaning over the counter, his big, broad frame filling up the tiny room. An athlete from the day you met him, both he and his brother were always bigger than you, stronger than you, too.

Now, looming over you is a veritable wall of muscle. He must be what, 6’4? 6’5? When the hell had he gotten so huge?

You swallow, heart fluttering uneasily inside your chest.

The heat radiating off of him, the scent it carries with it, permeates the air around you – he smells like the forest, fresh and earthy, cedar and sap and musk. He smells like the rain drizzling outside.

Rolling off of him in waves, it’s thick and dizzying.

“Just makin’ conversation,” he replies, unperturbed by the thinly veiled hostility in your voice. “It’s been a while, no harm in catching up with old friends, right?”

“We’re not friends, Miya. We weren’t back then, either.”

He feigns a pout, a hand to his heart. “Ouch. Ya weren’t nearly so harsh when your boyfriend was around.”

You take a deep, calming breath in, only to regret it a split second later when your head swims. “I have things to do, so if you don’t want one of the cabins, then leave. Please.”

Miya offers a toothy smirk, “Why else would I be here?”

Hundreds of miles from home, years after he dropped off the face of the earth and you moved away, what other possible reason would he have for showing up in this tiny mountain town and walking through your door?

Why else indeed.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, waking up your computer with a jiggle of the mouse. “I’ll just need a credit card to put on file – how many nights?”

A booking was a booking, you didn’t have to like Miya to take his money.

“Yeaaah, I haven’t got a credit card on me. S’fine, though, I’m not planning on runnin’ off on ya.”

Of course he doesn’t have one. Why would he, looking like he’s rolled out of bed and walked here, no luggage or car in sight.

You grit your teeth, forcing a terse smile. “That’s fine, I’m sure we can work something out.”

If he trashes the place or leaves you high and dry at the end of it all, you’ll send the damn bill to his brother instead.

—

Night falls and the rain does not let up.

Fresh from your shower, hair damp, sitting cross legged on your bed there’s an edge of something you’re yet to put a finger on niggling away inside of you. It’s not restlessness, not anxiety exactly; a prickling at the back of your neck, an uneasiness that settles in despite you being in the safety and comfort of your own home.

The scars on your back twinge, a shiver rolling down your spine.

From the window, you can spy the cabins in the distance, the warm glow of light spilling out from the darkness. After you showed him the way over and left him with the keys, you’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Miya, which suits you perfectly fine.

Still, you can’t pretend that the old adage ‘out of sight, out of mind’ rings particularly true right now.

Beyond a bruising grip, Miya never laid a hand on you. He never followed through with the whispered threats, the promises held in dark, greedy eyes that seemed forever drawn to you.

But, as you’d confided in a friend at the time, it wasn’t what Miya Atsumu did that frightened you, it was the thought of what he could do.

… You’ve faced worse things than Miya Atsumu and come out the other side, though. He’s a relic of your past – an unhappy relic, a reminder of things you’d rather forget, but a relic all the same, and in a few days time, he’ll be gone.

Another glance out the window, the wind picking up – howling as the trees rustle and shake, you nibble at your bottom lip. You should go to bed.

You grab your phone.

A few swipes of your finger brings up your last conversation with Mako. You type up a quick message; sorry about before, i panicked.

After a moment of deliberation, you add; the kiss was probably a bit too far, i really am sorry!

Adding a smiley face at the end to hopefully alleviate some of the awkwardness, you send it.

He’s in the middle of a shift, and while it’s not as if he’s run off his feet in the middle of the night, you’re not expecting a reply any time soon.

Within about thirty or so seconds, however, the read notification comes through. Then he starts to type up a reply. Watching those three little dots flicker across your screen, an odd sort of anxiousness fluttering in your gut, you wait…

And wait…

… And wait.

Either he’s writing out a mini essay, or the poor guy doesn’t have a clue how to respond. You’re on the cusp of letting it go for the night when, finally, his reply comes through.

You don’t have to apologise for being uncomfortable, I get it.

I’ll be your fake boyfriend whenever you need it.

It’s not much – an assuaging of guilt, perhaps – you feel lighter for reading it anyway. With the sound of rain pouring outside, the strong winds, soothing in spite of their violence, and a distant clap of thunder, you set your phone aside, flick off the lights and tuck yourself into bed.

—

Red. The trees, the forest floor, the moon hanging low in the sky, your own hands, bathed in a crimson glow. Blood falling from the sky, drenching the earth beneath bare feet.

Fire, burning in your veins, your scars lashed with it, throbbing, searing, excruciating. You shriek and howl and scream ‘til your throat bleeds with it. You keep screaming. You’d claw yourself apart if you could, surrender to death, to pain, to nothing at all – if it’d stop the hurt.

Laughter echoes around you. Mocking. Biting.

Claws in your spine, teeth at your neck. Fingers drag through the dirt, scrabbling for purchase.

Is this what it feels like to die?

Air punched from your lungs as you’re split in two, a weight above you, puffs of hot breath fanning your face, a tongue lapping your cheek.

Pounding, throbbing, aching, ceaseless, agonising–

You jerk awake with a heaving gasp to find you’re not alone in your bedroom. Makoto, still in his ranger’s uniform, hovers over you with an arm outstretched, a concerned look twisting at his face.

“Your front door was wide open, banging in the wind. I did call out, but when nobody answered I got worried,” he tells you, his brows knitting together. With the back of his hand, he touches your forehead, and his frown deepens. “You’re burning up.”

Even as he says it, your sweat soaked pyjamas cling to your skin, your head throbbing, a dull, heavy ache that reverberates through your entire body. “What– what time is it?” you ask blearily, voice like sandpaper.

“A little after seven – early still.”

Your attempts to rise are thwarted by a gentle, insistent hand pushing down on your shoulder. “Nope. You’re not getting up, you’re not well. You need rest.”

“I have to–”

“No, you don’t.” Again, he gently pushes you back down. “It’s just that Miya guy staying, yeah? No other guests?”

You mumble something in the affirmative, and Mako nods to himself, “Okay, that’s fine then, we can deal with that. I’ll keep an eye on the front desk and anything else that crops up and you can go back to sleep and rest up, alright? I’ll bring you some water and advil, and some food later if you’re feeling up to it.”

There’s plenty to argue with him about that.

For one, he’s fresh off a twelve hour overnight shift, running on less sleep than you, and while it is the off season, there’s still plenty to be done around the place, none of it his responsibility. Not to mention Miya’s probably going to come sniffing around later and you really, really don’t want those two crossing paths any time soon – especially after all the weirdness yesterday.

You like Makoto, you’d even consider him a friend. The last thing you want is for him to think of you as some burden he should’ve steered clear of.

And besides, feverish or no, you’re not an invalid. You can get up and push through, just as soon as blinking stops making you want to hurl.

“Mako–”

“You can argue all you want, I’m not going anywhere.” He pats the top of your shoulder and straightens up, “I’ll make sure this place doesn’t burn to the ground without you for a few hours while you get some rest.”

“…‘kay.”

He smiles, “Good girl.”

Sleep, when it finds you, is fitful.

You dream of yellow eyes, a monster with a snarling maw chasing you through the woods.

You dream that you’re back in hospital again, flickering in and out of consciousness. Like an angel of death, you hover unseen, watching the team of doctors and nurses scramble to save your life.

‘The EMT’s said she kept mumbling about a wolf.’

The doctor scoffs, ‘Wolves went extinct back in the 1900’s. Look at her back – no wolf did this.’

The creature had stood on its hind legs, covered in thick, black fur. With its snout and tail, claws and gleaming white teeth, wolf was all your delirious brain could conjure.

You’re not alone in this dreamscape, you come to realise. Standing on the other side of the room, grinning, Miya stares back.

You blink and the doctors and the hospital around you are gone.

The two of you stand in the woods back behind your childhood home, the gurney and your ravaged, twitching body lying between you. Your heart thuds loudly and he shifts with it, the boy you knew, cocksure and arrogant, and the stranger who walked through your door wearing his face.

Back and forth, back and forth, like a glitch. He’s drenched in blood, it colours his teeth, smeared across his jaw. His hands are dripping with it.

The dream melts away, and when it reforms around you you’re in the forest outside, the moon hanging low, full and bright.

‘Can you feel it burnin’ through ya?’ the dream Miya asks. ‘Second time’s the charm. Won’t be long now.’

He fades into shadows, your grandma takes his place. Her wizened face kind and gentle, she takes your hands in hers. They’re soft and worn, warm, so familiar that it makes your heart ache with grief and love and sorrow. Tears well, even as you smile at the sight of her.

‘Why, child, were you in the woods that day?’

Because I heard it cry out, the words stick in your throat, it cried out in pain, and I wanted to help.

—

“You’re getting worse.”

Teeth chattering, you manage a weak nod, “I noticed.”

The dumpling soup he’d brought you lies mostly untouched, though you’d made some effort slurping down the broth. You’ve no appetite, the mere thought of trying to eat right now making your stomach churn. At the very least, you had hoped the drugs you’ve loaded your system with might’ve helped ease the aches and pains, the throbbing in your head – alas, no such luck.

All you want to do is burrow under your duvet and sweat it out, let whatever’s raging through your body run its course, and then you can sleep for a week.

“Mako, go home.” Every word is a slow, painful effort. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” He cracks a smile, placing a fresh glass of water on the nightstand beside you. “‘Sides, if I do get sick, you’ll come take care of me too, right? Return the favour?”

“Mhm, sure.”

For a moment, something akin to delight dances in his eyes, yet he’s quick to sober, the reality of the situation not escaping him. “You’re not getting any better,” he says. “Kick Miya out, close up for a day or two. You clearly need the rest.”

The authoritative tone brooks no room for argument, so you simply hum in acquiescence.

If you actually stopped to consider it, you could almost say it’s a blessing that you’re sick now, at the very beginning of the rainy season when tourists and visitors to this part of the mountain are few and far between. Closing your doors for a short while wouldn’t hurt you financially when there was no guarantee of business to begin with.

And as far as disrupting Miya’s holiday plans goes – you care even less about that.

Maybe the fever dreams are still muddying your head, maybe it’s that in your current, rather pathetic state, your capacity for generosity and forgiveness towards his teenage self has dwindled well below what you could manage on a good day.

Either way, a fresh wave of goosebumps prickles at your skin. You want him as far away from you as humanly possible.

“Where’s my…”

Makoto diligently picks your phone up from the nightstand and passes it to you. Each of the cabins has a phone, the numbers pre-programmed into your cell in case of emergencies. After finding the right one you tap on the call button, setting it to speaker and laying the phone back down on the pillow beside you.

It rings once, twice, the noise like a jackhammer to your skull. Makoto frowns as you wince, a soft, discomforted noise leaving your lips, but before he can interject, the call’s answered.

“Yeah?”

Licking parched lips, you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to gather your wits (and ignore the violent pounding inside your head) long enough to string together a coherent sentence.

“I– the retreat’s closing, you can’t stay here. Sorry for the… short notice, or whatever. Just– just leave the keys, I’ll waive the rate for last night.”

There’s a short chuckle on the other end of the line, “You’re not sounding too good there, sweetheart. You feelin’ alright?”

“I‘m fine,” you force out. “Can you be out before dark?”

Ignoring the question entirely, Miya snorts, “Lying really ain’t your strong suit, y’know.” There’s a short pause, and you can almost see the shift in his expression, the wicked looking grin taking shape as he speaks again, “You want me to come over and keep ya company? I just hate the thought of you sufferin’ through this all by yourself.”

Mako’s eyes narrow, his lips pulling into a frown.

“No, I want you to leave. Please.”

“… Well, since you’re askin’ so nicely, guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I’ll leave the keys by the door.”

He hangs up.

The victory feels hollow, almost. Too easily won. Something insistent tugs at your subconscious, but you’re too exhausted to pay it any mind. With a sigh of your own, you meet Makoto’s eye.

“What?” you ask, sinking back into your pillows.

To his credit, Mako doesn’t reply straight away, seeming to chew on his words before he gives voice to them, “It’s none of my business, I realise that. I haven’t– You act different with him. The way you talk, your whole body language, it changes.”

He’s not referring to your conversation on the phone just now.

“You want the juicy backstory?”

Makoto hesitates, but curiosity wins out. He nods.

“There isn’t one, really. We went to school together, he was good – really good – at volleyball and thought that meant he was entitled to whatever he wanted.”

“Which was… you?”

There’s no attempt to mask the distaste in his voice. Mako’s the very antithesis of Miya, though, to treat someone like that, to believe yourself entitled to them would never cross his mind in a million years.

You nod.

“Huh…” His expression turns thoughtful then, head tilting as his brow furrows, “Doesn’t strike me as the pro-athlete type, you know what I mean? Sure, he’s big, but…”

But the wild, scruffy look ruins it. Nothing about Miya seemed to fit. It was difficult to put a name to; the clothes were wrong, he felt out of place – like a lion prowling city streets, or snow falling in mid-July.

“Mm. He went…missing’s the wrong word, I guess. He ran off for a few days.” The words come slow, laborious, but Mako doesn’t push you. “And when he came back… he stopped playing volleyball, stopped showing up at school, he was… different. That was after I was in hospital though, last I heard he’d dropped off the face of the earth. I never thought I’d see him again.”

Mako hums again, his attention drifting to the scars peeking out from your bare shoulder. Usually they’re covered up, but with the summer heat and humidity, the thin straps of your pyjamas do little to hide the ugly marks from view.

“Get some sleep,” he says eventually, rising from his seat. “I haven’t gotta leave for a few hours yet.”

—

When you’re pulled from sleep next, your bedroom’s painted in a golden glow.

There’s no sign of Makoto. A handwritten note lies folded on your bedside table, trying to make sense of the scrawled message only makes the radiating pain inside your head grow worse. The light’s too bright, every noise amplified tenfold – the clock downstairs ticking away, cicadas chirping, the sound of a truck barrelling down the winding road out front and the wind whistling through the trees. It’s deafening, all of it, and you can’t do a thing to block it out.

Despite the oppressive heat, you find yourself shivering, curling trembling limbs around yourself as you sweat and whimper. Your skull feels like it’s slowly being cleaved apart, every breath a shallow rattle. Even your blood burns, liquid fire that scalds you from the inside out.

Surely your heart, racing frantically within the cage of your chest, can only take so much of this before it gives out.

Through the delirium, you begin to realise that something is truly, deeply wrong.

And then you hear it, the front door creaking open, a large body crossing the threshold. You barely have the energy to lift your head, “M-Mako?” you croak out, fingers weakly curling into the sheets around you.

“The ranger?” a familiar voice calls, footsteps thudding down the hall. “Nah, he left a while ago.”

Your stomach twists, a sharp, lancing panic lost to the haze of aches and pains wracking your body as Miya appears at your doorway, dark eyes flitting over your pathetic form, drinking it in.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “Hurts, don’t it?”

“Go… away,” you whimper – to no avail. Miya strides into your bedroom like he owns the place. Walks right up to where you lie, shivering and helpless.

You don’t think it escapes either one of you that right now, you’re entirely at his mercy.

You can’t stop him from taking a seat on the mattress next to you, his massive frame looming over you. Can’t do a thing but flinch when a rough fingertips push a lock of hair back from your sweat slicked forehead and trail down your cheek.

“Only a few more hours, you’re nearly through the worst of it,” he tells you.

Through the worst of what?

He hushes you when you let out a frightened whine, stroking your hair, “I’m not gonna let ya go through this alone. You’re mine, my fuckin’ mate, and if that asshole hadn’t–” he breaks off with a huff, the muscle in his jaw working away. It isn’t until a sharp pain breaks through the throbbing haze that you glance down at your leg – at the hand he has resting on your thigh, and the razor-like claws digging into the soft flesh there.

Eyes widening, a strangled noise escapes you.

In an instant the claws are gone, replaced by normal fingernails – if not for the gruesome looking gouge marks dug into your thighs, the blood that wells to the surface and spills down your leg, falling in fat droplets onto the bed sheets below, you’d think you imagined it.

The sharp burst of pain fades, the wounds closing before your eyes – until nothing but smooth skin marred with streaks of red remain.

Miya stares at your thigh for a moment longer, seemingly lost in thought. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re dark, resolute. “He’s not around to stop me this time.”

You simply shiver, closing your eyes to try and block it all out.

None of this is real. You’re hallucinating, or dreaming – you have to be.

‘Wolves went extinct back in the 1900’s. No wolf did this.’

The room gets darker, moonlight creeping in through the window, and the pain gets worse. At some point, Miya shuffles you over a bit to lie down beside you. He takes you into his arms, ignoring your pitiful attempts at struggling and tucks you into his broad chest.

His scent, the deep timbre of his voice as he speaks to you, his hands, wandering over your clammy skin. Even in your delirium, he won’t let you forget that he’s the one here with you.

Eventually, the words stop making sense, syllables blurring and twisting together. You can only lie there, waiting for the pain to end, for your fever to abate while Miya takes advantage of your weakened, sickly state.

The first snap comes out of nowhere.

White hot and agonising, it shoots up your leg, radiating like a shockwave. You choke on a scream, eyes flying open.

Miya’s hands are nowhere near your legs.

There’s no time for you to comprehend the pain, much less how a bone can spontaneously break on its own; another sick crack echoes through the room – your femur.

And the howl that rips its way free of your lungs is something animalistic. Tears leak from your eyes as your back arcs up off the bed, only for a second, and then Miya’s sweeping you up into his arms, holding you close. Without a word of explanation – not that it’d do you any good, not that you’d understand – he carries you through the house, out into the balmy summer night and the forest that lies beyond.

Wailing and shrieking like a wild thing, your bones snap and elongate, tearing through your skin. Thick, dark fur sprouts across your body, the tatters of your clothes falling to the dirt below, your jaw cracks, blood filling your mouth, spilling down your chin.

In a small clearing he lays you down on the forest floor and pats your head, “You’re gonna do great, babe.”

You snarl in response.

Muscles tear from bone, growing, reshaping, your teeth sharpen and claws burst through the beds of your fingernails, the same happening to your toes. Your face contorts, a muzzle violently forcing its way through the front of your skull.

You lose your mind to the pain. Writhing in the dirt, bathed in the glow of moonlight, you lose all sense of self. There’s only blood and agony and a hunger that gnaws at the pit of your belly.

And as your bones settle, the last ripples of the change fading away into nothing, you stagger to your feet, taking in this new world of yours.

With eyes sharper, a nose a thousand times more sensitive, ears picking up a cacophony of noises from miles around you, the assault to your senses is near overwhelming. Yet instead of whimpering and cowering from that, you relish in it.

You’re a beast born to hunt. There’s a scent in the air, mouthwatering, rich–

A low whistle sounds behind you, and on instinct you turn, teeth bared in a vicious growl. Yellow eyes stare back from a human face, he smells… familiar. Like you. No… no, something more than that. There’s a bond there, a tether between you two; sire.

He grins, “Look at’cha. My perfect little mate.”

Mate?

You hesitate, ears twitching. That intoxicating scent of prey still carries on the breeze, you can hear their beating hearts, voices in the distance, every instinct within you screaming to follow it, to hunt. Yet you still yourself, waiting – for what?

A low whine slips from your muzzle and he laughs.

Head tilting back to soak in the moonlight, his grin wide and inhuman, the change sweeps over him, too. Bones crack and shift, skin ripples and reforms. In mere seconds, a monstrous, furred beast stands in his place and when he speaks next, it comes not from his maw, but echoing in your head.

Poor thing. You’re hungry, need to eat – first time really takes it out of ya.

It’s all the permission you need. Bounding across the forest floor, you chase after it – towards the voices, the yellow lights of the ranger’s station twinkling on the mountainside.

Perhaps when you wake up curled around Miya, freshly human, slathered in blood with body parts strewn around you and the taste of raw meat on your tongue, some part of you will shatter irreparably.

For now, though, the promise of tearing into warm bodies and sating that empty, gnawing hunger, of ripping into flesh and muscle is enough to have you salivating as twin howls shatter the calm, summer night air.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere miya atsumu #yandere atsumu #yandere miya atsumu x reader #yandere atsumu x reader #read the warnings this one is not for the squeamish #:))

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postmodernbeliever · 1 month

Text

Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Four: Best Gravy in Town

^^ guys if anyone knows a better way to make gifs than giphy or capcut let me know.. cant deal w this atrocious quality anymore

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 4,813

dedicating this one to @sp00kybas ;) <33

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You’d stayed in your fair share of motels. You once road-tripped it with a few girls from college down to the Carolinas for spring break, and the few times you went with your father to visit your family for Christmas after moving out tended to stretch into staying at the dumpy Seafairer nearby to escape the week-long chaos at nights. You were aware of their atmosphere, the lack of amenities and comfort– but this motel was not like the others. This one felt like the room you watched horror movie protagonists stalk into suspiciously, where you scream at the television screen, “Don’t go in there, that’s clearly a trap, dumbass!” But here you were, in it anyway. Fox struggled to find the restaurant that Sheriff Hale recommended on the drive to the motel, so he dropped you off apologetically and set back out to find some food for you both. The agent helped you check in and he was kind enough to carry your bag inside for you, even he made a face at the vibe of your room, which was all the more disconcerting; but he promised he wouldn’t be gone long, and so you felt alright with being alone. You were a big girl, right? You could handle it.

Everything was going smoothly. You’d hung up the few spare suits and dress pants you’d curated for your first-ever go-bag, and you laid out your toiletries neatly in the bathroom. You placed Liane’s rock on the nightstand beside the bed. The Kansas sky was a deep black you’d never seen on the East Coast, so after admiring the clearest view of the stars you’ve ever seen, you flicked on every available light and tried to soak up the yellow warmth of the offputting space. You sat around for nearly forty minutes awaiting Fox’s knock at the door. You flipped through all the television channels, getting stuck on the adult videos for a minute before snapping yourself out of curiosity; when he still didn’t show up, you decided to step into the shower and rinse the day off. You triple-checked the lock on the door and shut yourself in the dingy bathroom, trying not to think about the last time it was really cleaned. There was dirt caked in the grout of the floor, and the mirror had all sorts of suspicious water stains, but the bathtub was clean enough and you tried not to nitpick. You stripped down, popped out your contacts, and cranked the faucet to the hottest temperature it would reach. The water pressure from the showerhead was abrasive, but you didn’t mind; it beat against your back like a drum, and for the first time all day, you were comfortable. You took your time massaging shampoo into your hair, which had shrunk into a frizz ball by the end of the day, and you took deep breaths, trying to push all images from work out of your mind. You would’ve succeeded at finally winding down if it weren’t for the tapping sound you heard, incessant against what sounded like glass.

You peeked from behind the shower curtain, finding nothing in the bathroom but your soiled clothes on the toilet seat. It was then that you gazed up and found a small window, barely a foot wide, stationed above the shower. There was no curtain covering it, no blinds, and you instantly panicked. There was no way to see out of it without standing on something to elevate yourself, and you couldn’t risk balancing on things in a running shower, so you rushed to turn off the water and wrap up in a towel. Tracking wet footsteps onto the shag carpet, you shuffled the spare desk chair from your room through the doorway and lugged it into the shower, carefully stepping onto the seat. You mulled over what to do when you did discover the source of the noise: if it was some peeping Tom, you’d have to get your gun, simple as that. If it was the wind, you’d probably laugh at yourself for being so easily afraid. If it was a branch, you would promptly feel like an idiot. But as you pressed up on your tip-toes and looked out the little window, you found none of your options. Instead, you found rain. Round, heavy raindrops battered the glass in droves, so hard in fact you feared they might shatter the window. You dropped your head in slight embarrassment because you should’ve known– heat frizzes your hair, but humidity turns you into the Einstein you resembled minutes ago. You ignored the most obvious sign. You hopped off the chair and pulled it out of the shower, trying not to beat yourself up.

After you finished the bathing that was so childishly interrupted, you felt much better. You shimmied into a fresh pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt that donned your high school mascot and plopped on the creaky motel bed, running a comb through your hair. And finally, a shower and a scare later, a knock sounded on the other side of the door. You rushed to open it, only to find a drenched agent on the other side shielding a greasy brown bag beneath his suit jacket, duffle bag in hand.

“Oh, God!” you exclaimed, “Come on, come inside!”

“I wish I’d checked the weather forecast,” Fox groaned.

The man stumbled inside and you awkwardly wiped the rain from his cold shoulders, gratefully taking the paper bag from him. Your stomach was growling. Setting the food down on the desk, you rushed to tidy up after yourself. Your old clothes were still strewn across the bathroom, and you left a trail of tissues and wet towels behind.

“Do you, uh,” Fox paused, the squelching of socks in his shoes interrupting him, “Do you mind if I hop in your shower real quick?.”

Your lips turned down in a sympathetic smile. The agent was shaking. You could only imagine how cold he felt. “Of course, go ahead. Go warm up, I’ll get the food out for when you’re done.”

Fox’s eyes squinted in a kind smile and he shuffled through the room, trying to avoid dripping as much water on your carpet as he could. He locked himself in the bathroom, duffle bag and all, and when you heard the shower head creak, you went back to clearing the room of all your junk. You zoned out to the sound of the muffled water running, and every so often you’d hear a squeak of feet against the bathtub, and you’d blush. Fox Mulder is showering in my room, you thought, my work partner is naked in my motel room. You did everything to avoid the picture in your head as you ripped the brown bag open and spread it across the desk, creating makeshift plates to eat the food he worked so hard to procure. There were two double cheeseburgers, a big box of tater tots, a soup cup full of what looked like brown gravy, and about one hundred ketchup packets. You chuckled softly as you dealt the food out. You shoved the recliner by the front door over to the desk, beside the wooden chair you climbed on not long ago, so he’d have somewhere to sit. Resolving to finish packing away your things and find a place to throw your dirty clothes, you continued to not think about who was in your room, and what he was doing.

When Fox opened the bathroom door, soft curls of warm mist spilled out behind him, humidifying the corner of the room. He found you resulting to throwing your dirty outfit on the floor in a huff when you couldn’t locate a laundry basket.

“Woah,” the man chuckled, walking behind you and setting down his bag by the window across the room.

“No hamper!” You pouted.

“I wonder if I’ve got one next door. I left my clothes hanging over the shower railing, by the way, I hope that’s okay.”

You turned around to find your partner standing by the door in real clothes, regular ones, and it never crossed your mind he was a person, like you, until now. Fox had on a pair of sweatpants, likely old ones by the fraying at the knees, and a boxy blue hoodie missing its strings. It looked like it once fit him but now was too big. His hair was wet and spiky, and it fell haphazardly over his forehead– he probably wiped it with a towel before he came out, yet neglected to brush it, leaving it a mess. You wondered if he ever brushed through that hair, or if running his hands through it was enough. You also wondered about how often he looked like this; if he was this comfortable at home, or with his friends, or if you’re seeing a rare version of a man that tends to fall asleep in his dress shirts. You wished you didn’t pick him apart so often, but there was so much to see, and you were so unbelievably curious. His gaze softened at the sight of you in normal people clothes, too, and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. Since he met you he wondered if he’d get the chance to see you out of uniform at some point. He liked this you, the you with no lipstick or collars. You looked your age, with your glasses sitting just so on your bare face.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, that’s fine. I’m… sorry you got stuck in the rain,” you consoled, starting to feel vulnerable with just him in the room this way.

“It’s okay, it’s just a little water. Thanks for letting me clean up.” Fox’s eyes darted to the bag behind you, and he said, “I’m starving, how about you?”

“Oh, yeah. Me too.”

You moved to sit in the desk chair, but Fox tutted, “Hey, no, take the recliner.”

“Why? This chair’s fine,”

“Just sit in the comfy one. You still look tired.”

You didn’t really know what to say. Those two sentences seemed like different points, but something in his face connected them. He wanted you to relax, and you couldn’t do that in a hard chair. So you obliged his request and settled into the mothball-scented recliner, which creaked under the pressure of you. You tucked your legs into a criss-cross position and reached for one of the foil-wrapped burgers, fingers working fast to peel it open. You sunk your teeth in hungrily, which you were. You haven’t had a proper meal since yesterday. As you took another big bite before finishing the first, you caught Fox staring at you with a goofy expression, eyes wide.

You wiped the corner of your mouth where you felt burger sauce dribbling, and you asked, “What?”

“You can eat!”

You shrunk into the chair a bit, all of a sudden feeling the extra weight in your stomach and thighs like a brand. “I haven’t had anything today.”

“No, it’s not a bad thing,” the man added quickly, “I know you’re hungry. It’s nice to see you eat. Don’t hold back, please.”

You wanted to believe he wasn’t seeing you through the lens you saw yourself. With all the chaos of the past two days, you hadn’t had much time to ponder on how he perceived you. But you knew you weren’t stick-thin, and you knew you weren’t as pretty as half the women you passed in the J. Edgar Hoover building just on the way down to the basement. Fox had been nothing but kind, but almost too kind. Maybe he pitied you, or he knocked you directly into some category in his head where he stores all of the girls he could only ever see as the sweet one, the chubby one, the forever friend. You took a smaller bite of your burger as he shoved nearly half of his into his mouth at once. He had burger sauce on his lip, too, and when he looked at you, you motioned for him to wipe at it.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got a little something.”

“Where?”

“It’s- uh,” you moved to show him again, pointing at where your bottom lip curved. His eyes followed your finger, and he stared for a moment. “Right here.”

Fox wiped his lip with his thumb and then licked the residue clean off. He smiled bashfully. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You took another small bite of your burger and watched him flip open the box of tater tots. He eagerly uncapped the gravy and made a starving grumble. “The lady said they had the best gravy in town, y’know. Swore we had to try it.” He gingerly dipped one into the cup and popped it into his mouth, and it took mere seconds for him to smile. “Oh, you’ve gotta taste this.”

You reached your palm into the box and picked a tot, and you dipped it generously into the gravy, counting on its good review. But when you took a bite, you tasted nothing but package gravy- maybe even worse than when you’ve made it at home. You scrunched up your nose and said, “This tastes like I got it at the grocery store.”

“I know it does.”

“Why’d you act like it was good then?”

“Because,” Fox giggled, “I don’t know, I thought it was funny.”

“You’re a dork,” you blushed, swallowing the tater tot and deciding you’d have them with ketchup from now on.

It took Fox about three more bites to finish the entire burger, and he dove into the box after that, plowing through the tater tots and shitty gravy he paid good money for. He ate like a teenage boy, dripping sauce and leaving crumbs behind, wiping greasy fingers on a napkin every two bites. It was a little gross, but it was endearing in a way, too. He wasn’t trying to come off any other way than how he was naturally in front of you. You wished you had the same freedom. As you nibbled at your food, Fox noticed how he’d scarfed down half the potatoes and you hadn’t even had another.

“I thought you were hungry.”

“I am,” you sighed.

“Then eat! Eat more! Come on, I saw you take that big bite before,” he chuckled, “What, is it not good? I can get something else if you don’t like it.”

“No, it’s not that. It tastes fine.”

The room fell silent for a minute, and Fox stopped himself from asking why. He graduated with a degree in psychology. If he thought for a second, it would be clear to anyone why you weren’t eating. He leaned back against the desk chair and opted for a soft, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t care how you eat, or how much. You’re hungry, so you should eat the whole thing. I don’t care.”

You shifted anxiously in the recliner, twiddling with the foil wrapper. “Well, I-”

“This is about your weight, isn’t it? That’s what’s bothering you?” Fox pushed.

“I mean...”

“Put that out of your mind. You’re exactly what you should be, and if you looked any different, you wouldn’t be the girl who just got assigned to my shitty job. I like you as is.”

Truth was, he really did like you as is. A pound less wouldn’t be right. You took up just enough space. You were soft at the edges, and your suits looked pretty on you, and he couldn’t imagine you in any other form. To think you thought of yourself as undeserving made a switch flip in his chest.

“You know, nobody told me how nice you are,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really Miss Popularity around the office.”

Taking a bigger bite out of your burger, and making him smile, you asked, “What does that mean?”

“I find it hard to believe you got assigned to the X Files and nobody mentioned anything about me.”

“Well, they mentioned you were a bit odd , but I didn’t question it, I guess.”

Fox leaned back against the rigid chair and closed his eyes, wondering if it was worth going through it all again. He’s tried to explain himself before, but it always ends in confusion, misunderstanding, or worse. But you were going to learn about him whether it was by working alongside him or hearing gossip elsewhere; God forbid people start to lump you in, too, and misjudge your character or your beliefs simply by association. He would hate to see you get stuck in the basement of the FBI all because he’s distinguished himself as the resident loser of the institution. But what’s worse- to hear it from the source, or to find it out later than you wanted to, before you could change it? He didn’t want to take away your choice, but he also didn’t want to lose you. He just got you. Somewhere in his gut, though, there was an inkling, and it was on that that he acted.

“Well, y’know, the work I do on these unexplained cases runs pretty deep. You haven’t really had time to see the extent of the stuff I investigate. People don’t respect my work, they think it’s a waste of time and resources. That I’m some freak who runs around chasing monsters,” Fox began.

“Monsters?”

“Monsters, cryptids, spirits. Aliens. Every case file I have has some kind of element to it that reaches beyond the realms of what logic and hard science can explain. I’ve come across vampires, shapeshifters, people who possess unexplainable psychokinetic powers or seemingly religious divinities. I’ve shot men only to see them bleed green, and yet after all of these experiences, I still can’t seem to prove that it all exists. The trail goes cold or disappears completely, making me look crazy. And I know these things exist, the proof is in my work and the people whose deaths will never be reconciled, but they don’t exist on paper, and if I can’t submit it in a report then the bosses just laugh. There are so many dark forces you haven’t seen yet in my work, and I’m sure you don’t or won’t believe in them, but this is what I do, why I’m banished to the bottom floor.”

Silently, you polished off your burger. The agent sat across from you like a nervous wreck, eyes searching your face for some hint at how you took him. But all you did was wipe your mouth and hands and tuck your half-dry hair behind your ears. Once you mulled it over, you asked, “Why do you do it, then?”

Without hesitation, he said, “My sister.”

By the somberness that overtook him, you knew it was time to tread lightly. “What happened to her?”

Fox rose from the chair and tugged at his sweatshirt, walking past your chair and toward the window. You turned to lean against the back of the recliner and watched him stand before it, taking stock of how the rain smacked against the window like it wanted to take shelter inside the room.

“She was taken when I was twelve. Abducted.”

“By who?”

“Well, that’s where it gets tricky,” the man laughed, but it didn’t make you smile. There was a weight to it that sank in your stomach. “I believe- I know that it was aliens. Or people working with the aliens. I mean, I watched her get taken through our living room window. She was in her pajamas, and a blinding light burst through the house, and everything shook, and she just floated up into the air and… poof . She was gone. I’ve never been able to find her, no matter how hard I look.”

Resting your chin on the back of the chair, you believed every single word he said. You couldn’t understand why, but you just did. Maybe it was how his voice slightly shook as he confided in you, or how he kept his back to you so he wouldn’t have to see the judgment on your face. But you knew he was telling the truth, whether or not the events were fact. He believed it, so you believed him.

“I wanted to work on the X Files because I believe there’s more to what happened to my sister,” Fox continued, “I think somebody, somewhere, knows what happened to her. And I want to find out what that is. And if it really was aliens, which there is endless but intangible proof of, then who’s to say all the other highly contested beings humans have been dreaming up and swearing sightings of for thousands of years don’t also lurk in the darkest corners of our world, where they live in secret? Hiding in shadows, taking people, surviving in their own way? I need to give everyone a chance. I've had my story invalidated over and over, I can’t do that to other people. There are people out there who believe in ghosts and monsters, and who have lost family to circumstances that no one else will give the time of day, Ro. I can’t stand by and let these people suffer. I want them to be heard the way nobody hears me. I want to make people feel safe, to stop the monsters.”

If God was truly real, this would be the moment you believed He was at work- within Fox. He didn’t need to be as articulate or intelligent as he was to make you believe it. The man’s body glowed with his belief and devotion. His eyes were glistening with tears and the fear of letting you know what he stood for. You saw it in the way he shoved his hands in his pockets, how he looked at the ground, how his chest rose and fell like he’d just confessed to murder. That man was shouldering a burden beyond your comprehension, yet he gets up every day and helps other people who struggle as he does, all on top of being scrutinized by everyone in his field. You thought of a young boy who lost his sister, a young boy who needed help and spent the rest of his life ridiculed for searching for answers, and your eyes began to glisten, too. They glistened with a lot of things as you looked through him.

“You used the name.”

“Huh?”

“Ro. You called me Ro.”

Fox turned his back to the window, looking considerably more tired than he had before. “I guess I did.”

You untangled your legs and stood up, face hot, walking over to the window. Fox saw the raindrops in the reflection of the streetlights outside freckling your smooth skin, and he took a step closer to look out alongside you.

“What you do is important,” you affirmed. “You give people hope. You hold onto it even when you’re met with nothing at every turn. You’re not in the basement because you’re an outcast, you’re in the basement because they want to keep you down there where people can’t see the truth about you. You’re not somebody who takes orders, you give your own. You question their every move, don’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, if you do, then so do I.”

Fox looked down at you, feeling that same fluttering warmth he felt when you set up your desk, and when you fell asleep on the plane, and when he almost crashed the car. “That’s a big commitment to make to a guy you met yesterday.”

“Well, I don’t know enough about aliens or vampires to chime in, but I believed in Santa until I was fourteen. And if you’re honest about everything you’ve seen, who am I to tell you that you didn’t see it? This is your world, Fox, I’m only just joining it,” you confessed. “And if they put me in the basement to stop you, they hired the wrong person. I’ve made a career out of chasing monsters, too.”

Your partner was at a loss for words. He’d never been in this position before, where someone met him halfway and promised to believe him. He was ready for you to tell him he was crazy and kick him out of the room; he was imagining a world where tomorrow he wakes up and you’re gone, back to Washington, begging to be reassigned to a unit where there aren’t psychopaths running the operation. But you were alone with him, comfortable, and you saw right through to his heart, just like you did the first minute you spoke to him. That was when he knew.

“Well, if I told you I have reason to believe the killer we’re out here looking for is harnessing some kind of biblical power, would you believe me then?” Fox proposed, a smile finally interrupting the stagnant look he held.

“I think I’d need a little more detail, but sure,” you nodded, “You know, it sounds like this job isn’t going to be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

A loud laugh bubbled up in your throat, and it hung in the air like a drug. You leaned into his side in a moment of urge, and he held steady for you, pushing back with pressure. When your body began to run hot, you rocked back on your heels and shuffled over to the edge of your stiff motel bed, falling back-first onto it. Fox waddled over to the recliner and pulled it to the foot of the bed, collapsing into the cushion.

“Can I ask you something?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and locked eyes with him. He had a tendency to make severe eye contact, but something about it was hard to resist. “Sure.”

“You handled a lot today. I mean, all that anxiety on the plane, the stress of starting your first case and meeting all those people. The crime scene. You just seemed so… I don’t know, overwhelmed by it all by the time we got back here. And now, after I gave you my spiel, it’s like you don’t have a care in the world. I would’ve thought you’d be completely overloaded.”

Tilting your head back to gaze up at the ceiling, you figured if he was going to be honest with you as he has, then you need to repay the gesture. Partners can’t hide things from each other.

“It’s been a lot, sure. I have issues keeping my anxieties under control. But you’re a calming presence, I guess, or at least you remind me I’m still in the real world when I feel like I’m losing my grip. And because of that, I guess I just… trust you.”

“You don't even know me,”

“You don’t really know me either, do you? Yet you just told me the purpose behind your life’s work.”

Fox grinned and slouched in the chair, throwing his feet up on the edge of your bed. “Got me there.”

“Hm,” you scrunched your nose in triumph. “Then again, maybe I shouldn’t trust you. Maybe you’re some weird, spooky guy that everyone thinks is crazy and really is. But I need a job, and I need someone to teach me how to do it, so I’ve got no choice.”

“Are you sure no one told you?” Fox gave you a suspicious glance at the mention of his very nickname.

“Told me what?”

“That they call me Spooky Mulder back in Washington. And you should know they’re gonna think you’re insane for working with me.”

“Let them,” was all you gave in response.

You couldn’t describe the expression on the man’s face, but you liked it. It suited him, to have his big eyes shining, and the apples of his cheeks dusted pink. You watched him get up and bustle over to the desk, collecting the discarded leftovers and swiping them all into the trash, Then, he pushed the recliner back over towards the door and swiped his bag.

“We’ve got work to do tomorrow,” Fox stated, “You should get some sleep.”

“God knows if I’ll fall asleep in this place,” you scoffed.

“Well, I’m right next door if you need me, Piglet.”

As he swung your front door wide, you pleaded, “Hey, can’t we go back to Ro? That was nice!”

Fox looked over his shoulder with a smile that made you thankful you were sitting down, and he silently vetoed your suggestion. “Goodnight.”

You pouted, but it just turned into a grin. “Goodnight, Spooky.”

He shut the door behind him in a hurry, so as not to flood your motel room, and you were left in a quiet space that felt starkly colder. You blamed it on all the rainy air he let in and fell back onto the mattress, hoping that by the time you woke up tomorrow, you would have shaken the gentle ache in your bones.

#fox mulder #x files #spooky mulder #the x files #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x you #soft fox mulder #fox mulder x reader fluff #fox mulder fluff #tw religious themes #plus size reader #catholiscism

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

hotch being smitten over reader when they have a case back in their hometown :( looking at them with starry eyes as they tell the team about how they used to sneak out with their friends to hang out in the park until sunrise. maybe he’ll notice she’s gone from the hotel the night before they leave, and he finds her there so they sit on the swings together <//3

fuck i want hotch to push me on the swings when i'm telling him about my adventures in my hometown

He knows where to find you, he just wishes he didn't look so silly joining you.

You look right perched on a ride-on horse toy, the thick spring beneath the animal's body swaying gently as you do. As he steps up beside you, footsteps crunching in the woodchips below him, your head jerks to face him.

You relax when you realize it's not the killer you're looking for, and though he came out with the intention of chiding you for being so careless, he can't bring himself to. He lowers himself onto the tiny seat of the duck that's vacant next to you, the spring creaking beneath him.

"I should take a picture," You giggle wistfully into the starry night above you, "No one's ever gonna believe I got the great, grumpy Aaron Hotchner to sit on a springy duck toy."

"Well believe it or not I've done it for Jack a time or two," You can hear the smile in his voice, and it's as good as a laugh in your book, "He used to be afraid of them so he'd make me do it first."

"Oh my god, please tell me you were in a suit then, too." You gush, glancing over at him and finding he hadn't changed for the night. He does chuckle this time, and it warms you through the chilly night air.

"No, probably jeans and a t-shirt," He watches the overdramatic slump of your shoulders, but his eyes fall to the hand you have on the horse's plastic tail.

"You said that one was your favorite." He remembers the conversation you had with Morgan and Prentiss earlier, regaling them with stories of your youth in this very town.

Your hand tightens around the pony's tail, "Yeah. I named him Rolo."

"Rolo.. any reason?"

"I liked the candy." You dismiss with a reminiscent giggle, "I was four, Hotch, cut me some slack."

He lets out an amused, 'Ah,' and runs a finger over dried mud that's caked onto the duck's face. It crumbles off beneath his massive hand and he brushes it off with his clean one, "Do the other ones have names?"

"No," You giggle, "I was the only one who ever named mine. That one, the one you're sitting on was my friend Lacy's. And that one," You point to a dog across the park, "That was Charlie's, and the cow over there was Lea's."

Aaron tunes the world out for a moment, letting your voice and nothing but it fill his senses. He doesn't hear cars driving by, he doesn't think about the case you're working, all he knows is you and your rambling. Your eyes shine like the stars above you and he admires your ability to become what you've always known, how you'd become the stars you'd spent so many nights staring at. He has a sudden urge to become one himself, if only to twinkle bright enough to shine a similar light on you as you do for him.

Any case that ends with a hostage recovered is a good one. Well, they're never good, but your spirits aren't as crushed this time as they would have been had you not gotten the victim out. You're doodling away on a scrap of paper when Aaron sits down across from you, but you look up as a familiar gold-and-brown tube slides into your vision.

"Rolos," You breathe, eyes twinkling with the light of the universe once more, "Thanks, Hotch!"

He pulls a snickers bar out of his jacket pocket and sends you a soft smile, "Mine is named Snickers, by the way. I didn't want to leave him without a name."

"Snickers the duck," You conclude, popping a Rolo into your mouth and letting the caramel ooze onto your tongue, 'I like it."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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canirove · 2 months

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In The Name of Love | Chapter 34

Previous chapter | Epilogue

Masterlist

I've been back in Barcelona for a couple of months now, and so far everything has been great.

I took my mum to Rome, where we stayed for a week doing all the touristy things you could think of, eating our weight in gelato, and having long conversations that have made us understand each other a lot better, finally managing to have a good relationship.

I also went with Marina and David to Mykonos, a place they both had always dreamt to visit. Though it wasn't as dreamy as they thought. After a couple of days struggling to find somewhere that wasn't too crowded or full of tourists, we decided to just stay at our villa. During the day we would lay in the sun, take advantage of our private swimming pool or just sleep and relax, and at night we would sit outside drinking some wine, talking and laughing about anything and everything. We realized that we didn't need to go to a fancy place to have fun. Being together was all that mattered.

And now I am back home, getting everything ready for the new school year, feeling as excited about it as I did the first time I got to properly teach.

"Do you remember how we spent the day before looking through both your wardrobe and mine trying to find the perfect outfit for your first day as a teacher?" Silvia asks me while we are chilling on the sofa.

"I remember that the house was a mess afterwards."

"Yeah, that too" she laughs. "But you looked really cute."

"I did, didn't I? I got many compliments from the other teachers. One of them even tried to flirt with me."

"I mean, it was a really nice dress. Do you still have it?"

"I gave it away when we did that big spring cleaning a couple of years ago."

"Oh, shame… But have you kept any photo where you are wearing it?"

"Of course I have. You made me take a bunch before I left for work so I could remember that day" I laugh.

"I was a proud mum" Silvia smiles. "Can you search for them?"

"Just promise not to make fun of me if I look ridiculous" I say, unlocking my phone. "It was a different time."

"You didn't look ridi… Val. Val, hey, what is it?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you crying? That bad are those photos?"

"No, it's just… I hadn't realized… today."

"Uh?" Silvia says with a confused look.

"Today is my anniversary with Pedri… or was. And the memories thing on my phone showed me a photo of us together and…"

"Aww, Val. I'm sorry."

"It's ok" I say, wiping away my tears. "It's a good memory."

"Can I see it? The photo with him, I mean."

"Sure" I reply, giving her my phone. "It's at his secret beach as he called it, the one where he took me when we started seeing each other. The 14 of each month we would try to go there to watch the sunset and eat something, and we would spend our time talking about the most random things until it got dark and too cold. It was just us, and it was… perfect."

"It does sound perfect" she smiles.

"Today it is so hot that we would have probably gone for a swim and then buy some ice cream."

"What if… what if we do that?"

"What?" I ask.

"Go for a swim and buy some ice cream. I know I am not him, but…"

"I would love that" I smile.

"Great" Silvia says, getting up from the sofa and offering me her hand. "Shall we?"

"Let's go."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"You don't have to do it, Val."

"I know. But I want to" I say, opening the car's door. After going for a swim and getting some ice cream with Silvia, I asked her to drive me to the beach Pedri and I used to go to. For some reason, I felt like I needed to be there today.

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asks.

"Please" I nod.

We walk in silence, Silvia holding my hand and giving it little squeezes as we get closer to the lookout from where you can see the whole beach.

"This is beautiful, Val" she says.

"It is" I whisper, taking in the view. There are a couple of fluffy clouds here and there, the sea is calm, and the light is making the sand look almost golden. The sand. There is someone walking on the sand, someone… It can't be.

"Ouch, Val! That hurts!" Silvia says when I squeeze her hand as if my life depended on it.

"It's him."

"What?"

"Down there" I say, my eyes fixed on the beach. "That's him. He's here."

"Who… Oh, shit. That is him."

"What do I do, Silvia?"

"Go down there, of course!"

"What? No! I can't… I can't do that."

"You can and you will, Val. Go tell Pedri that you still love him and that you want to spend the rest of your life with him."

"But what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he has moved on?" I say, looking at him while he kicks the sand.

"Val, do you really think that if he had moved on, he would be here on a day like today?"

"I…"

"Besides, what has Ferran been telling you all these months?"

"That he still loves me."

"Exactly. So go down there and get back with your teenage boy."

"He isn't a teenager anymore" I chuckle.

"Even better."

"But Silvia…"

"You were waiting for destiny to give you a sign, right? Well, this is it. Now go" she says, pushing me towards the stairs.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Ok, Valeria. You can do this" I say to myself. He is standing with his back to me and looking at the sea, completely oblivious of the fact that I am behind him, that I also am here. "Pedri?" I call, my voice sounding all squeaky. But he doesn't say anything, just shakes his head. "Pedri" I say again, this time a bit louder.

"Yeah, I've completely lost it" he laughs, running a hand through his hair.

"Lost what?" I ask.

"My sanity, Val. I can hear your voice as if you were here with me."

"I am here, Pedri."

"You are in my head."

"I'm here" I repeat, putting my hand on his shoulder, my touch making him flinch.

"That's an illusion. I've completely lost my mind, you aren't real."

"I am real and I am here" I say, now moving to be in front of him. "Open your eyes, Pedri."

"No."

"What?"

"If I open my eyes you will leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, Pedri" I say, caressing his cheek and wiping away a tear.

"I can't lose you again, Val" he says, resting his hand on top of mine.

"You won't, because I am not going anywhere. Please open your eyes."

"I can't."

"Pedri, please" I beg him. Now I am the one who is crying.

"Val…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Pedri. I promise. I want to be with you, to spend the rest of my life with you, to fight for this, for us. And I don't care if I have to do it against a horde of crazy teenagers, bullies like Isabel, or judgy parents who have nothing better to do than gossip. I'm done with letting people's opinions rule my life."

"Val…" he repeats, his voice now almost a whisper.

"You know, I've never believed in love at first sight" I continue. "I always thought it was something from fairy tales, something that didn't exist. But then, on a day like today, in a club I had never set foot before, I met you and you completely changed my mind. Because I fell in love the moment we locked eyes and you smiled at me, Pedri. It was all that smile, to be honest. The one that by now you know makes me giggle like an idiot and feel funny things in my stomach. And when I think of the way you made me feel when you kissed me, when you…"

"Made you scream my name on the rooftop?" he smirks, opening one eye.

"I was going to say it in a more cheesy way and you just ruined it."

"Damn it" he chuckles. "You saying something like that happens once in a blue moon."

"It does. And when it happens, it is because of you. Because I love you, Pedri. I love you in a way I've never loved anyone before, and in a way I think I will never love anyone else. It's you. It's you, Pedri" I say, both my hands cupping his face, my eyes fixed on his now that both of them are finally open. "It is and will always be you. Only you" I whisper.

"Can we kiss now or are you gonna keep being cheesy?" he smiles. And it is that smile, the one that completely disarmed me the night we met.

"Idiot.”

"No one calls me idiot the way you do."

"I know" I smile back.

"But before we kiss…" he says. "Can I confess something?”

"Ok."

"Ferran has been telling me almost daily to not give up, to be patient, that you still loved me and wanted me back, that we are destined to be together… So to keep reminding myself of all that, I've been coming here every 14 since you left, hoping that somehow you would show up."

"Really?"

"Yeah… I know it was a bit stupid because I knew you were in Manchester, but… I don't know. I just felt like I had to, you know?"

"It isn't stupid, Pedri. Because today I felt like I had to come here, it was like something was calling me… You."

"Glad to know my plan worked out" he laughs. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I had missed your laugh" I shrug. "But that won't happen ever again. And do you know why?"

"Enlighten me, Valeria" he says with a teasing smile.

"It won't happen again because I'm not going anywhere, Pedri. I promise."

"Are you sure? Because you know how serious our promises are. You can't go back on it now" he says.

"I won't. I'm here to stay" I say, putting my hand over his heart. "Forever."

"Forever" he whispers before finally kissing me.

At first it is a very soft kiss, almost shy. But it doesn't take us too long until we are kissing as if our lives depended on it, as if we needed the other to breathe.

"I love you, Val" Pedri says when we manage to break apart. "I love you and I'm planning on telling you every hour of every day of the rest of my life."

"Isn't that a bit too much?" I laugh.

"It actually won't be enough."

"Dear lord, Pedro. You are so cheesy" I laugh again.

"Only for you, Val. Only for the love of my life" he smiles. "Happy anniversary, by the way."

"Happy anniversary" I reply with a matching smile before we start kissing again, the sun setting behind us as it did that first time on this beach. Like it did that first night at his house when he made me feel things I had never felt before.

The night that even if my brain kept denying it, my heart was already completely his.

#pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri gonzalez fanfic #pedri imagine #pedri gonzalez imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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buzzheadchick · 3 months

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Okay time I do my Walten Files posting. I’ve noticed some confusion regarding timelines and what’s happening when, so I want to try to write down what happens and when. Now someone this stuff not make much sense, and some may possibly be retconned, but this is what we are given.

The crash happened the night of May 2nd. Multiple times in the series we are told this. Jack calls Felix that night, Felix does not pick up. Jack goes to Felix’s house (12:23 AM according to CC), Felix does not answer. Jack says “I know you can hear me” and “I know you’re in there,” but we are to presume this is wishful thinking on his end, because Felix is not actually home. Felix was out until early hours of the morning the next day (May 3rd) digging the graves (still sitting in one as of 8:56 AM according to CC), throwing the bag into the river, and then going to the police station. Even earlier in the morning, presumably after Jack went to Felix’s house (which was past midnight and thus morning), Jack had already gone to the police. We learn this in the description under Lacrimosa.

"Report 90892 May 4th, 1974 - Brighton City Police Department

Wrr: Frank Davis

Felix Archer Kranken reportedly arrived at the station in the morning on May 3rd, He had a broken pair of glasses, dirty blue pants and a yellow dress shirt covered in dirt and blood. When I got the call He was already taken into custody, we sat him down for a few hours and he revealed valuable information about a case we were previously told about earlier that same day by Mr. Jack Walten. Walten's 2 youngest kids, Edd and Molly Walten, had disappeared with Kranken the night prior. Felix's alibi stated he was unconscious or about 20 minutes, when he woke up the kid had ran off."

In TFW4, we get a sort of update from Felix from “3 days after the accident.” He said he “finally told them what happened” in his office, which I think we are to believe he told them the truth, as opposed to the lie he told the police. However, he still lies about the Rocket doll. In the description under Guilty, we see this:

"In memorial of Edward Walten - Molly Walten:

- Ed (12) and Molly (9) died Thursday, May 2nd, 1974 in a fatal car accident, they were leaving a party made by their school to celebrate Spring. Jack Walten (father, husband) couldn't take the kids to the celebration because of work. A friend of Mr. Walten would take the kids instead. On the way back home, Jack's friend would be driving in questionable conditions, thus crashing his car near the road next to Saint Juana's forest. Instantly taking both Edward and Molly's lives. You will be remembered, our little angels, our little red children."

The video Guilty is from three years ago, so this may be retconned, but it is the current understanding that by the time of the funeral for Ed and Molly, they knew the truth of what happened. This points to the idea that during the meeting in Felix’s office, he told the truth. However, it is unclear if this truth went out to the police. There are a few reasons why The Waltens may not go forward with the information Felix told them, but I don’t cover them here as they aren’t explicitly stated.

It is unclear when the funeral is, but based off of the memorial, it is after Felix came clean. In TWF4, on “05/13” (May 13th) Susan and Charles only find out “weeks” later about the funeral, but it physically couldn’t have been more than ten days, implying the funeral was held quickly after the accident, possibly as soon as they Waltens found out the truth. With it also being clear it was “family only,” it seems in addition to not telling the police, the family hadn’t told ANYONE. It is unclear if Susan and Charles know the full truth, or only the truth given to the police, only that he was “drunk while driving the car.” By that time, Susan says she hasn’t heard from Jack “in a long while.” Both of them think there’s something off with Felix’s story, implying that they maybe don’t know the full truth, but they could just be doubting what we the audience have been shown (which still may not be the full story). Charles asks if the kids are “gone,” which is ambiguous wording. I think it may be intentional that we don’t know what they know. Some point prior to that, Felix hid Rocket at Bon’s Burgers, and told Susan not to tell Rosemary or Jack. Jack disappears almost a month later, on June 11th. Susan dies even later, on June 30th.

So that’s the timeline of the events we see surrounding the new video. I can’t tell you if maybe there’s more than Felix even knows happened that night, or who knows what, or why the Waltens haven’t gotten Felix arrested. But that’s the timeline.

#The Walten Files #the walten files spoilers #TWF #twf spoilers #twf 4

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dancingtotuyo · 10 months

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The Life We Built (Joel Miller)

Part 5 of Build You The World Joel X Reader Rating: PG-13 (Language) Warnings: fluff, that's it. Tags: no outbreak, fluff, craftsman!Joel, Time jump, it's 2023 folks, no mentions of COVID, you decide if it happened Notes: So we've reached the end of this little adventure that was only supposed to be a one shot, but never fear! I have another Joel Miller idea in the works. Check out my Masterlist for some Javier Peña works as well! Thank you everyone for your support! Words: 1998

Series Master List | Author Master list

Joel eased into the chair next to you under the pergola he built 25 years ago. It was still sturdy and spoke to Joel’s craftsmanship. The sun was beginning to set, granting some relief to the spring heat as you watched your three grown children clean up the backyard. They’d insisted the two of you relax.

Emma graduated from Duke last weekend with honors in Pre-med. Which meant traveling to North Carolina for the ceremony. Joel has insisted on driving up. He hated flying. With a 20-hour car ride one way, you caught up on a lot of reading and almost booked yourself a plane ticket home. The two of you had been gone for almost a week. So her graduation party took place this weekend at home. She’d been accepted into UNC-Chapel Hill’s School of Medicine and would be going back to Durham in a couple of weeks. She was officially moving out, boxes already stacked high in her room. You and Joel both chose not to think about your baby leaving the nest for good.

Emma laughed at something Asher said. You couldn’t see Sarah roll her eyes, but you knew by her body language. Joel chuckled next to you. He sensed it too, both in tune with your children.

Asher graduated with a Bachelor's in Engineering from UT-Austin a few years ago, choosing to stay close to home. He had a small apartment in town working at Miller Construction since graduation. Joel joked that if he didn’t put his degree to use soon, he was gonna have to rebrand as Miller and Son. You had a sneaking suspicion that’s what Asher wanted. He and Joel shared the same love of building things with their hands.

“Grandpa!” Sarah’s 3-year-old daughter, Jessie bounded across the yard, dark curls bouncing like springs behind her. You could see the brightly colored book in her grasp.

She panted heavily as she reached the two of you. Her small hands rested on Joel’s knees. She looked up through dark lashes. “Will you read this to me?”

Joel smiled. She reminded you so much of Sarah at her age. “Don’t you want grandma to do it? She’s a much better reader than me.”

“No, you!”

“Okay, Okay.” Joel chuckled, pulling the child onto his lap. You closed your eyes as you listened to Joel read. His drawl had only deepened with age but it still flowed like honey. It soothed your weary bones and often brought you through time, making you feel 25 again.

Sarah had started college at the University of Georgia but transferred to UT-Austin after her freshman year. She loved Georgia, but she missed being close to her family more. She’d earned her Bachelor's in Journalism and Creative Writing (also with Honors). Working across all aspects of journalism, she went back to get her MFA several years later. She worked freelance for several publications and taught a creative writing class at the community college in town. She’d married Mike 6 years ago. They’d been together since senior year of college aside from a one-year gap. They’d bought a house just down the street from you and Joel soon after their wedding. Jessie’s 4th birthday was next week, and aside from her husband, you were the only other person to know that Sarah was 8 weeks pregnant. They were planning to reveal it next on Father’s Day.

You and Sarah were convinced Joel didn’t have a clue. The two of you were desperate to surprise him. Other than his 45th birthday party, you and Sarah hadn’t been able to surprise Joel in the 31 years you’d loved him. He’d even figured out Sarah’s first pregnancy before they’d told anyone.

Joel continued to read. The world drifted further away only anchored by the sound of his voice. Sometimes a bird’s song drifted in and out. The warm breeze floated across your skin. Joel’s voice stayed constant.

“Grandpa… Shhhhh, grandma is sleepin.”

Joel looked up from the book. He smiled. The wrinkles around his eyes were well-defined now. “I think she’s just restin her eyes, kiddo.”

“That’s what you say when you’re sleeping!” Jessie giggled.

“Keep reading,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. “The story was just getting good.”

He looked at Jessie who nodded her head, and he continued.

The construction business had been good to Joel. Miller Construction kept its outstanding reputation throughout the years, something Joel worried about as the number of crews grew and his ability to check up on every job decreased. Joel spent most of his days on job sites in a supervisory capacity. He trained the new hires to meet his rigid standards, and his body took less wear and tear. He was able to spend more quiet morning moments with you. At 56 years old, he was still the best pitcher in the men’s rec softball league. He took every Thursday morning off to hang out with Jessie while Sarah taught her class at the Community College. He piddled in the garage on weekends, working on the next project. He’d just redone the kitchen cabinets. Tommy joked that Joel lived in partial retirement, but there was some truth to it. You liked seeing him take time

Joel finished the book as Sarah and Mike walked over. You slowly opened your eyes, letting the world envelope you once again.

“It’s time for us to go home, Bear,” Mike said.

Before Jessie could issue a complaint, Joel pulled her into a back-breaking squeeze. She laughed. He tickled her sides. “Grandpa!”

“I gotta make sure you meet your tickle quota.”

“I have! I have!” Jessie laughed, her cheeks turning red.

“Okay,” Joel let out a deep breath. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Jessie wrapped her arms around Joel’s neck, kissing his cheek. “Love you, Grandpa!”

“I love you too.” He kissed her cheek, patting her back. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Jessie slid off his lap, rushing to you. A chorus of goodbyes between parties rose in the corner of your backyard in hugs and handshakes. Jessie nestled into her father’s arms, eyes already beginning to droop.

Joel wrapped his arms around you. You leaned into him. His hands traveled down your back, lips finding yours. You grinned feeling warm and giddy. Even after all these years, he still had the same effect on you.

Gagging noises interrupted your moment. Asher and Emma stood on the porch directing said sounds at you.

“Get a room!”

“We don’t want to see that!”

Joel flipped them off before firmly grabbing your ass making a show of the steamy kiss he planted on you. You laughed. He kissed your neck softly.

“You’re gonna traumatize the kids.”

“They’re grown adults. They can leave.” He nuzzled into your neck. “I want to kiss my wife in our backyard.”

“Y’all are gross.” Asher chided.

“If it weren’t for us, you two wouldn’t be here,” Joel shouted back.

“You say that like it’s a good thing!” Emma responded. “Have you seen the world?”

“Hey,” You laughed. “You’re the saving grace of this family, Miss I’m going to be a doctor.”

Asher scowled. “Don’t say that. Her head will get bigger than it already is.” He ruffled Emma’s hair.

Emma rolled her eyes. “We’re done cleaning up. We’ll leave you two to do… that.” She motioned toward you and Joel. “Asher’s gonna take me out on the town.”

“Make smart decisions,” Joel called.

“Always!” Emma smiled.

The duo filed out of the backyard leaving you and Joel alone. Joel kissed your forehead as you swayed to a nonexistent tune.

When you finally stopped, you and Joel sought the respite of AC inside. Joel prepared a plate of leftovers for the two of you to share on the couch. You read as Joel watched the Baseball game on low volume. You propped your feet on his lap. His thumbs found the soles of your feet applying pressure. You hummed.

You had stepped down from your position at Miller Construction after Emma started high school. As much as you loved working with Joel and helping him build and expand the business, desires drew you elsewhere. You started working part-time at the public library. When their head librarian announced plans to retire, the city had offered to pay for you to get your Masters in Library Science providing you could give them a 10-year commitment. Daunting at first, you’d managed to complete the courses in 2 years via an online program. You work at the library full-time now. Joel often brought Jessie in on Thursday mornings along with a coffee for you. You tended to the garden on weekends. Joel replaced your raised beds a few years ago. You had the kids over for dinner once a week. You and Sarah walked the block on pleasant evenings. You spent lazy evenings on the couch with Joel, something that had rarely been a part of your marriage until the past few years.

“I’ve been thinking…”

You looked up from your book. “Uh oh, that’s never good.”

He tickled the bottom of your foot earning a squeal. Everyone talked about growing out of being ticklish. That had never happened to you. “I think it’s probably time to refinish the book nook.”

You glanced behind you, eyes trailing over the bookshelves Joel had built you more than 25 years ago. They’d been through it. The finish was peeling in a few places. The cabinet doors that lined the bottom were dented and scratched from a number of things bumping and running into it while raising 3 kids. You glanced at the farthest one, still stained with faint marks from Emma taking Sharpies to it when she was 3. Residue from stickers marked other areas.

“Sounds like a big project.”

“I’ve got the time.” Joel smiled.

He reached down beside him, revealing a gift bag. A simple brown paper bag with a gold ribbon neatly tied and curled. Sarah’s trademark. He handed it to you with a smile.

“This from you or Sarah?”

“Me.” Joel crinkled his nose. “Just asked Sarah to wrap it for you.”

You lifted the bag up and down. It felt like it was probably a book. It rarely wasn’t. “And what is this for?” You smiled at him.

“Just fulfilling my husbandly duties.”

You laughed as you untied the ribbon. Joel had taken your first line to him like an oath over the course of your relationship. He’d surprised you with a new book at random times. Sometimes you came home to one on the kitchen counter or your nightstand. Other times, wrapped or handed to you, each with an inscription detailing something he loved about you and how “Pretty” didn’t cut it.

You smiled at him, pulling a hardcover book out of the bag. You opened the front cover. A piece of paper slipped out. Before you could investigate, Joel’s handwriting caught your attention.

I don’t know if you’ve been counting, darling, but this is the 100th book I’ve given you. When I met you in that bar, I knew if I had the chance to give you just one, I’d be the luckiest man alive.

We always talked about going on a big trip for our 25th wedding anniversary. I know it’s a little bit late, but I booked us on that trip to Italy you were eying last year.

I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, but I still think the best view is you.

I love you, Darling.

You picked up the slip of paper: the booking confirmation set for mid-September. You looked up at Joel, tears blurring your vision.

He chuckled. “Surprise.”

You set the book carefully on the end table, moving onto Joel’s lap. “You hate flying.”

“But I love new places.” He kissed your nose. He still looked at you like you hung the galaxy. You imagined you looked at him the same. “And you.”

You kissed him, the words whispered for just the two of you. “I love you too.”

#joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #build you the world

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