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neonovember · 1 year

Note

Oh my GOD oh my for okay though that new fic you wrote with Carmy? 12/10 chefs kiss mwah mwah MWAH!! 💕💕💕 That part with Carmy going ballistic and beating the shit out of that asshole customer I LOVED it!! Now it’s got me thinking of Carmen going absolutely feral, just insane if he’s in the kitchen cooking and calling orders, while you’re out front taking orders from customers. He and the rest of the kitchen just go silent and stop in their tracks when they hear a guy just screaming at the top of his lungs at you, using the absolute most vile words against you and Carmen just sees red, especially if whoever it is ups and yells something along the lines of “You stupid fucking whore-“ and Carmen’s just a blur as he POUNCES on this guy. (Richie’s either cheering him on or trying with all his strength to claw Carmen off before he straight up kills the guy)

Office Doors

Oooh you guys are spoiling me rotten with these requests…I love a good feral fic every once in a while and this one was..well you'll know what i'm talking about once you've read it ;) I haven't written Carmen in a day and I miss him already, school has been up my ass so if you have sent me a request, don't worry it's being written, and re-written and-. Thank you anon for getting my gears going and your lovely messages 🥰🥺 ur support means the world

warnings: swearing, objectification and misogyny, angst, oral (f recieving), smut, thigh riding (?), porn with plot, feral!carmen

carmen berzatto x reader!

(This is totally and completely canon btw)

You stretch your body across the diner tables, dipping a dirty cloth into lukewarm soapy water before rinsing it out. The lunch rush had just slowed to a even pace, the sound of Carmen yelling out dishes from his line finally quieting down.

You have just a little time to spare, and you spent that time quickly wiping down the Beef’s tables that had begun to accumulate a few too many stains and unfinished crumbs of bread.

You had grown up in a home that was always messy, all the time. And no matter how much times you had asked, and no matter how much times you had just done the chores themselves, the clutter of dirty dishes and old wet clothes in the laundry had permanently been embedded into your family home.

It’s partially why you had loved the sterile laboratory of you culinary kitchens. Clutter caused your skin to itch with anxiety, it made you feel dirty, and with the way you scrub the diner tables a little too hard you wonder if it's another one of the many joy’s your family had given you.

And whilst the Beef was so different from your environment back in culinary school, it wasn’t necessarily worse. In fact, you had grown to fall in love with the quirks of the kitchen, the ‘fuck you carmen’ napkin holder, the too small walkway, the framed pictures of beloved regulars and the staff’s families. Most of all, however, was the family you had built here, the kind you couldn't find working under a domineering CDC.

The kind that had always been waiting for you, been planted deep into the earth like roots.

Besides, you and Carmen had bonded together during the late nights after most of the family had gone home. Were you both were left, scrubbing the floor together in a rhythmic silence that seemed to be more therapeutic than work.

You’ve nearly finished wiping down the last of the stools perched against the counter top of the front when a loud guffawing causes you to break your trance-like state.

Jovial yelling breaks into the rarely quiet restaurant as the door swings open, and a stream of rowdy men dressed in pullovers and fleece jackets, with scarves and basketball hats of distinct sport team colours wrapped around their necks.

One man is fully decked out, sporting the jersey and beanie of what seemed to be a hockey team. The boom of his voice indicates he was the loudest too, unaware of the grumble of patrons around the restaurant that had grown annoyed at the man's violent rambling.

You breath out a sigh, finishing off wiping down the bar stools and putting the bucket of dirty water under the front counter. Before ironing out any creases in your apron and preparing yourself for the absolute headache this would cause.

They were a familiar bunch, usually coming in after games late after the dinner rush. It seemed there was a game during the early morning, as they grumble about not having anything to eat the entire day.

Their loud and annoying and swear too much and Carmen hates the way one of them looks at you but they order a shit ton of food and fuck if the bear needs money, what can you say.

Your eyes glance at a cup of coffee Richie had accidently left under the register, and you suddenly crave your afternoon pick me up well after the afternoon. The men begin walking up to the register, ignoring your polite greeting and going straight into listing off items from the menu as if you were a machine. You nod along all the words they were saying, and soon enough you give up on writing it down as they’ve practically ordered the entire menu safe for a few appetiser's.

“Make it quick, yeah? We’re bloody starving '' One of the men calls out from his seated position in one of the booths and you give them a tight lipped smile, resisting the urge to throw that coffee mug at him.

Carmen peeks his head from the entryway leading to the kitchen, his unruly ashy blonde curls falling to the sides as he shares a look with you, as if to say ‘you alright? And you nod in that unspoken way the two of you have and tell him that you can handle it. Working in a kitchen didn't have to teach you how to deal with assholes, you had your family to thank for that one again.

You hear the familiar sound of Carmen shouting out orders, and the sizzle of pans and boiling pots increase in order to push out the lengthy order before more foot traffic would pour in.

You’re trying to fix the register when it happens, something gets caught in the old janky machine, causing the cash drawer to get stuck as you have to hit its sides at a certain angle to get it to open up again. Years and Carmen refuses to get it fixed, or buy a new one all together, resorting to having it taped up and banged every couple hours to get it working again.

You almost don’t see him, until he is leaning against the counter, into the space between the cash register and you, a greasy smile pulling at his features and he watches you. You bite back a grimace at the way his eyes trail down your apron, fixated on the dip of skin that peeks from the top of your shirt.

“Something you need Sir?” You ask politely, taking a tentative step back, your hand gripping the edge of the counter.

The man smiles strangely at your comment, cocking his head to the side before replying suggestively

“I definitely want something”

You cough, biting back your knee-jerk response to hurl at him, you can feel the burn of embarrassment against your cheeks and you swallow as you try to reply with a steady response.

“You’re food will be out in a short-while-”

“You know, I think I’ve seen you around here, are you new to town?” The man tries to strike up a conversation

“Came here a few years ago and haven’t left since” You reply with a tight smile

“Ah! I know where you're from exactly now” The man replies with a grin that pulls his face upwards, it's eerie, his smile, like he knows something he shouldn't.

“There’s this porn star online, looks exactly like you, it’s kind of insane” The man replies with a smile that deepens as you stammer

You feel humiliated as you stare back at him, you don’t know what to say, and his eyes continue trailing down your body in a way that makes you feel disgustingly objectified. He’s reduced you to an object for him to gawk at, and you see the way the men behind him jeer and laugh that this is all a play to intimidate you.

You want to run straight home and scrub yourself clean, wash away the feeling of his imprinted gaze down the drain.

“You think we can recreate one of her videos when you get off work here?” The man replies, a glint in his eyes.

“What? You- you” You stammer and he breaks out into a laugh

“Awh, look at her, fucking shaking. Don’t tell me this is your first time?” The man eggs on to his friends, who have begun laughing and cheering him on.

You grit your teeth, trying to get the words out as you glance towards the kitchen, where was he? He leg twitches in want, wanting to get Carmen, wanting to run from the restaurants, wanting to run from the embarrassment and disgust you felt.

The flashes of Richie and Syd passing by is all you can see, the booming voice of Carmen being too wrapped up in the orders to notice what was happening.

“C'mon, just give me your number” The man presses on, leaning in so that only you can hear “It isn't like I don't know where you work” Before he leans back, muttering a halfhearted kidding under his breath

“You are disgusting” You spit out, trying to sound as confident as you can, and the mans eyebrow twitches, and he cocks his head like he was confused.

“What? I’m doing you a favour here, I'm actually a nice guy you know? Not one of those assholes on the street” The man scoffs, moving closer towards you and you have a feeling the man is waiting for a reason to lunge at you.

“Just, just take your food and your buddies and go alright? There doesn’t have to be a fight or-or” You continue, trying to de-escalate the situation and get him to just leave you the fuck alone.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m doing you a fucking favour and now your kicking me out?” The man begins to get heated, and his friends behind him watch on in silence, you can notice other customers begin to look your way, sensing the rising anger filling the room. You slowly step back, looking for something to shield yourself in case he comes at you.

“What, you think because you work you have some- some what, control? I don't think you know how this works doll, you give me your number, and I dump my load in you because your nothing but a stupid fucking whore” The man bellow, it’s so loud that it echoes through the Beef, that it reaches even the kitchen sinks where Manny is washing up.

The man’s face grows red as the veins near his neck begin to pop out, he emphasises the last word, spitting it out like that was all you were.

The restaurant goes silent as the man heaves in exertion, the sound of Carmen shooting out orders is mute now, the slice of steel against bamboo stops, and the bear is fucking quite for the first time since it opened.

Your body is pushed against the wall, near the swinging doors into the Kitchen, and you can see Carmen back to you, he has stopped cutting at his station, and the outline of muscle contracts under his white shirt.

Carmen turns, slowly, he turns to the family, as they all momentarily stop their tasks in shock at what they had just heard. He begins to chuckle a little to himself, as he replies in a quiet voice you and the man can still hear.

“What did he just say?”

“Did he really say that? Did he really?” Carmen laughs to himself, nodding and gripping his hands into tight fists as the restaurant air gets thin. The man who had been screaming at you looks towards Carmen in confused fear, not knowing why this man was laughing and yet understanding he had completely fucked up.

The rest of the patrons can hear Carmen’s words, eyes widening, as they realise they were about to be collateral to a very one sided beat down. The crew looked at Carmen in silence, they had been used to Carmen's hot-headed temper, his bursts of anger that was more passion than rage. But this? This quiet silence of Carmen’s words, the way his chest heaves as you glances at your frightened position against the wall? They genuinely feared what he would do next, a silent rage like no other begins to envelop the restaurant, the air thin and suffocating as Carmen begins to walk through the kitchen and into the front counter.

“Don’t call an ambulance this time” Carmen mutters to Richie as he passes him by, Carmen’s eyes are fixed on you, trailing down your body before fixating on the shake of your hands. Carmen knows you well, and it’s the clench of your throat, like you're suffocating, like you can’t breath that snaps something in Carmen.

A malevolence Carmen has never felt spills into his gut, the burn of anger spreading against his chest until hes practically shaking with it, he is filled with this heart ache, like his heart is split in two and gushing as he realises his been cutting fucking chives whilst you nearly died.

And something predatory fills Carmen, like he must prove to himself he can protect you, and in one swift move, like muscle memory etched into his bones, Carmen jumps over the front counter and swings his fist in one clean motion, knocking the man across the room.

The man’s body crumbles as he slams into the hardwood floor of the Beef, the immediate groan of twisted pain and pleads leave the man's mouth and Carmen is just so sick of his goddamn voice.

It all went quiet then, the noise of Sydney yelling, of his friends, of the man’s heaving wet coughs, the air conditioner, all white noise. Carmen’s hand reaches for his ankle, dragging him back from his crawling escape.

“Oh, no no no, we’re not escaping now are we?” Carmen grunts, his voice lower than it usually is.

Carmen wraps an arm around his throat, holding him there as he brings down his fist across his face. The wet sound of bones crunching into muscle and skin go on forever, bouncing across the room until the throaty heave of the man is all that is left of him. Carmen cannot stop the swing of his fists, something possesses him and as one of the men in hockey colours tries to grab Carmen arm he throws him back into the stack of barstool's piled near the tables. He is facing his back to you again, and you state, fixated on how his body moves to support him, the contracts and outline of his strong back, his large forearms that break bone with a mere swing.

His face swollen beyond recognition, piss and blood leaking from him, eyes bloodshot and awry.

Carmen picks him up by his collar, the smudge of blood dripping down and staining his vest, whispering into his ear as the man’s eyes widen in harrowed fear.

“Apologise”

“..Whatnhn?” The man mumbles, the feel of his tongue swelling up and going numb, Carmen presses a hand against the man's bruised stomach, pushing against the broken bone of his ribs until the Man wails in agony.

“Apologise to her or I swear to god I’m breaking your fucking legs”

The man spits out an apology, but you’re not looking at him, staring transfixed at Carmen, at the way he’s golden curls fall across his eyebrows, at the way his muscles flex against his white shirt, at the way droplets of blood are splattered across the skin of his jaw. Carmen looks towards you, and something dark takes over his cerulean blues, blowing them out.

“Do you accept? Huh honey?”

You nod, letting an exhale out and Carmen tosses the man to a pile on the floor, reaching for your hand and dragging you to the office, you can hear the scatter of shoes as the men drag their friend out of the beef, and the crew looks towards each other in satisfaction, but also in knowing, in knowing they wouldn't dare open those office doors.

The soft glow of the office is a stark difference to the bright light of the front counter, and you have to blink a couple times for your eyes to adjust, and when you do Carmen’s face is inches from you, leaning you against the office doors, his arm above your head.

“You didn't- didn’t have to” You mumble, your voice caught in your throat for a different reason.

Carmen looks down at you, shaking his head in amusement

“Don’t lie to me, you enjoyed that more than I did” Carmen whispers, leaning down near your ear, pressing his nose against the curve of your neck.

You let out a breathless sigh, and Carmen groans as he smells that familiar vanilla always hinted on your skin Carmen could smell when you passed by you. Now, now, he can practically taste it right on his tongue.

The truth was, you did enjoy it, despite being non confrontational and cringing every time Richie would show you a fight where the crunch of bone on gravel makes you shudder, you were transfixed by Carmen.

By the way he broke the man to a heaving mess with just his fuckinf fists, those same arms that are edging closer and closer to you, how would they feel between your thighs? The thought wraps itself tight in your belly, and you have to squeeze your thighs for friction.

No one had done that to you, no one had done that for you, and in a strange way it felt nice to be protected. To be wanted, and it causes a need to start building deep within you.

Carmen's eyes fall to you, and his eyebrow twitches as a look of guilt washes over his features.

“I should’ve been there, I- fuck, did he do anything? Let me get a look at you” Carmen replies softly, grabbing your wrists to look for any bruises he feared you had.

“I’m fine, just a little, uhm, shaken up you know? Said some pretty horrible things” You reply, scratching at your neck as your mind replays the way he had reduced you to a thing.

Carmen shakes his head, his teeth grinding as he grips his fists, his biceps flexing.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that, deal with people like fucking him, I swear to god if I find him on the street I’m gonna-“

“Gonna what? Finish off the job? There is always going to be guys like him, that isn’t going to change, and it’s something I have to deal with. But what I can’t deal with is if you get yourself thrown into a jail cell because of-of me” You reply, shaking your head and Carmen looks at you like he’s in love.

Gripping a hand to your chin, Carmen raises it so that you catch the burn of his cerulean blues as you can see.

“And That would be an honourable death for me” Carmen mutters, and you can’t take your eyes off him, until you're gripping his blood stain shirt tight against your chest until the suppression groans leaving his mouth are kissed into your neck.

You want him, want to taste him on your tongue, want to feel his weight against it.

“Fuckin come here” Carmen groans out, reaching to wrap his hand around your jaw as he presses his lips against your own. The muffled of your moans escape your lips and Carmen slips his tongue between them.

His pillowy soft lips wrap around your own, his nose bumping into your cheek as he wraps an arm around your back, pushing you against the office doors. It’s all teeth and tongue, the clash of teeth and muffled groans leaving the both of you.

The suppression of both your desires falling between you two until you don’t stop to come up for air.

It’s addicting the way he kisses you, and you have to grip his shoulder as an anchor as he begins to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin there before dipping down to your clavicle.

You let out a moan as he blows cold air against the dip of your breasts, and Carmen looks down at you, his eyes heavy as he watches the way you shiver, waiting for him to give you what you want.

Carmen rips open your shirt, his eyes trailing across the curve and dip of your breasts, he mutters something under his breath, something like “beautiful” as his finger trailing the lace before unclipping it and tossing it behind him.

Carmen cups one of your breasts, circling your nipple before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, you arch your back to him, and he follows it until he rests and your hip, squeezing the skin there as his eyes roll back at the taste of you.

“Please..” You groan out, your eyes watching the way Carmen pressing soft circles into your skin, he looks up at you in confusion, the hint of a smile curving at his lips.

“Please what?” Carmen replies, sucking bruises beneath your tits, drawing it out on purpose, having too much fun watching you suffer.

“Nmfha” You mumble incoherently when Carmen flicks his tongue around your nipple, whilst squeezing the other in his cold hands.

“I can’t hear you, what do you want?” Carmen replies with a hint of a moan, he’s having trouble himself, bucking his hips up into you as he watches the way you shake from his lips

“Wanna feel you Carm, wanna taste you” You groan out with a moan, Carmen grunts at your response, his eyes growing dark and heavy, and in one swift move, he hoist you up and swipes the coffee mugs and papers left scattered across his desk before placing you on the edge.

You spread your thighs, making room for him and he steps between them.

“You wanna feel me sweet girl? You want me to take care of you? Please let me take care of you” Carmen pleads, rutting up against you as he tries to suppress the want pressing tight against his jeans.

“Carm” you groan out as Carmen tugs your jeans down leaving you in your lace underwear that Carmen grinds his jaw at, you don’t realise it but Carmen blue apron is discarded somewhere in the room, and as he carries you towards the coach you tug at his white shirt.

He rips it off him in one move, and you drag your fingers across the deep of defined muscle that flexes under your touch.

Carmen moves your thighs so that you're pushed towards the edge of the couch, and he kneels between you, pressing a soft kiss to your knee, before trailing up your thighs. Carmen had been teasing you before but now there is a frantic eagerness in the way he touches you, like if he doesn’t taste you on his tongue he might combust.

Carmen hooks a finger into your underwear,pulling them down until you were bare for him. Carmen’s eyes glisten as he states at you, naked under him and sweating. God the image imprints in his mind and he wishes he can stay here forever.

Carmen presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, and your thighs shake in need, Carmen flicks his eyes up to you, and keeps eye contact, as he licks one long strip across your folds, closing his eyes and he groans at the taste of you. You contort you back at the pleasure the waves through you, eyes rolling back at the pressure of his tongue sucking your clit.

“Fucking- taste so” Carmen mumbles, before dipping his tongue between your folds, dragging it up and down, the sound of your heightened moans ripping through him.

Dipping his tongue in your hole, Carmen pushes a finger between your thighs, presses soft circles around your clit as his tongue works your folds. Your thighs shake around the curls of his head and he pushes a hand down at your stomach to stop you from moving, making you take every wave of pleasure he pulls from you.

“Carm, please, they’re going to hear us” You groan out, and Carmen shakes his head, causing his tongue to drive deeper into you, before looking up at you,

“Let them”

Carmen stretches you out with his tongue, pushing it into you and out until your heaving, his thumb is pressed against your clit, and he pushes a finger into you before sucking onto your bud.

You begin to see flashes of stars, as he thrusts a finger into your hole whilst sucking you, he scissors you open, curving his finger in a way that hits a particular spot that has you raising your hips, trying to pull yourself off of him, the white hot burn of pleasure getting too much.

“There baby? Right there?” Carmen groans out, thrusting his finger to hit that spot over and over

Carmen grips your hips, pushing you down, deeper, harder onto his mouth and fingers, pressing a second digit into you as he curves it to pull that sweet moan from your lips.

Carmen had many names, but his favourite was the broken syllabus of his own between your lips when you fell apart on his tongue.

“S’ close, so close Carmy, please” You babble out, before resigning yourself to the burn of pleasure the feels like fucking nirvana, it’s all around you, Carmen, this pleasure, it’s all you can taste.

“I know baby, I know, I’m going to take care of you okay, sweet girl?” Carmen groans, thrusting his hips into the floor, searching for friction as he watches the way your eyes roll back.

Carmen laps at your core, pushing the digits deeper, curving them upwards until you were screaming, he pushes your face down to look at him, he wants to see your face as you fall apart, and the coil that has begun to wrap itself tight snaps when he nibbles at your over sensitive clit and you see the way his dark eyes watch you, his eyebrows furrowed and your slick coats his chin.

You can’t feel anything but the white hot pleasure that rocks through you, you aren’t in your body, floating away in the pure saccharine pleasure of Carmen’s tongue and he laps at the pleasure dripping between your folds.

You mumble incoherent words, the only thing leaving your lips is Carmen’s name as you babble, spit dripping from your open mouth as you're left in a heap, Carmen leaving you dumb.

Carmen works you through your release, licking and sucking at your sweet slick that he gathers on his tongue. You see the way he thrusts into the carpet, trying to find friction as the scene in front of him becomes too much.

The thought splits something within you, seeing how Carmen got off to getting you off was out of this world, causing the pleasure to start building in your core again.

You drag Carmen up to meet your lips, and then push his tongue between your lips, causing you to taste him on your tongue. Carmen pushes his finger between his lips, sucking on the shine of slick coated there, his eyes heavy as he watches the way you grind your hips against him.

He pushes his digits into your mouth, groaning at the way you suck on them eagerly. You push him to lean his back against the coach, before manoeuvring your hips to straddle him.

You rock your hips against his jeans, feeling the way the indent pushes and bumps against your core, Carmen throws his head back, his curls falling over his forehead and he grabs your hips, pushing you deeper, down down down until he is thrusting up into you.

You grip his shoulders raising your hips before pulling his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. Carmen forces himself to look down at you, his gaze watching the way you tug at his length, swiping a thumb across the red tip, dragging pre cum down the thick girth of him.

Carmen groans out, gripping your hips tight, and you raise up, lining yourself perfectly before sinking down on him.

Carmen’s groans are beautiful, rumbling from his chests as he squeezes his eyes shut, you fit so perfectly around him, the heat and warmth and slick of you wrapped tight around his cock. His length is thick and girth, and you have to adjust to his size, moaning at the way he fills you up just right.

As you begin to move, Carmen presses a hand, begging for you to wait

“Just, one second, fuck you feel so good I might cum from one thrust”

“Who says this is a one time thing?” You reply with a wicked smile, and Carmen groans loud at that.

You raise your hips, dragging your self on him before sliding down, your grind against him and he heaves in the pleasure of your tightness around him.

It had been so long, and the feeling of you is almost too much.

You struggle to raise your hips high enough, and Carmen wraps his hands tight around your hips before raising you himself, driving himself up into you and thrusting hard.

This new angle allows him to go deeper, and you meet his upward thrusts, groaning out as he fucks you dumb. You look gorgeous above him, the way your tits bounce with every thrust up has him hard all over again.

“Just like that baby girl, keep going, doing so fucking well, my baby” Carmen groans out, and you begin to shake at the combination of his praise the the feeling of his cock driving into you impossibly deep.

You want to make him feel good and you say this to him, causing his eyes to roll back when you squeeze yourself around him, hard, until his thrusts have to drive into you even harder.

The coach freaks loudly from Carmen’s pace, and he slams you down, positioning his cock deep into you, causing you to press half circles into your shoulder, scratching at his biceps and gripping the nape of his hair that causes him to rumble out your moaned name.

You can feel him getting close, his thrust growing sloppy and deep, you tighten around him, and his eyes are in a trance, watching the way you fit around him so perfectly.

Carmen moves to fold himself upright against you, and your eyes roll back to your head as you feel yourself climb up a familiar peak.

Carmen presses a hard kiss against your lips as you groan out, and as he slips a hand into your conjoined bodies, circling your clit you have to shove your fist into your hand to stop from screaming.

The feel of Carmen’s length driving into you and the sound of his ragged moans, mixed with the over stimulation against your clit, you can’t help but fall apart around his cock.

You squeeze yourself tight around Carmen, and he cries out, his thrusts growing slow as he joins you over the cliff, his cock thrusting up into you with spasms. His cheeks are a blush red, his tongue poking out as he follows both of your orgasms.

You fall against his chest, exhausted, pressing your cheek so that it rested against the hard muscle of his pecs. You swallow back a breath, gripping your hand around Carmen’s, as he brings it up to place a soft kiss.

Your thighs are still shaking from stimulation, and Carmen caresses a hand across them, rubbing soft circles and you lay across his chest.

You stay like this for a moment, basking in the bliss of pleasure and sex and the soft curves and dips of your bodies.

After a bit, Carmen has to slip his out cock from your thighs, eyes fixated on the way your ecstasy mixed with his one drips down your thighs.

“Fucking gorgeous” Carmen replies, and you look up at him in surprise

“What? You don’t think I'll find you gorgeous after this?” Carmen smiles down at your flustered state, he brushes back the sweat and tears dripping down your cheeks.

“That was..you are. Well fuck, Carmen, why didn’t this happen sooner?” You reply, he manoeuvres you so that your legs lay across his thighs.

“Yeah, uh, we’ll I’ve got a whole bucket of shit you don’t want dragging you down” Carmen replies scratching his neck, suddenly more shy as he lay his heart bare to you.

“Yeah, we’ll you gave me no choice when you practically murdered that man” You reply, biting back a smile, as you press soft circles around his thumb.

“Should’ve fucking murdered him…”

“What happens now?” Carmen replies, looking at you nervous that this was you just scratching an itch, because he was head over heels in love with you and he would never recover

“God Carmen, you didn’t realise I’m in love with you already?” You reply with a smile, “Practically the entire restaurant does”

Carmen looks up at you in wonder, his eyebrows furrowing as your words hit him hard. You loved him? You loved him. He wants you to repeat it a hundred times, he wants to hear your tongue say those words to him again.

“You are incomparable” Carmen mutters under his breath, before wrapping you tight against his chest, pressing a kiss that feels different now, less crazed and rushed and fueled by heated passion. It was new, it felt like a start of something.

“You think they’re okay out there?” You reply with a start.

“Hell no” Carmen replies, and you can’t help but laugh as you push your head through a shirt Carmen had passed to you.

You and Carm may have just confessed your love to one another, but you still had a goddamn restaurant to run.

4K notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 8 months

Text

Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part III

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second.

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud.

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you.

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this.

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it.

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words.

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you.

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him.

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal.

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was.

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting.

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief.

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his.

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop.

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry.

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time.

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside.

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this.

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him.

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper.

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you.

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip.

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you.

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple.

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck.

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging.

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy.

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers.

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured, fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep.

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead.

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so.

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has.

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you.

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him.

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment.

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his.

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly.

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt.

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly.

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth.

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large.

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other.

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure.

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit.

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face.

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever.

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it.

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

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wndaswife · 8 months

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hi! do you think you could write smth about mean mommy wanda when she finds out that you've touched w/o permission? thank you so much, im obsessed w all of your fics!!!

breach of trust | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

While she’s away at a city council meeting, you find mommy’s collection of special pictures and can’t help but start touching yourself to them, and she isn’t particularly pleased when she comes home to see her baby having enjoyed herself without her.

Word count: 4963

Tags: smut (kinda), fluff, mdlg, aftercare, breast suckling, masturbation, spanking, degradation, mommy kink, there is crying but i don’t think it’s dacryphilia, but im tagging just in case you’re kinda into it, dom!wanda maximoff, sub!reader | MINORS DNI

gif credit to vanessacarlysle

Mommy was a special, important woman; she was one of the primary representatives for the town’s school district, so on some Sunday mornings she had to leave early in order to make it on time for city council meetings in which they discussed things from tax fund relocations to local events.

Sometimes they didn’t talk at all about the school district, so mommy ended up leaving her sweet sleeping angel at home for no reason at all — or so she put it.

But no matter what they discussed at those meetings, those Sundays where Wanda had to leave early were dreadful, for on these mornings you had to wake to an empty bed and no kisses from mommy until around lunchtime.

Though on most occasions anyways, Wanda made efforts to message you to make sure you’d eaten breakfast and that you were holding up alright without her; she knew how lonely you could get home alone without her, for you wouldn’t let her come home each time without getting an earful of how much you’d missed her.

This morning seemed particularly long for whatever reason, and mommy hadn’t responded to you in about an hour, which meant that she was likely discussing something that did indeed involve the school district this time.

Breakfast was yummy fruits that had been cut up for you and refrigerated before Wanda left so you could have them with your waffles.

Wanda was happy to see that you weren’t overdoing the whipped cream and syrup like you normally did when you sent her a picture of the breakfast you made, although you did add a few extra spurts of whipped cream after you took the picture to send to her.

You left the syrup as it was, though.

After that, you watched a few cartoons to which Wanda asked which of your stuffies you were cuddling with when you also sent her a picture of you sitting in the living room.

She still hadn’t responded to the picture of you hugging your stuffies close, which you knew she’d especially love because you were holding the bunny stuffie she’d gotten you for Easter a few months ago closest to your chest.

In any case, you were getting antsy and bored and you missed mommy an extra lot this time.

So you decided to start exploring.

You had only moved in with Wanda a few months ago, and though you had been here multiple times before you started living together, you still thoroughly enjoyed looking through mama’s things.

She was only ever mildly annoyed when you unfolded her clothes, but otherwise she didn’t mind at all when her sweet baby was sitting in the closet looking through her things or sitting at her vanity fiddling with her jewellery.

There was one time where you were smelling Wanda’s perfume and looking through all her jewellery and makeup, and she sat you down on her lap so the two of you were sitting in front of the vanity while mommy did your makeup and put her jewellery on you and sprayed you with the perfume you liked the most.

The recollection made you all warm — you loved mommy so much. But it also made you even antsier, for you were now desperate for her attention and you missed her dearly.

In dire need to feel mama close, you went upstairs and sat on the floor of the walk-in closet.

Immediately, you unhooked one of her white cashmere pullovers and wore it before digging through the boxes on the top of her side of the closet.

Most of these boxes had Wanda’s important memories, more expensive jewellery she didn’t often wear, mementos, and other things you really liked to look through because you loved seeing things like photos of her and Tommy and Billy or tickets to her first poetry reading she attended.

There was a smaller box you hadn’t seen before, a white one set not on the upper shelf, but on the hanging closet organiser that both you and Wanda put some of your smaller things in, like scarves and belts.

You made space on the ground for the box, moving the other things aside and sitting cross-legged while you inspected the box.

Unsure why you hadn’t seen the box before during the other times you went through mommy’s things, you curiously opened the box and were met with a collection of pictures.

Stored on their sides, you couldn’t see the contents of them until you laid the box on the side and carefully pulled the pictures out from the box.

The sight made your face immediately heat up and you suddenly felt every inch on your body throb with desire and anticipation.

There were nearly twenty photos of both you and Wanda having sex, all derived from several occasions. You’d known she’d taken them, as she always showed them to you when you were cuddled against her chest feeling all sleepy and happy, but you had no idea she printed them out nor had you seen any of them since she showed them to you the first time.

There were some of them you liked particularly, photos of just mommy with a handful of her tits or while she was fucking you from behind or while she had you on your knees with your head buried between her thighs, or pictures with her fingers in your mouth or of you buried in her breasts while she rode the strap attached to your hips.

Why did mommy have these?

You felt a throb develop between your legs and you wondered if she used them to get off when she was without you, and though it made you pouty to imagine mama touching herself without you, it drove you up the wall to imagine her alone in bed looking at pictures of her sweet angel and fucking herself to them.

Then you started looking over the pictures of mommy’s tits and her view fucking you from behind and the one where your lips were wrapped around one of her nipples with her hand cradling the back of your head, and you felt yourself inadvertently beginning to press your thighs together, your cheeks heating up exponentially and your yearn to be with mama making it all the more intense.

By the time Wanda replied to your picture of you cuddling with your stuffies calling you adorable and telling you how much she couldn’t wait to be back home with you, you’d already taken your favourite photos to bed and laid them out on the blanket, now too distracted to notice the vibrations of your phone.

When you looked down at them all splayed out, you knew what it was that made your fingers begin to twitch and your knees begin to dig into the soft blankets of the bed, the sheets still a mess and the bed still unmade from when you woke up without mama this morning.

You took a few moments to look them over, each picture, feeling your body thrum impatiently while your mind raced to perhaps lock the images in your memory so you didn’t have to indulge in what edge you were about to spill over.

But that picture — oh, that picture — of mommy cradling the back of your head while you sucked sleepily from her breasts made you ache.

So you slid off your pyjama shorts and slowly took a pillow from against the headboard and slid it between your thighs, securing your knees around it and rolling your hips downwards.

You didn’t even pull your panties to the side at first, because you knew mommy didn’t like when you did anything like this on your own if you at the very least didn’t get her permission first — which she more often than not didn’t bestow, because mommy was a greedy and impatient woman when it came to you.

It wouldn’t be bad if you at least made yourself feel a little good, and your special big girl parts weren’t really touching anything but your panties.

But, oh, the smell of mommy’s cashmere sweater and the pictures of her pretty body made your head all woozy.

You used the same laundry detergent and all, but mommy’s clothes always smelled a little different somehow; it smelled richer, like some of her perfume or her shampoo, though you know it had been washed away in the washing machine.

In any case, you just felt completely surrounded by mama, and when you pulled your panties to the side and began rubbing your throbbing clit against the pillow, you didn’t feel that you were exactly disobeying her when everything surrounding you reminded you of her.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been going at rubbing yourself against the pillow to the photos of mama because you were in a strange place of feeling guilty that you were doing it and not wanting to be conscious of how long you were disobeying her for, and sheer pleasure from riding your pillow looking at pictures of mama that you could just look at over and over and over again, and they’d be there every time you opened your eyes or looked down at the blankets where they were sprawled out.

Though the amount of time you’d been doing it for didn’t matter, at least not to Wanda, who you hadn’t heard come home and walk up to the bedroom.

Perhaps she’d been suspecting that you were up to no good when her baby was uncharacteristically silent over texts, or that you were sleeping and decided not to make too much noise when she came up and looked for you.

Whatever it was, it was only until she dropped her purse on the floor a few feet away from the bed to storm over that it finally broke you from your concentration and made you realize that she’d come home.

By the time you looked up, she took your face in her hands and angled it up so you could look at her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she growled, looking down at you.

Your stuttered attempts to answer her question ended up being worth nothing when Wanda looked down at the bed and saw the sprawled out photos in front of you. She looked over at the closet and noticed the other photos left on the floor along with the open white box she’d stored them in.

With a hum that was startlingly cool and unassuming, she looked back over to you, her eyes scarily focused as she said, “It seems we have a rat infestation; my things being gone through while I’m not home, my things not being in the same place they were when I set them down.”

You swallowed and kept quiet, for you knew she was leading up to something; if it were not for the frightening steadiness in her voice, then it was the way her fingers remained pressing into your cheeks as she held your head in place.

“Unless you have an explanation as to why those pictures are on the floor, Y/N?” she asked, tipping your head down a bit so you had to look up at her as if you were a guilty puppy.

There was no use lying now, and besides, you’d felt guilty for what you were doing ever since you laid the photos down on the bed.

“It was me, mommy, I made the mess,” you confessed. “And I was doing big girl things without mommy’s permission.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then she looked down at the sweater you were wearing. The flash in her eyes seemed to be one of adoration, and you at least knew that a part of her appreciated you wearing her clothes when you were home alone.

Indeed, she did see the image of you with your face in her hands while you looked up at her with the sweetest pleading eyes and wearing her clothing to be a most adorable sight.

“Do you know what makes mommies, mommies?” she then asked.

Perking up a little as you thought about it, you answered hopefully, “Having a baby like me to care for?”

“And what does ‘caring’ for a baby like you mean, Y/N?”

You hummed thoughtfully before responding, “Giving me kisses and cuddling me and making me feel like the most special little girl in the world.”

“Oh, of course,” Wanda conceded, smiling at you.

But her grip on your face did not lessen.

“Yet, if that were the only way mommies care for their babies, then anyone else could do the same and be just as important to you as mommy,” she explained.

“Sweetheart,” Wanda cooed, “there’s one thing you’re missing.”

When you didn’t answer, looking at her curiously without any implication that you knew what it was that you were missing, mommy said, and tightened her grip on your face, “Discipline — mommies get to discipline their little girls when they’ve been bad.”

She suddenly pushed you back and let go of you, using her other hand to tear the pillow out from between your legs.

“No, mama, please!” you begged, getting onto your knees and crawling over to her. “I apologised already!”

“I have yet to hear this apology,” she said as she collected the photos from the bed.

She was right — you’d forgotten to apologise.

“I’m sorry! Mommy, I’m sorry! Please don’t give me spankings!”

“I’m happy to see you can take responsibility for your actions, honey, but what kind of precedent would I be setting as your mommy if I let your disobedience go without punishment?” She placed the photos on the nightstand and straightened with her hands on her hips. “Be a good girl and take your clothes off.”

You sniffled and crawled forward further so you could kneel in front of her. “Please, mama, I don’t want to,” you continued to beg.

“Colour?”

“Green,” you answered honestly and sniffled, still hoping she’d take pity on you.

She maintained, “Then I’m sorry, honey, but you need to take your clothes off — now.”

You rubbed your eyes and Wanda clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, reaching down and slapping your hands away from your face.

“You do not want to make mommy angrier than she is right now, angel,” she snarled from beyond a clenched jaw as she tightened a hand around your wrist. “I’ve been dealing with bullshit all afternoon and I come home to see you fucking off as if I’ve never disciplined you or taught you any form of manners in your life. The punishment I currently see fit is nothing compared to what I will force you to take if you don’t get your fucking ass up and take your clothes off.”

You knew there was nothing else to do but obey when mommy was this angry.

Earlier, you hadn’t realised how upset she already was; she must’ve been holding her tongue or trying her best to maintain her patience. She told you her punishment for you would be worse if you didn’t undress right this moment, but you also knew that the punishment you were getting now was already worse than what she’d originally intended when she caught you masturbating.

You took mommy’s sweater off first and then your panties, but when you moved to take off the loose cropped pyjama top that barely covered your tits, mama hooked a finger under the strap of it and released it so it slapped lightly against your shoulder.

“Leave this on,” she said. “I like how they make your tits look.”

Her thumb ran across one of your breasts and she thumbed for a moment at your nipple, amused at how quickly it hardened and how you pressed your lips trying not to moan in the face of how you were just about to be punished for indulging in pleasure.

She let go of you and sat down on the edge of the bed, adjusting her posture to allow you enough space to lay yourself across her lap.

Not protesting even a little bit, you crawled over to the edge and laid your stomach on her thighs. She moved around a bit so you were able to lay both your arms and legs down on the bed, leaving only your hips arched up a bit with how you were sprawled out across her lap.

“Spread your legs,” she told you, and you obeyed, making sure both of your legs were still on the bed so you could allow her proper access to you.

Wanda draped an arm over your waist and secured you in place while her other hand parted your thighs a bit more so she could lean over and inspect your cunt.

“Look at how wet this pussy is,” she said, disappointed. “You got so far without mommy’s help. Are you a big girl now, Y/N? You don’t need mommy to make you feel good?”

“No, mommy!” you protested immediately. “I-I was looking at pictures of you, mommy.”

She hummed, seemingly unconvinced, but you couldn’t tell for sure now that you were sprawled out across her lap, unable to see her face.

A thumb delved into your folds and spread you open, revealing just how sticky you’d gotten all on your own.

“It’s disgusting how good you seemed to have felt while knowing you were disobeying your mommy,” she said. “Mommy is very, very disappointed in you, honey, and not only because you disobeyed me, but because this filthy little cunt is telling me that you have no problem doing big girl things on your own. Does it feel better on your own, Y/N?”

“No, mama!”

“How will you prove it to me?”

“I can prove it to you — I can. I’ll take my spankings, mommy. I’m a good girl. I am. I made a mistake, but I love my mommy and I don’t want to do anything without mommy’s help. I was being selfish and I just missed you so much.”

“That’s sweet, honey. Indeed, you will have made it up to me should you take your spankings like a good, obedient girl. I understand little things like you make mistakes, and perhaps if it were any other day, I might choose not to punish you at all. But because you chose to be selfish today, I see it fit that I get to be selfish too. I’ve had a terrible day, and I want to be able to do what I want with my little girl to make me feel better. Does that sound fair to you, angel?”

You nodded quickly.

“Good,” Wanda said, “because mommy is feeling very, very upset.”

Worrying that perhaps if you questioned her at all you might set her off even more, but feeling curious anyways, you cautiously asked, “Why are you upset, mama…?”

Wanda took a handful of your ass, inspecting its soft, supple skin being taken into her hand. “Dealing with dim-witted idiots who seem to have no intention of saying anything worth anyone’s time yet taking it all up nevertheless has made mommy rather frustrated,” she answered. “Do you know how frustrating it is, baby, to expect so much more from someone, only to be disappointed?”

You were sure the question was rhetorical, so you could bury your face in your arms in shame while mommy delivered your first spank, eliciting a muffled yelp from you.

She continued, “I pour so much time and effort into those useless city council meetings, and yet it’s always the school district representatives that get overlooked. You have no idea how upset it makes me, angel, to come home and see you fucking a pillow of all things, because you were too much of a desperate, horny slut to listen to mommy’s rules.”

Another spank.

Wanda squeezed your ass and dug her fingers into your stinging skin.

“I want to hear you apologise again,” she demanded.

Immediately, you raised your head and said, “I’m sorry for not listening to mommy’s rules! I’m so sorry, mommy.”

Spank.

“What rules did you break, exactly, Y/N?” she pressed.

You swiped at your eyes and answered, “Baby isn’t allowed to touch her big girl parts and do big girl things without mommy’s permission.”

Another spank — this time, one on both sides of your ass.

“Why did mommy make that rule, sweetheart?”

“Because I’m too little to make big girl decisions,” you said, “and only mommy is big enough to know what’s best for me.”

Wanda rewarded your answer with a quick swipe of her thumb through your pussy, lightly grazing against your clit, before returning her hand to squeezing at your ass. “And don’t you see what happens when little girls make big girl decisions? Hm?” she pried. “Now you’re all filthy and ill-mannered, and mommy did not train you to be like that.”

Then suddenly, mommy was spanking you over and over, all over your ass, covering your delicate skin in flushed shades and trails of her nails.

“No one seems to want to listen to me today, honey,” she gritted. “And I thought that my baby, out of everyone, would respect mommy enough to listen to her.”

Seemingly propelled forward by the verbalisation of her anger, Wanda used one hand to spread your ass and delivered a spank to your pussy, making you cry out into the bed sheets.

“Nevermind the other idiots from the council, but I walked into this room feeling very betrayed and ignored by the sweetest, most beloved thing I’ve ever made mine,” Wanda explained sternly. “And there are not enough words in English nor Sokovian that could sufficiently express to you how upset that makes me feel, bunny.”

It was not the pain from the spankings that made you break, but instead, it was mommy talking about how betrayed and ignored she felt that did it.

“I didn’t mean to make mama feel bad,” you sniffled and rubbed at your eyes with the back of your wrist.

Wanda paused her spankings and replied, “I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart.”

You raised your head and took in a deep breath to steady yourself before saying, “I was just being selfish, mama. I really love mommy so much.” You rubbed your eyes again when tears started forming. “I’m not a big girl. I still need my mommy. I’m still just a baby and I still need mommy.”

From the way you were facing, you couldn’t see what mommy looked like when you said all that, and you weren’t sure if you were about to see what other punishments she had in store for when you disobeyed her even further.

You buried your face in your arms again and shut your eyes.

“Why don’t you tell mommy more about that?” Wanda asked, her voice smooth but not indicative of if she was upset or not.

Sniffling, you turned your head to the side so she’d be able to hear you when you spoke. “About what, mama…?”

A soft hand ran down the expanse of your stinging ass, almost soothingly.

“About how much you need your mommy,” she clarified. “Come on, honey. I want to hear about how my sweet little girl still needs her mommy.”

You wiped your face of your tears and raised your head.

“U-Um,” you stuttered, now feeling a little shy now that mama was asking for all your mushy feelings about her. “Well, I’ll always need mommy. Need mama to dress baby and make breakfast and cut up baby’s fruits in little shapes.”

The more you talked about it, the more lighthearted you became, and you perked up a bit as you started thinking more and more about what you needed Wanda for. “And!” you started again, excitedly. “And I need mommy to give me baths and cuddle me and give me kisses when I have nightmares. And I need mommy to hold my hand when I’m scared, and I need mommy to help me do big girl things.”

While you were speaking, Wanda kept rubbing her palm softly against your ass, and you imagined that she was pleased with what she was hearing for she stopped spanking you and talking about how upset her day had made her.

And mommy always liked petting her baby like that when she was content, like when you laid your head in her lap or when you were resting back against her in the bath.

“I like hearing these pretty things coming out of your mouth, honey,” Wanda said, sounding truly very grateful.

Then, she pressed a kiss to both sides of your flushed ass and gave you a gentle pat. “Come up and sit with mommy,” she said. “Are you alright? You aren’t feeling too hurt?”

Carefully and modestly as to not be improper by suddenly getting up and jumping into bed with mommy, although you certainly did want to, you sat up and followed mama to where she positioned herself against the headboard.

You shook your head and crawled over to her, where she sat you down on her lap and took you into her arms. “Feeling okay, mama,” you answered.

Wanda smiled, and she seemed much more relaxed than she did earlier. She stroked your cheek with her thumb and kissed the tip of your nose. “That’s good, sweetheart,” she whispered.

She looked down at you in a way that made you just absolutely melt, the way she was holding you close and petting your hair and touching your face.

“Do you want mommy to make you feel good?” she asked, trailing a hand down to your lower stomach.

You thought for a moment and Wanda waited patiently, until you cuddled closer and shook your head. Gently, you tugged on one of the buttons of her burgundy blouse and looked up at her pleadingly.

The picture of you suckling from mama still rang clear in your head, and really, it had been that picture that tipped you over the edge.

“Oh my,” she breathed out, impressed as she raised her eyebrows. “My little girl always has the best ideas, hm?”

Wanda pinched your nose, which made you giggle, before she began unbuttoning her blouse, doing it slowly enough so you could watch each one come undone, exposing more and more of her.

She looked at you with a smile on her face as you watched her unbutton her shirt, simply taken by how much love her little girl had for her.

When her blouse was unbuttoned with just her bra keeping you from her breasts, Wanda leaned down and kissed your lips and then your forehead.

You hooked a finger around her bra and looked up at her for permission. She gave you a single nod and, eagerly, you pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts.

Wanda brought you forward, and your lips immediately latched onto her nipple. She sighed in satisfaction and she leaned back against the headboard, stroking your head softly as you sucked.

“That’s good, bunny,” she whispered and brushed the corner of your mouth with her thumb. “Ah, your lips are so gentle.”

After a few tender moments, a sudden thought came to you and you unlatched from mommy’s nipple and looked up at her before asking quietly, “Why did you have those pictures, mommy?”

“The pictures of the two of us, angel?” she asked and looked down at you cuddled against her. She tapped your nose with her finger. “The one you were being all naughty with earlier?”

You blushed and turned your face away a little.

Wanda’s other hand that cradled the back of your head used its fingers to tilt your head the other way so you were looking back over at her. “I couldn’t stop looking at them on my phone and decided to get them printed. I was planning on sharing them with you soon, but I couldn’t find the right time,” she told you, her voice sweet and soft.

“It’s partially my fault — what happened earlier,” she then added, her fingers stroking your cheek. “I shouldn’t have kept the treats out where my little kitten could find them.”

She smiled when you giggled and she leaned down to kiss your forehead.

Then Wanda said quietly, “Thank you for being so sweet and patient with me, baby.” She hugged you closer so you could rest your head on her chest. “I know you did something bad today, but I didn’t have to be as harsh with your punishment as I was. I was just very upset, and seeing you do such things without me made me feel very left out.”

You looked up at her from her, nearly about to tell her how much you loved her again, but Wanda could understand it from how you looked at her.

“It’s okay for you to make mistakes sometimes, sweetheart, especially when I know you did it just because you missed me. I lost my temper, is all. Thank you for caring for me by being so understanding, even when I was being a little mean. Even little girls care for their mommies too, you know.”

Sitting up a bit, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and hugged her. “I wanna care for mommy forever and ever,” you voiced proudly.

“Only if I get to be your mommy forever and ever,” Wanda teased, kissing your cheek and rubbing your back with her other hand.

“I’ll always need mommy.”

“Then I’ll always need my little girl.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up.

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around.

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready.

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl.

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite.

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head.

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you.

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window.

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off.

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated.

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.”

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order!

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers!

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out.

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all.

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.”

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you?

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.”

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it.

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you.

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.”

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks.

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter.

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you.

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual.

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him.

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests.

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that.

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers.

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise.

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?”

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again.

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces.

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone.

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks.

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.”

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way.

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you.

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic.

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger.

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner.

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway.

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him.

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way.

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week.

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier.

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks.

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman.

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment.

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.”

“No--”

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button.

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat.

“I don--”

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--”

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery?

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Are you...” he says your name again.

“... yes.”

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation.

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole.

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real.

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame.

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #the quiet ones #dark!fic #series #the gray man

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reallyromealone · 24 days

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Title: and they were roommates

Fandom: none

Characters: vampire (oc?)

Fic type: story

Pairings: vampire x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, nsfw, biting, blood sucking, dubious consent, blow jobs

Notes:ok so it's not an OC really? But it kind of is? It's a vampire but like not a specific dude and he doesn't have a name or any description

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"Aight, streams done" (name)s roommate said coming out of his room, dressed in comfortable clothes as (name) put in a pullover sweater "let's get this shopping done!" (Name) Said back with enthusiasm as he stretched, (name) was thankful his roommate and him had the same sleep schedule, (name) worked online as an editor and his roommate was a twitch streamer, usually up all hours of the night streaming.

Though tonight he started early so that the two could get grocery shopping done, thankfully they lived close to a 24 hour grocery store "I'm gonna get me some pop tarts" (name) said getting into the passenger seat of his roommates car and the other snorted "eat too many and you will become one"

"That would be awesome, I would be delicious" (name) said, missing the look his roommate gave, a flash of red passing over his eyes as he began driving.

The two had been roommates for two years now and (name) wouldn't lie... He was down bad for his roommate, he was always so cool and mysterious-- "dude! They have the barbieque sauce!" Well most of the time, after streams he was always a little more goofy, less like his online persona.

Though... He wasn't expecting this.

"Sorry... Fuck... I thought I had more in reserve..." His roommate mumbled as he pinned him to the bed, shaking slightly as he kissed (name)s neck feverishly "what..." (Name) Gasped as he felt something puncture his neck and a whine left his lips as his roommates hands held (name)s wrists against his bed.

He was so tired, having gone to bed after the grocery shop and he knew his roommate was fidgety but... "Sorry..." He whispered as he removed his fangs and licked (name) neck clean before pulling back, guilt washing over his face before feeling... "Oh" he said and (name) followed his eyes to realize that while getting bitten by his roommate (name) popped a boner and looked back up to meet his roommates gaze flustered and embarrassed "I- uh..."

"Sorry for biting you, I thought I had more reserve" he said getting closer and (name) fidgeted and looked away "I get it if you wanna move out, that was pretty shitty of me to do" his vampire roommate said and (name) bit his lip shyly "I feel this... Is a dumb Segway to tell you I have feelings for you" (name)s voice trembled slightly, this is now how he imagined confessing and god-- what if he didn't like him back and he looked like an idiot--" I like you too, guess I can do this then.." slightly cold lips touched his own, soft and plush as fangs gently scraped his lips as they began kissing slowly and a soft moan left (name)s lips.

"How are you feeling today though... Haven't taken from a person in a while..." His roommate fretted as he looked over (name) and his wound "I'm a bit dizzy.... But I'm ok..." He whispered as his roommate gently pecked his lips as comfort before adjusting so (name) could sit up "so... What happened?" (Name) Asked as he grabbed his pillow and covered his still present erection as his roommates boyfriend? Sighed "well... You know how you said you would be a delicious pop tart?"

"Yeah...?"

"Well that + me having a crush on you + being semi hungry..."

"Oh... Oh!" (Name) Quickly connected and things started making more sense "so the mini fridge..."

"You're handling this way better than I expected" the vampire said softly and a tad bit nervous "well... It explains a LOT" (name) shrugged before wincing slightly as he was just bitten "and I mean you're still my roommate... So are we like... Boyfriend or...?" (Name) Asked nervously as he played with the pillow in his lap "only if you want to be" his roommate said softly and (name) nodded "yeah... I would really like that" (name) said happily and his boyfriend moved to kiss him.

"And I promise not to bite you again" his roommate said as he set (name) on the couch, the two moving to the living room after a nice makeout session in (name)s room, the human having a dizzy spell so it was time for a cookie and orange juice.

"But what if I wanted you to do it again?" (Name) Said shifting nervously as the other set the food and drink down, (name) watched as the cogs turned in his head and then the realization clicked "oh? You like it when I bite you?" He asked as he watched the other eat his cookie "I mean... You did give me a boner" (name) said, his erection just now going down as the other hummed "alright but... I promise not to take it often, don't want you unconscious"

Their lives went on normally save for a few new additions like making out basically everywhere in the apartment and sharing a bed as both found they were fairly clingy with cuddles.

"O-oh..." (Name) Whined as he felt the other lift his shirt to nip at his chest, fangs scraping lightly across his nipple before sucking and biting, his other hand tugging at the other nipple as (name) sat in his lap stroking their erect cocks together as they both let out soft breaths and moans "fuck..." Did sucking blood somehow a god at sucking his chest? God his dick sucking game must be legendary...

"You know you're mumbling right?" His boyfriend looked up at him and (name) grew flustered as the other went close to his ear "and my dick sucking game is unmatched" before licking the shell of his ear, kissing down and heaving hickeys as he went and pushed (name) down so that he was laying on their bed, his boyfriends hands firmly on his hips as he took (name)s cock in one go, hollowing out his cheeks as he began sucking slow and hard.

His tongue rubbed the base of his cock as his fangs just barely scraped the sides, the actions causing (name)s eyes to roll back and thankfully the vampire had his hands on the others hips as (name)s hips began jerking to chase the vacuum that was his boyfriends mouth.

"S-shit-- I'm gonna..!" (Name) Came down his throat as his toes curled and knees buckled, the vampire drinking every drop with a hazy expression before pulling off "you wanna go all the way? It's ok if you don't wanna" he soothed as (name) shook, sweating as he felt the other kiss his forehead "maybe... Tomorrow night... We could?" He asked and the vampire chuckled "yeah baby, I'll make it real special for ya" his voice though teasing, his eyes said something different.

And (name) couldn't wait for tomorrow.

#oc x male reader #oc x reader #vampire x reader #vampire x male reader #male reader #x male reader #male reader smut #smut

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 5 months

Text

a/n: a quick little something that i couldn’t stop thinking about so i had to write it. the final hockey fic of the year and it feels fitting that it’s barzy after all the love you gave me on the last one. there’ll be more to come with this little family so join me for the ride in 2024! happy new year, all! 🫶🏻

word count: 3.4k

tw: super brief innuendo, vague mention of bad birth experience, brief mention of negative body image

summary: you and mat bring talia to meet santa at the islanders family holiday skate

You hum along to the Christmas song playing on the Alexa speaker, dancing and making silly face at Talia so she’ll laugh while you’re getting her ready instead of freaking out. “Santa, baby, slip a sable under the tree,” you croon in an off-key, over the top voice, “for meeee.”

She giggles, displaying the one and a half teeth she has popping out of her bottom gums. You bicycle her legs on the changing table, making quick work of her diaper change. “So, what are we thinking for the fit today, Miss T?” You tickle her bare tummy and blow a little raspberry on her skin, making her shriek with laughter again. “Oooh, I just love that sound.”

It’s two weeks before Christmas, Talia’s first, and you’re getting ready to head over to Northwell for the Islanders’ family holiday party. You’re excited to have Talia meet Santa and skate with her and Mat. The house is decorated, you’re speeding along to the actual holiday, and Talia’s being the sweetest baby. It’s wild to think that this time last year you were telling Mat about your pregnancy and after the craziness of the last few months of your pregnancy and Talia’s birth, you’re finally feeling more normal and less anxious about doing something wrong.

“Maybe a dress,” you lift the seven-month-old onto your hip and wander over to her closet, where all the clothes are color cordinated, thanks to Liana’s Thanksgiving visit. You flip through the tiny clothes, the little hangers clacking against the rack. Talia bounces on your hip, kicking her feet and you’re convinced that you have a permanent bruise on your ass cheek from where her little heel constantly makes contact. “Or how about the little plaid jumpsuit from Auntie Syd?”

Talia giggles and yanks at your hair. You wince and take your hand away from the jumpsuit. “Okay, maybe not the jumpsuit. I’m thinking red velvet dress for Santa and something warmer for skating, what to you think, Talia Bee?”

You continue to narrate your actions while you pick out the little red velvet dress that you’d been unable to resist when you went to the Americana a few weeks ago. It’s so soft and you know Talia, with her dark hair and light eyes, is going to look like a Christmas angel. She’s the perfect mix of you and Mat, with Mat’s coloring, and you just want to spend your time staring at her and cuddling her, especially because you hadn’t been able to hold her right away after her early birth. Emotion clogs your throat as you think about those scary first days and weeks, and you make the effort to push those emotions away, kissing the baby on her forehead. “Okay, mama’s being silly,” you murmur. “Let’s get you ready.”

Talia’s decked out in her little tights and the dress, kicking her feet happily, hands fisting the soft velvet fabric of her dress. You brush her shock of dark hair off her forehead, tidying it up with a little red bow hairclip, before lifting her up and helping her stand on the changing table. She bounces her knees, squealing excitedly, and your heart expands.

You settle her back on your hip once she’s dressed and move around to pack the diaper bag, tossing the outfit change - a pair of hunter green corduroy leggings and a fluffy white pullover with a hood and bear ears - into the separate compartment from the diapers and everything else. You make sure there’s another, less fancy outfit change in the bag as well, plus her diapers and a whole host of toys to keep her occupied.

The Christmas playlist shuffles back to “Santa Baby” and you laugh a little, singing along dramatically to make Talia giggle. You dance around with her in your arms and jump when Mat’s voice breaks in through the music and your singing, “she’s really whoring herself out for Santa, huh?”

You turn and there’s your husband, leaning against the door to the baby’s nursery, looking handsome as sin in his dark jeans and cream sweater. His hair is slightly damp from his shower and he’s barefoot. A teasing smile splits his face.

You grin back at him, adjusting your grip on Talia as she lunges in your arms for Mat. “She’s just a woman who knows what she wants,” you reply, handing Talia over to him. He takes her easily and kisses her cheek.

Mat scoffs. “Sounds like a pain in the ass to me. Talia Bee looks like she’s ready to meet Santa, huh?” He wrinkles his nose at her and she giggles, grabbing at his face, little fingers hooking in his mouth. He play bites at them and she giggles, bumping her head against Mat’s. “Ow,” he mumbles.

You wipe subtly at your eyes, hormones still a little wonky, and Mat shakes his head at you. “No tears. I’ve got Princess T, we’ll hang out while you get ready,” he says, reaching out to nudge at your side to get you moving. He turns to Talia and says, “right, T? Daddy will entertain you while Mama gets even prettier than she already is.”

“Charmer,” you roll your eyes. “Do not let her get messy, please.”

“Oh, there went my plans to finger paint,” he laughs, making Talia laugh too. Their faces are nearly identical when they laugh and you can’t believe that this is your life.

When you finish getting ready, after only some minimal negative thoughts about the few extra pounds still lingering on your body, you find Mat and Talia in the den, entertaining each other. Mat’s laying on his stomach on the couch, a hand extended to Talia with a pile of puffs on his palm. He watches as Talia pinches one at a time and puts them carefully in her mouth. “Good job, T,” Mat coos, his free hand rubbing at the bottom of her foot.

“Puffs were a smart choice,” you comment, grinning when Talia looks over at you and immediately ignores Mat and the snacks in favor of waving her hands at you for you to pick her up.

Mat rolls partially onto his side to look at you and immediately wolf whistles, making you blush. “Hot mama,” he says, teasing you with his words. But the look in his eyes is all genuine heat and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Stop that,” you wave him off, lifting Talia onto your hip. “I probably shouldn’t even be wearing these pants,” your free hand smooths over the black leather on your thigh, “I need to lose like another ten pounds.”

“You’re literally the hottest woman I’ve ever seen,” Mat says sincerely, getting to his feet and popping the remaining palmful of puffs into his mouth. The baby snacks are surprisingly delicious. He chews, swallows, and says, “if we weren’t nearly running late, I’d a thousand percent eat you out on the couch right now.”

“Mat!” You yelp his name and cover Talia’s ear with your free hand. “Little ears!”

“She has no idea what I’m saying,” he laughs, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you. His tongue slides past your lips and you deepen the kiss, grinning against his mouth until Talia lets out a shriek because neither of you is paying attention to her. Mat pulls back from the kiss and laughs harder, giving her a dramatic, smacking kiss on the cheek. “Can’t forget about the princess.”

You kiss her other cheek, smushing her face in between yours and Mat’s and Talia giggles happily, kicking her legs and pushing at your faces with her hands.

Talia naps a little in the car, her head lolling and cheek pressed against the side of her car seat. Mat’s hand stays firmly on your thigh for the entire drive and you try not to think about the way your thighs spread when you’re sitting. But when you get to the practice rink and all of the kids are running around, it’s easier to push those thoughts away. Mat carries the diaper bag and the skates while you have Talia and your purse.

“Let the party begin,” he crows dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air. You snort a laugh behind him while some of the guys roll their eyes at him.

“Party’s already started,” Bo teases, “with Barzy fashionably late.”

“Do you think these good looks just happen naturally?” Mat asks, pouting like Zoolander.

Noah breezes by with Brock’s two oldest kids yanking on his hands. He comments, “yeah, we all knew it took you a lot of work to look halfway decent.”

“Please continue chirping him,” you say, “his ego’s almost too big for the house.” Mat helps you take off your jacket while you’re still holding Talia and he takes the opportunity to pinch your ass in retaliation. “Ouch! I’m sorry,” you giggle. Talia tugs at your hair and you’re convinced that sometimes father and daughter have a psychic connection.

Mat wanders off to put your jackets somewhere and you end up in a little huddle with Sydney, Kristy, and Holly. They take turns cooing over Talia’s little dress and she thrives on the attention, giving them gummy smiles and giggles, drool covering her chin that you have to keep wiping off. The older kids are all wandering around, running in the open areas, and the noise echoes off the high ceilings in the rink’s lobby. It’s decorated for the holidays and you find yourself looking around for Mat to see if he’ll join you for a picture in front of the tree.

He appears, with a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head, and Jack Cizikas hanging off his back. “Did anyone see Jack?” He asks seriously, looking between you and the other women. “We can’t find him!”

Jack’s giggles are infectious and you find yourself laughing too, bouncing Talia on your lap. “Did you check the ice?” You ask and Mat turns around, like a dog chasing its tail, with Jack swinging around, laughing hysterically.

“I’m here!” He yelps and slides off Mat’s back. Mat widens his eyes in a dramatic expression.

“Whoa! Have you been there the whole time?” Mat shakes his head. “Your dad and I couldn’t find you!”

Jack looks up at Mat and then over at his mom, who’s hiding a laugh behind her hand. “Mom, isn’t Mat supposed to be good at spotting things?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Like pucks? I’m bigger than a puck!”

With that, he runs off to find the other kids, leaving the adults laughing in his wake. Mat shakes his head, “damn. The kid’s a savage.”

Kristy shrugs, “he spends too much time around hockey players.”

“That’s why we’re only having daughters,” Mat says to you, cupping his hand over Talia’s head. “They’re nicer to their dads than boys are.” Talia reaches for him and wraps her entire hand around his ring and pinky fingers.

You snort, “wait until the teenage years, I don’t think you’ll be singing the same tune.”

“Forget teenage years,” Sydney laughs, “Winnie’s terrible twos almost prevented Alice from even existing at all.”

“Let me have my fantasy,” Mat grins. “You guys are mean, right T? You’re not gonna be mean to Daddy when you’re older?” He lifts her from your lap and hugs her close, wincing when she yanks at a hunk of his hair while she giggles, leaving a spot of drool on his shoulder.

“How about we try that Santa picture while she’s in a good mood?” You suggest, getting to your feet to disentangle her chubby fingers from Mat’s hair. The last thing you need is for him to think another buzz cut is a good idea.

The other wives nod. Holly chimes in, “you have to get that picture before nap time otherwise it’s a total loss.”

Kyle and Ashlee are finishing up their pictures with Santa when you and Mat get over to the little workshop area that’s been set up. Luca’s grinning from ear to ear, a candy cane clutched in his fist. “Candy!” He cheers when he sees you and Mat, brandishing the sweet and nearly whacking Ashlee in the eye. She ducks a little and huffs a laugh through her nose.

“Not the first candy cane he’s had today,” she admits to you, while Kyle holds out a hand to Talia for a high-five. Mat helps her give the other man a slap on the palm and all three cheer.

“She’s still sugar free,” you grin. “But I can’t vouch for how much sugar the big child has had.”

“Absolutely none,” Mat cuts in haughtily. “This energy is all natural life endorphins, Squeaks.”

Mat’s natural life endorphins have him practically bouncing in to see Santa, all big smile and bright eyes. You’re both so excited to see Talia meet Santa for the first time and the man the team’s hired looks absolutely perfect for the part. He greets you all happily, with a booming voice full of joy. “Ho ho ho!” He laughs. “Who do we have here?”

“This is Talia,” you tell Santa with a big cheesy grin on your face. Mat has her facing forward, one forearm propped under her butt and the other wrapped securely around her stomach. She squints at Santa curiously, suspiciously, but doesn’t make a peep.

“Oh, ho! Talia, have you been a good girl this year?” Santa asks, a twinkle in his eye that you don’t think can be faked. He must be a grandfather in his real life, you think while snapping photos.

Talia pinches her lips together, her eyebrows drawing together in a furrow. Mat jiggles her up ans down a little, “T, why don’t you show off that Barzal charm? Give Santa a smile.”

“She’s usually very chatty,” you explain to Santa, who shrugs and says he’s seen it all. Mat lifts one shoulder too and goes to hand Talia over to Santa so you can get a picture, but the second she leaves Mat’s hands, Talia begins sobbing, letting out an earsplitting wail.

“Oh my god!” You take her back immediately, holding her against your shoulder and swaying so she’ll calm down. Mat’s apologizing in the background. “Oh, Talia Bee, it’s okay. Mama and Daddy are sorry. You’re okay.”

She keeps crying on your shoulder and you wince at Mat, who looks shocked and says, “I had no idea she’d freak out like that.”

“It happens much more often than you’d think,” Santa offers kindly. “The littlest ones like to have mom and dad in the picture too.”

Talia hiccups in your arms, she’s stopped crying now, but her face is still all red. You pepper soft kisses over her cheeks and forehead, cuddling her close until she starts chewing on the side of her fist quietly. Her head is tucked under your chin and she looks over at Santa with a pretty impressive stink eye, considering she’s only seven months old.

“I’ll keep a hold of her,” you tell Mat, “and we can all just get a group shot. Hopefully that doesn’t set her off.”

He agrees and sits on one side of Santa while you take the other, carefully keeping Talia from seeing Santa directly. You smile and tickle Talia lightly, hoping it gets her to smile at least. Once the picture is taken, Santa offers you both a jolly smile and Mat a candy cane. He takes it happily and immediately unwraps it to pop it in his mouth with the hook part hanging out of his mouth. He scrolls through the photos that were taken and cracks up at one, showing it to you as you head back towards the main lobby.

“Oh god,” you giggle at the photo of Talia freaking out, her face bright red and mouth opened in that horrible wail. “This is so mean to laugh at.”

“At least when she needs therapy for her Santa phobia we can show her this as the starting point,” Mat jokes, while setting one of the nicer photos of the three of you as his new phone background.

“You’re horrible,” you swat at his arm, adjusting Talia on your hip. She grumbles and nuzzles her face against your shoulder, patting at your chest. She lets out a high pitched squeal and you kiss her cheek. “Okay, I know. You’re hungry, right, baby? Daddy can go get Mama a snack and I’ll feed you.”

You turn to Mat and give him puppy dog eyes. He’s already laughing when you ask, “will you get me snacks while I feed your child?”

He snorts. “Of course. What do you want, sweet or salty?” While he waits for your answer, Mat cups his hand over Talia’s head and rubs his thumb over the shell of her ear. His love language has always been physical touch, his hands always on your body in some way, and now he does it to Talia, constantly holding her little hand or cupping his palm over her head.

“How about a little mix of everything?” You reply, leaning over Talia to give him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into one of the side offices so you can feed the baby. Mat brings a plate of snacks and once you’re done feeding Talia, he takes her to burp so you can get straightened out. While he pats her back, Mat tells Talia how excited he is to take her on the ice and how cute she’s going to look in her little sweater. You love when he’s extra adorable with her, it honestly makes you want to give him a dozen more babies. When Talia’s a little older and you’ve had some more distance from your labor with her you’re going to bring it up with Mat.

Half the team is already on the ice when you get to the rink after changing the baby into her warmer outfit. Everyone’s having a good time skating and the kids all look beyond delighted to be taking turns skating with their dads. You sit on the lowest bleacher level and watch Mat make quick work of his skate laces, tying off the knots efficiently. You go to hand Talia over so you can lace up your own pair, but Mat kneels in front of you instead.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him pull off your boots. He cups a hand around your ankle and guides your foot to the skate boot. You automatically wiggle your feet into the skates, reflexively stomping down so your heel settles into place. He adjusts the tongue of the skate and makes quick work of your laces too, knotting them tightly.

“Taking care of my girl,” he replies with a cheeky grin before patting your ankle to signify that he’s done and you can stand up. Talia reaches for Mat and he takes her, knowing that you’d rather he hold her while you’re on skates since he’s more comfortable walking on the blades.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, following him onto the ice, your phone in hand to take pictures. Talia’s eyes are wide and Mat holds her securely while she has her head practically on a swivel to watch all the action. She waves to everyone as they skate past, excitedly kicking her legs in Mat’s arms. Whenever one of the guys waves to her, she squeals happily, nearly falling out of Mat’s arms in order to reach for Gunnar Horvat when Bo skates past with him. Mat laughs and picks up his speed a bit to get the breeze on her face.

Your stomach twists a little nervously and you follow him, slower of course, saying, “Mat, don’t go too fast, okay? I don’t want - just be careful!”

He nods and slows down, spinning to face you and skate backwards a little. They both have matching looks of joy on their faces. “This is the best,” he grins, bouncing Talia in his arms and then leaning down to let her feet touch the ice. She giggles, kicking at it, and you take video, knowing you’re going to watch it back a million times. “She’s a real ice baby.”

“It’s in her blood,” you wave at Talia from behind the camera so she’ll look at you. Mat helps her wave back and swings her a little, grip firm under her armpits. She shrieks with delight as he swings her back up into the air and into his arms. Her little cheeks and nose are pink and the fluffy fleece makes her look like a little polar bear. “You are the cutest little baby in the world,” you can’t help but coo at her.

“All thanks to her having the cutest mom in the world,” Mat winks at you, skating away with a laugh.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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eucalyptusbuck · 2 months

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some bi buck fic recs!!!

it had to be done. i think mostly bucktommy, but some buddie, some eddie pov, and some just buck being bi <3

the gift you gave him - @bibibuck (or Eddie helps Tommy be a good boyfriend to Buck and realizes in the process that maybe he's wanted to be Buck's boyfriend all along.)

as lucky as us - @bucktommys or, Ravi continually suffers as a third-wheel.

you've got me surrounded - @thatnerdemryn Buck never understood why he had lost so many sweatshirts and button-downs to past girlfriends. Nine times out of ten, they didn't even remotely fit their figure and they were only worn in the comfort of Buck's home anyways.

Then he puts on Tommy's pullover, and everything makes a little more sense.

just kiss me slowly - @capseycartwright tommy does this thing, when he kisses buck.

This Old Love Has Me Bound - @littlespoonevan In an attempt to better understand his newfound bisexuality, Buck tries to figure out if he ever missed any signs with guys before. The universe keeps interrupting every time he's about to think about Eddie.

every little thing the sun shows, well it’s worth it - @capseycartwright or - after his kiss with Tommy, Buck goes to Hen.

(fragile) handle with care - @rogerzsteven Buck gets hurt on a call, Tommy looks after him.

somethin' tells me you know why i lie - @clusterbuck OR: buck brings tommy to the madney wedding. eddie is absolutely, definitively not jealous.

#send me more to read and ill make a second list heheheh #also lmk if the links work and/or if i made any mistakes whoop #fic rec #911 fic rec #buddie #bucktommy #evan buckley #911 abc #911 fic

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eastbubble · 9 days

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plsss i need a continuation of that quickie with !09 ghost fic 😭 like i need angst, ghost immediately ignoring reader after getting caught out of sheer embarrassment and a need to “protect” reader from himself I NEED IT

jk its up to u if u want to write it, its okay if not 👨‍🦲

oh my god yes ! i see this ! thanks for the idea love ! press the button for the angsty (no comfort ……..) sequel to this fic ! ><

roach stood there in the doorstep, the usb stick almost falling out of his hand because of how much his fingers were starting to shake. his brain refused to take in the fact that he had caught his lieutenant and a fellow sergeant basically doing the deed when they were supposed to be working. his head went dizzy and he looked down in shame, cheeks lighting up with a bright shade of pink — though nobody could see that because he pulled his mask up.

simon looked at you in the eyes, shaking his head in disappointment. you two stayed like that for a few seconds, his pants pulled down to the middle of his thighs and you just pressed against the wall. you could feel him grip your hips a little tighter, his touch becoming a little shaky as he eventually set you down to the floor, your back sliding along the rough wooden wall.

you didn’t know what to think of the situation. why was simon shaking his head like you were the only one guilty in performing this little stunt? why was the look in his eyes so full of disappointment and not guilt or embarrassment? it was like this whole thing didn’t even faze him at all — it had the same effect as a knife being stabbed right into your heart, and just for some more dramatic outcome, even twisted two or three times.

the shaking sergeant’s boots made a small little sound as he turned around and quickly walked down the stairs in silence. great. ghost quickly pulled up his pants, buckling his belt as fast as he could and zipping his gray wool pullover as quick as possible. he seemed mad and angry but you couldn’t really get why it was all directed towards you. yeah, sure, you’re neck deep in this pile of shit as well but it takes two people to kiss! and it takes two to have sex! and it takes three to get caught!

“we’re fucked..” you muttered under your breath, not exactly knowing what to do right now. you wanted to ease the tension somehow but the air was thick and warm and it was suffocating because of the weight it put on your shoulders.

“only you are.” he said lowly.

“great pun. what now-“

“it was not a pun.” he hissed. then why would you be the only one who’s in the mud right now? you looked at him with a confused expression on your face, the traces of your previously apparent dark red blush slowly fading away as your body temperature was finally cooling. it was a quick switch.. “you’re gonna be the one stuck with the title lieutenant-fucker.”

“oh come on. sanderson’s probably not going to talk for like a week now anyways. and it’s not like he’s going to tell on you, he’s practically your little brother, no-“

silence struck the rotten room once simon’s radio went off, a few slurred words and some incredibly deafening static echoing from the walkie talkie. it sounded like roach was on the other end of the line (who else would it be?) and just like you predicted, he was struggling to form his sentences, brain fuzzy as he was desperately asking for help through half-words. you managed to catch a word about general shepherd, your brain immediately ‘sobering’ up — the mission was still very much going. it did not end. you were the only one that was stuck on this point of getting caught in the middle of some quickie.

and without saying a word, ghost was already running down the stairs with his rifle in his hand, leaving you behind like you weren’t just as important (according to ranks..) as sanderson was.

it seems like that day became thin air to your lieutenant.

#call of duty #cod #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #09 ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley #roach cod #gary roach sanderson

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quickiesgirl · 7 months

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Vampiric Mistress - Eddie Munson

Paring: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, Switch!Eddie Munson, Handjob, Guided Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Breast Fixation, Praise Kink, Mistress Kink, Reader Wears Corset, Halloween Costumes, House Party, My Shitty Writing.

A/n: October has gone by so fast, and I can't believe Kinktober is already over. I've really enjoyed posting these shitty little fics out into the world so thanks for reading.

Kinktober 31 - Breasts Fixation

Eddie’s eyes were on you throughout the night, unable to keep his attention off you when you were dressed in such a risky outfit. You took the role of the vampiric mistress in your tight, red lingerie corset with silk, maroon-colored lace in the back, and a long, tattered skirt with a gothic make-up look.

He was dressed as her victim, clothed in a vintage renaissance-looking pullover, ruffled and laced in the front, and wearing a pair of black trousers. Fake blood smeared on the collar directly below the prominent bite mark on the side of his neck.

You’d been collecting pieces for your couple's costume for weeks, up until Halloween day, when it finally came together, it was tastefully revealing on your gorgeous frame, exactly as you imagined. The second your boyfriend got a proper look at you, a lustful yearning began growing deep within.

The teasing aspect of it all was your favorite, making your partner a submissive, needy mess throughout the night. You made little remarks that drew attention to your body, and “accidentally” brushed your ass against his crotch, listening to a small grunt fall from his lips which he quickly tried to cover up with a cough. Knowing his trousers were becoming increasingly tight and restricting further into the night.

Between the loud, popular hits of the decade playing through the household, the boozy drinks, and dancing people, he still found moments to show you just how hard you’d made him, and what looked like giving a loving hug from behind was him purposefully pressing his strained cock into your ass.

With an excuse, you and your boyfriend began heading upstairs. He was dying to have a moment alone with you. You lead him into the unoccupied bathroom, hips swaying confidently ahead of him, feeling his dark brown eyes burn holes into your body.

The music on the costly stereo below muffles when the door shuts behind you, only feeling the sound of the base vibrating within the floor.

He put his beer aside and leaned back into the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, watching you in the mirror. Fixated on those gorgeous breasts while you stand there, looking at your reflection with the counter-pressing into your midsection, back arched forward, and ass pushing out teasingly.

“You’re okay, enjoying the party?” You asked, checking in on Eddie, knowing he wasn't the biggest fan of parties.

“Y-yeah, I’m glad we’re here. Your friends are cool,” Eddie excused his needs for a moment and reassured you so sweetly, “and I am especially happy to be dressed up with you, my beautiful, vampiric mistress.”

You glance back at him, noticing that the last part said in his slow, sexy Dungeon Master voice, the same one he uses when narrating the quest of his campaign, making a mischievous smirk creep across your face, “Mistress, huh? I think I could get used to that,”

Silence consumes him as a flustered look spreads across his face, the bulge in his pants twitching noticeably.

“You seem a bit distracted, my love. Something on your mind?” You asked, stretching your neck to the side, massaging your exposed shoulder, before delicately strolling the tips of your fingers down with a feather-like touch, sliding between the crease of your cleavage over the material of your corset, watching as the pretty, metal-head becomes flustered by your actions.

You spin around on the tips of your toes and take a few steps towards him, laying a hand on his stomach as the other brushes the hair from his shoulder, leaning in to slowly kiss the uncovered part of his chest and neck. “Don’t be shy, baby, you can tell mistress.”

You held a steady, dominant tone in your voice, seducing him with every last word, not to mention that name rolling off your tongue, Mistress. It felt sinfully right to hear it coming from your mouth.

A quiver rolled through his body, practically melting in the palm of your hand while he felt you mark him with a bruising hickey above his collar for everyone to see.

“You know what’s on my mind. I’ve been horny all night just from looking at you. All I’ve been able to think about is removing that corset and using my mouth on those gorgeous breasts down to that beautiful stomach of yours.”

A smile curls on your lips, moving back to position your hands on the counter and rise to seat yourself on the cool felt surface, thighs widening with a very tempting invitation. Your fingers glide across your round, lifted bosom, “So, why don’t you start making that mouth useful then.”

Eddie obeys at a moment's notice, attaching his full lips to your breasts, which were practically jutting out of your corset. With admiring eyes, you look down as he lays soft, lingering kisses along every inch of your skin.

Submissiveness was a natural part of him. Sure, he enjoyed being dominant from time to time. But sometimes, nothing felt better than being dominated himself, soft or rough, getting ordered by his partner, being your personal fuck toy on occasion, getting topped, and fucked senselessly.

You reach behind and pull at the laces that bind the material to your chest, removing your top. The head of his dick begins to throb, watching your breast spill out.

“Holy shit…” He said, gawking at the sight of your body on full display, licking his lips instinctually before leaning forward, hovering his mouth over your erect nipple, and slowly tracing the areola until he finally wrapped his warm, silk-felt lips around your bud.

Eddie Munson had been blessed to have a well-skilled tongue used in all sorts of pleasurable ways. He could have your chest heaving within seconds and hips squirming at times just by stroking himself along the sweet spots of your body. He’d studied where every single one of them lay.

The tip of his tongue applies a few kitten licks, nose brushing into your skin before releasing with a suctioned pop, cursing to himself silently as he stares at your glistening nipple. His fingers graze along the sides of your body, feeling your skin prickle from his touch.

“You’ve been such a good boy, waiting so patiently. I’m very proud of you,” You praised, driving your hand through his dark brown curls while the other cupped the nape of his neck, “This was everything you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so quiet and reserved, knowing you’d get rewarded.”

“Mmm, yes.” Eddie lets out, completely infatuated with your seductive-sounding voice in his ear. He trails lips across your chest, finally giving some attention to your other nipple.

He gently nipped at your bud while his dominant hand slid up your stomach to cup your breast, squeezing at the soft flesh weighing in his palm. His spare hand remained on your lower back, keeping your body arched into him. You rolled your shoulders back and let out a teasing moan that forced out an audible reactive grunt from him.

“F-fuck, I won’t last like this…C-can I - stroke myself, mistress?” He begged, watching your eyes examine before permitting him to do so.

He swiftly pushed his pants and boxers down to his thighs, sighing with relief when he freed his restricted cock, which had been tucked into the waistband of his trousers since earlier in the night, blood pumping to his swollen, enlarged penis with a slight tingling sensation, desperately waiting for your attention, which he got the second he pulled it out.

Your lecherous gaze ogles his erection, held firmly in his grasp, watching the way his thumb swipes over the pinkened tip, spreading his pre-cum around, making you nibble on your bottom lip.

“Rub your palm against the head of your cock. I want you to touch yourself, just like I would.”

Sweet little moans and whimpers began to fall from his lips as he massaged the head of his dick, his spare hand, once holding you nearly moments ago, snaked into his boxers to fondle his heavy balls, pretending that his large fingers were your small, nimble ones.

“Mmm, best keep quiet, or someone may hear those slutty little noises.” You warn, raising his chin and pulling his bottom lip down before feeding your fingers into his mouth, feeling puddling warmth wrap around you. His soft moans vibrate around your digits before you draw out and line his swollen lips, making them wet and glistening with saliva.

You raise the front of your dress to reveal your clothed slit and swipe your panties aside, rubbing your clitoris in languid circles, forcing him to watch. Still holding that devilish gaze, giving him a look as if you were the apex predator and he was just another helpless piece of meat for your enjoyment.

He looked down, completely fixated on your sweet-looking cunt, glistening lips with your manicured nails rotating around the hood of your clit, applying a bit of pressure.

All of these thoughts went to the head of his cock with a pulsating sensation while everything around him, the muffled sound of music and people conversing below, completely faded out, almost in a lustful, hazy blur.

“M-may your good boy cum, mistress?”

“I think you’ve waited long enough. Where do you want it, or- should I surprise my sweet boy?” You questioned, tilting your head and hopping off the counter. Your heavy plat-formed shoes beneath you made a loud thumping noise when you dropped. Hopefully, it wasn’t as noticeable for the people below.

You wouldn’t want to get caught taking care of Munson's needs in your dear friend’s bathroom, or maybe it was the risk of it all that turned the two of you on so much, the fact that you were getting off your submissive boy at a Halloween party, all because of a little costume that turned him on.

“I-I uhm, s-surprise me, please?” His voice rose with a slight tremble, not so subtly eyeing your body, warmth spreading over his face, paying attention to your chest. He had a fixation, after all.

A grin merely spreads across your lips before he slides his hands back, lacing one around the base of his drooling cock while he watches you kneel to the ground. The wood flooring, hard on your knees and likely to leave bruises as a reminder of this moment for later.

You look up into his eyes seductively and grab his thighs, placing a single kiss on the head of his penis before rubbing your tongue back and forth across the glans, coating your taste buds in precum.

He moaned breathily, watching you aim his cock at your breasts and finally give permission to jerk off. He only gets a few strokes in before strings of his hot, sticky cum are painting your chest beautifully.

“Oh fuuhck, ’m cumming-” Eddie alerted before being cut off with husky grunts and moans, knees weakening and head pressing back into the wall, milking himself as much as he could physically handle.

When he finished, he loosened on his softening cock, and eyes glanced down, watching you wipe the beads of cum with your finger and lick the mess away as he came down from his high.

“Jesus, I think I’m seeing stars.” He let out a slow exhale, still trying to regain his breath.

“Good,” You chuckle softly, standing up to press your lips to his, tongue driving past his warm wet lips, making him moan into your mouth, getting the taste of his own bitter yet sweet cum.

It looked so disgraceful stepping out of that bathroom together. Eddie's neck was covered in lip prints and hickeys while your lipstick smeared slightly with a few additional love bites across your bosom, only adding to the erotic effect of your costume.

Eddie Munson Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @madmax-thewise @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rottenstyx @cantthinkofauserlololol @natashamacimoff69 @zestychilli @luna-munson83 @chaoticcancer @ruinedbythehobbit @emxxblog @emsgoodthinkin @jjmaybankswifes-blog

Taglist Form | Message if you want to be removed <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #sub!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things netflix #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #quickiesgirl writing

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callsign-phoenix · 7 months

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I wrote this as a part of my falltober fics, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x female!reader imagine.

Thank you @famfan-1034 for proofreading!

Day 21: Sweater weather

Warnings: smut (18+)

Jake Seresin’s mother was an avid knitter, she loved to do so now that she didn’t have a job anymore and the kids were all grown up.

She had knitted several scarves and gloves but her favorite thing was the sweater she had made for her favorite son.

Jake had been flattered that she had decided the garment was for him until he had seen it, proclaiming it hideous, of course not to her face.

But while he hated the sweater his mom expected to see it during any family celebration in the fall- or wintertime.

Jake purposely didn’t pack it each time but there was a limit to the lie of having forgotten something, so you decided to counteract his dislike towards it.

One slow day in October, when Jake was home from work early and you had decided to make it a comfortable afternoon at home in front of the tv you excused yourself to change into the sweater he disliked.

The wool was itchy but oddly stimulating, feeling it against your nipples and on the soft skin of your thighs.

You made your way towards Jake with a seductive grin and caught him sprawled out on the couch, lazily watching the tv.

When you approached the couch Jake’s eyes raised to look at you, widening when he saw what you were wearing.

“Is that my sweater, baby?” He asked softly but you took your time to answer him.

You sat down in his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull yourself closer.

Jake immediately reacted by wrapping his arms around your waist, scrunching his nose when he felt the itchy material of his pullover.

“Yeah. And I’m wearing nothing under it,” you replied by bringing your lips close to his ear and brushing them across his earlobe.

It never failed to bring goosebumps to his skin and just like usual it did, making him speechless for at least a few seconds.

“Does that make you like it better? Wearing it on family celebrations knowing what we did with it?” You went on as you started to pepper kisses over his neck and jawline.

Jake simply whimpered in appreciation and his hands found their way below your only barrier of clothing.

One of his hands found your thigh and squeezed, which in turn made you grind down on his still clothed upper leg.

“Listening to Jake Sr. drone on about taxes while you think of how you railed m-“ you began but cut yourself off with a shriek when Jake hurriedly lifted you and threw you onto your back on the couch cushions, climbing over you and pressing a heated kiss above the collar of the sweater on your throat.

“How I did what, honey?” He asked huskily, but you didn’t even manage to whimper.

He chuckled before he started to kiss you again, but you could see the hunger in his eyes.

He lifted the sweater to just above your bellybutton and held it there as he made his way down to between your thighs.

He left open mouthed kisses there that made you let out whimpers, before you let out a moan when he connected his lips to yours.

Jake loved to go down on you and didn’t just jokingly say that you were his favorite dessert, and he was so incredibly good at it.

He’d spend hours between your thighs if you didn’t get too sensitive, which was often the case.

This time though he just wanted to prepare you for what was to come, even if he enjoyed it immensely.

When he came back up to kiss you his mouth was wet with juices.

Tasting yourself on his tongue always sent a thrill through you and you buried your hand in his hair in response, receiving a breathy moan from him.

He hurried to pull his shirt over his head while you worked on his jeans and briefs, pulling them down his thighs and letting Jake finish the job.

He was back above you in merely a few seconds and resumed kissing you, his hands gripping the sweater and pulling it tight to hold you in place.

You both moaned when he entered you and you wrapped your arms around him reflexively helping him push deeper when ye started moving.

It was quick and rough and only heavy breathing filled the room until you reached your peak.

Jake was quick to follow and he groaned into your neck, his hot breath sending an aftershock through your body.

You held onto him tightly until you caught your breath, a smile reappearing on your lips as you caressed the side of his face lovingly.

Jake returned that smile and let his eyes wander over your body, running his gaze over your face and chest to where you were still connected and in turn taking in that sweater you were still wearing.

“Yeah, I think I like this hideous sweater more now,” he said with a chuckle, and you let out a laugh.

You knew that he’d be wearing the sweater to please you and his mother from now on, and maybe you could do something to reward him for it when he did.

tagging: @starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @kmsryles343 @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @dempy @bespinnn @tipsykeen @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @marvelandotherfandomimagines @luckyladycreator2 @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91 @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @airedale17 @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus @classyunknownlover @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby

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#jake hangman seresin smut #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #falltober

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scarletslippers · 2 years

Text

Invited by @earnmysong to share the last line I wrote in my wip…sharing a few lines because I can. This one should be coming later this week 👀

Tagging @winterlovesong1 @flythesail @tryalittlejoytomorrow @hucklebucket to participate if you wish!

Once the butter, bread, and cheese are assembled, she pulls a cookie sheet out of the cabinet just so she can hear him groan. “No, Nancy, not—“

Nancy laughs for real, head thrown back, shoulders shaking, listening to Ace’s grumbling sigh. “That wasn’t funny.”

“I disagree—it was very funny.” Nancy pulls out a the frying pan instead and then tosses her hair back, folding her hands in front of her in order to look studious. “Okay, I promise to be a good student now.”

#the companion to #pullover fic #sandwich night #coming this week!#nace #nace fanfiction #my fic

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bas-writes · 5 months

Note

Bas, I love your writing so much!!!! Im kind of embarrassed to say I have notifs turned on for your posts. I've never requested one, and I know you're probably inundated, but if you are interested, would you do nanami and 44 for the kiss prompt ask? I think it's tentative kisses in the dark?

Latecomers

Character: Nanami Kento Reader: gender neutral (ambiguous body and presentation, no gendered pronouns) CW: reader is wearing glasses, alcohol (both reader and Nanami were drunk prior to events of fic) Word count: 1560 Prompt: Tentative kisses given in the dark. A/N: After a horribly long break, I am finally pecking at the very old kiss drabbles request. If you're still here, Anon, I'm sorry for the unplanned long wait. I hope you will enjoy this little Nanami treat as much as I enjoyed writing it 🤭

The atmosphere was so dense it could be cut with a knife, and the unsettling environment was just a rather minor cause to blame. With nothing but cold hatred he felt towards the wannabe-suburban train stations, Nanami would still take its whole gamut of nuisances, if only he could face it alone.

In contrast to the cold and alien station hall, your presence wasn't unpleasant or unwelcome—but the two of you wanted to be somewhere else so badly it was almost written on your faces. What a misfortune, not only you had been assigned a mission in the same area, but also both of you had missed the last train back to Tokyo, ending up stuck all alone for a few hours to come.

Seated in an appropriate yet painfully close distance, Nanami was staring at the departure board, stubborn, motionless, as if a wrongly paced blink would delay the next train for an extra hour. Hands crossed in his lap, he fiddled with thumbs and fought against the urge to whistle or hum, anything to tune that deaf silence down. You both had attempted to lead a conversation, and both had failed miserably. Words possibly couldn't glue together, and your eyes kept wandering everywhere but each other's paths, what an unbearable pain in the ass.

Nanami had at least the barrier of his glasses providing him succor, but what he could hide from you, had just been drilling him from inside instead. Whenever his glance grazed over you, the memory of the tangy taste of your lips, pressed against his and followed suit by a brush of your warm, wet tongue, hit him like a jackhammer. Even the dim, industrial lightning around had nearly the same taint as that izakaya you had gathered in to celebrate another week of life. A cheap bar, cheap cigarettes filling the air, cheap sake burning your throats—and hasty kisses exchanged through the stolen minute of solitude, awkwardly, leaving strain in his knees as he had leaned over the short table to reach you.

Truly a spur of a moment, caving to his repressed yearning, a decision a drunk fool had made with consequences sober he had to face.

"Express train to—" Timeworn speakers barked into tar-like silence and the both of you jerked up and bumped your elbows. Nanami mumbled an apology, barely audible amidst the recording still echoing through the hall, and forced himself to look at you, as sincerity demanded.

You were hunched-up in your seat, hands rubbing your tight-crossed arms, literally an inch from trembling, no mantle or even a scarf whatsoever. He had noticed you had been dressed a bit too light for a night to spend on railway station, of course he had, but the thought had been pushed at the back of his head as he had squared himself up for a different kind of battle.

Now shame was burning his ears brighter than embarrassment. He had been sitting there all cozy while you suffered right by his side, within an arm reach.

"Do I look that bad?" You snorted, tad forced, as you eyed him struggling with his jacket. "I'm not freezing, don't—"

"I have a pullover." Nanami, dry as ever, threw himself over your words, and pushed a just stripped mantle into your lap.

You opened your mouth, ready to battle for your point, but immediately shut it under the weight of his gaze sneaking over his glasses.

Nanami immediately averted eyes but couldn't cover his ears from you as you, prolonging it awkwardly, cleared your throat, "Hey, lemme at least repay?"

An even dryer response was forcing its way to his lips. Nanami didn't need anything from you, desperately didn't want anything from you, but he couldn't quite bring himself, despite everything, to push you away, "I could use some coffee."

Not until you had got busy with the vending machine at the other side of the hall Nanami let himself take a deeper breath. The low thudding of his pulse drowned all the other sounds: his heart was racing so much he feared it might break free out of his chest and chase after you. He expected as much, the sight of your figure hunched under his jacket could be only powerful beyond imagination, so close and dear, and burning his eyes as you returned closer, with two paper cups in your hands.

"You look quite pale yourself," you tease, unconvincingly with the way your throat squeezed around words. "You sure you don't want your jacket back?"

Wary of the risk of your hands meeting, Nanami took his coffee and muttered a dry thank you. You hunched up again in your seats, the expected express train stopped with a screech somewhere behind your backs, but no one followed the arrival nor the departure.

The hall remained empty and tense.

Coffee from the vending machine tasted horrible but it was warm and helped keeping lips busy. Nanami sipped on his half-heartedly, focused on easing pulse and breath, against his thoughts racing towards the memories he would gladly already forget.

What now? What were you going to do with all of this? Should you act as if nothing ever happened? How can you ever act as if nothing ever happened?

"Nanami—" Your voice caught him off-guard, with a cup right by his lips. His hands budged, some coffee spilled down his chin and dripped on his pullover.

"Ah shit, I'm sorry!" You sprung to your feet as if it indeed was your fault, fumbling with pockets of an unfamiliar jacket, finally seizing a handkerchief out of one. He tried to wipe himself with just a bare hand—but with a surprising resolve you pushed it out the way and dealt with the mess yourself.

"I'm alright," he tried to answer the unspoken question, couldn't bring himself to. The gentle but determined touch of yours left him paralyzed, enchanted, from toes to lips, itching at the faint memory of the kiss you had shared.

The lamp over your heads flickered and your hand dabbed closer, from his chest to his throat, then his chin. Nanami's breath hitched, audibly, tickled at the tips of your fingers gently drying the last droplets of long-forgotten tasteless coffee. The sensation was familiar, was wrong, so inappropriate, so shameless in its simplicity.

You shouldn't do that to him.

And he couldn't hold himself any longer.

Through the thin layer of handkerchief Nanami kissed your fingers, from tips to knuckles, and nuzzled his face into your palm. Begging internally for you to slap or punch him, he wandered towards your wrist, breathed the sweet scent of yours he had learnt by heart the day he held you close for the first and only time. He felt your pulse racing under your skin, swallowed its rhythm like starved, latched on this little vibration with his eyes closed, awaiting the inevitable doom and punishment.

The lamp flickered, power whined in cables and died, leaving the both of you in darkness right as your lips finally met again.

At first you bumped into each other awkwardly, glasses against glasses—the obstacle you tore out of your way almost simultaneously. In contrast to your first kiss, you moved carefully, barely brushing your lips, constantly asking, and never quite answering, and sharing breath in between chaotic breaks.

The unpleasant, chemical taste of coffee seemed to work against you—but as the even worse taste of sake hadn't stopped you back then, you quickly ignored it this time too. Nanami sipped it from you as if your mouth was filled with rose water, gladly swallowing your tongue finally pressing against his. Not until then he had dared to touch you, to pull you closer by the skirts of his own jacket, one hand cradling the back of your head. You snuck fingers into his hair; your nose brushed cute against his as you tilted head to the side, finally losing yourself into the sensation and pulling him into it with you.

The light flickered again, the hum of electronics returned, but you remained linked, catching up on days lost for the awkward dance of adults too skittish to be adult—until sharp fire in lungs forced Nanami to pull away.

With a thin string of saliva still connecting the two of you, you were heavily panting a mere inch away from his face. He felt your moist breath against his skin and already starved to steal it again—but, fighting against himself, he brought the same coffee-stained handkerchief to your lips and dabbed them dry.

You exhaled through your nose, amused, and repeated his gesture from earlier, peppering his fingers with soft kisses.

"It tasted…horrible," Nanami broke the silence first after you recollected yourselves, words faster than the second thought. "The coffee, I mean."

"The kiss too," you admitted and tossed your cup into the nearest trash can, somehow not spoiling the remaining coffee. "How can they sell this crap to people?"

"I feel I owe you a proper one." Faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Nanami dared to scoot closer. You nuzzled towards him too, sharing the much-needed warmth eagerly now. "Once we're back to Tokyo, I'm taking you to a good place."

"It's a date?" The warmth in your voice, the timbre he loved so much, returned, no remaining trace of embarrassment left.

"It's a date. With breakfast."

More of Kiss Event! I if you liked it, please consider reblogging and/or leaving some feedback ❤️ | you can also support me on kofi! ❤️

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padfootagain · 10 months

Text

Professional

Hello everyone! Answering a request made by an anon today:“And then I thought about this other scenario where reader and Ben had done a movie together and they are dating and now they are doing the press tour and they are doing the vanity fair lie detector interview. (you know what i’m talking about?) I remember Natalia Dyer and Charlie Heaton did this years ago while promoting Stranger Things and they were super cute. I just love fics about doing these kind of interviews, like the wired autocomplete interview, for example. (I sometimes imagine myself doing it, pretending I’m famous🙈 but if you ask me about that I’d deny it) + they try to play it cool and hide that they are madly in love and act as if they weren’t a couple but the whole game outs them completely and it’s hilarious and they laugh like mad about it Anyways, that’s it and I hope I’m not bothering💗”

Thank you so much for your request, anon! I hope that you like what I’ve written for you!

I hope you all like this adorable fic! Tell me what you think about it!

****

Pairing : Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: Fluff. Tooth-rotting fluff. So adorable you might actually melt.

Summary: You and Ben answer the lie detector interview to promote the new season of SaB, where you have worked together. But the interview reveals a lot more about your relationship with Ben than what was intended to begin with.

Word Count: 2869

Ben Barnes’ Masterlist – Main Masterlist

You thought this would be fun, but Vanity Fair really does take this thing seriously.

The room you’ve walked into with Ben has something a little intimidating about it. Low lights, a simple table set in the middle of the room, a couple of chairs that face each other, and of course, a man setting up a lie detector in a corner. The journalist gives the two of you a warm smile and asks you who wants to start. She’s holding some papers, on which you have no doubt you’ll find a list of questions for both Ben and you.

Speaking of Ben, he turns to you then, his gaze questioning and the ghost of a warm smile on his lips.

He looks ridiculously handsome today, with a white t-shirt, some dark jeans and a brown oversized cardigan… But then again, you did help him choose his outfit for the interview this morning. You’re the only one to blame for your own suffering. The fact that he’s let his hair grow a little more these days, the curls starting to roll at the nape of his neck, doesn’t help at all.

“Do you want to start asking the questions or answering, Y/N?”

It’s weird to hear him say your name. You love it, of course, how it rolls on his tongue, deep voice filled with warmth as it leans on the syllables in a heavy British accent that you adore. Still, it feels strange because after dating him for so long, living with him… you’re used to answer only to love, darling, gorgeous, beautiful…

But then again, you remember Ben’s words from this very morning, while he was tying his shoes in the hallway, looking up at you while kneeling on the ground.

Today, we’re colleagues! No lovey-dovey reactions! We need to remain professional!

You smile. Professional. Of course, you’re an actress, you can do that.

“I’d rather start answering. Plug me in!”

Ben can’t refrain a chuckle at that, and you sit down, waiting for the wires to be tied around your body and for the camera to roll.

You’re more nervous than usual. It’s intimidating, to be surrounded with strangers, in a tiny room dimly lit, with wires connecting you to a lie detector. You won’t be able to lie to get out of a weird question. You feel a little safer though as Ben sits down on the other side of the table, picking up a sheet of paper and scanning questions with a focused frown on his brow. He looks warm and cozy, yet elegant. You’re not sure how he does it, but he does. You have to refrain your sudden urge to stand up and snuggle into his chest, arms around his torso to let him wrap his cardigan around you. He loves to do that, to wrap you around his coat and pullover to keep you warm. It gives him a good excuse to hold you close…

The interviewer gives Ben a thumbs up, and so he clears his throat to start the interview.

When he looks up at you, your nervousness is obvious, and his polite smile grows soothing, reassuring.

“You’re alright over there, Y/N? Comfy with all these wires?”

“It’s incredibly relaxing. I don’t feel at all like I’m about to be thrown in jail.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“The only threat is you revealing that you secretly hate me.”

“Oh shoot… I wanted to hide that.”

You both laugh, and you feel yourself relax a little. You focus on Ben, and all seems better again.

“Alright, I have a few general questions I need to ask for the lie detector to work. So don’t lie just yet,” he adds with a wink, making your heart skip a beat.

Damn, you’ve been together for a while now, yet, he still makes you feel like a lovesick fool every single time…

“Is your name Y/N Y/L/N?”

“It is,” you nod.

“You played a character in Shadow and Bone, correct?”

“I did, yes.”

“Are you ready to take the lie detector test?”

“Not really. I’m a little nervous.”

You chuckle, but you keep fiddling with your sleeve nonetheless.

You’re surprised when Ben reaches across the table to give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You look terrified,” he teases you.

“It’s intimidating! I can’t lie!”

“You never lie anyway, you hate it.”

“Sometimes I do lie.”

Ben suddenly wears an outrage face.

“Even to me?”

“Especially to you. You’re insufferable.”

He dramatically gasps, and you both laugh. You feel yourself relax a little more as Ben leans back in his chair, giving your hand one last squeeze before leaving your fingers.

You need to focus on him. It’s merely an interview, why are you so nervous in the first place?

The man on your right, who is looking at the results from the detector, tells you that the machine works perfectly. Ben can start asking you real questions now.

“Alright!” he gives a happy wiggle, clearly enjoying himself as he rubs his hands together. “Which of these are the most embarrassing…”

“Hey! Be nice! I’ll ask you questions too, after that! If you’re mean, I’ll choose the worst questions too!”

“It might be worth it.”

But he takes a couple more seconds to pick a question from the list, and you reckon he’s being kind. It’s nothing too embarrassing. Just a couple of general questions about your childhood, nothing to worry about.

You’re more relaxed now, and he notices it. Good, he can tease you a bit more then.

“You joined the cast of Shadow and Bone during the second season. Did you get along with your co-workers?”

“Yes, everyone was nice. I had a lot of fun.”

“Have you ever dreamt about the Grishaverse?”

“Yes. While we were filming, sometimes I’d dream about some scenes. And now as well, a little bit. Because we’re talking about it a lot in interviews and such.”

Ben nods at your answer, a dreamy smile on his lips as he takes you in. You look so beautiful today…

But he shakes himself out of his thoughts. He was the one claiming that the two of you ought to remain professional during this interview. He can’t catch himself thinking about kissing you like this…

He scans the list of questions again, more to distract himself from his urge to reach out and hold your hand and kiss your knuckles than anything else. But he explodes with laughter as he finds the perfect question.

He reckons you’re relaxed enough now for him to tease you a bit.

“Oh dear… what have you found now?” you ask, your voice cautious but an amused giggle bubbling on your tongue too.

He clears his throat, shakes the piece of paper with a flourish, his grin full of mischief.

“You have recently commented on the season finale. And especially, Patrick’s Gibson transformation…”

“Hmm…” you slowly nodded, waiting expectantly.

“You have pointed out that his appearance was… distracting.”

You both laughed at the phrasing.

“Yeah, I was a bit more direct than that, but that’s true.”

“Out of your castmates, which one do you think is the best-looking?”

You shake your head, feeling heat spread across your skin as you bury your face in your hands in embarrassment.

The little shit… He knows the answer is him. Of course it is, he’s the man you live with, the man you love, the man you join in bed every night.

You can read in his amused gaze that he’s waiting for your answer, that he’s waiting for you to say his name.

You won’t give it to him that easily. Lie detector be damn. He’s fishing for compliments and you won’t yield.

“Well… I can’t lie.”

“You can’t,” he shakes his head, struggling to hide a grin.

“Then… I have to be honest…”

“You do.”

“I think the most beautiful person of the cast is…”

He loves it… the way you’re struggling to keep a straight face, the way you look a little embarrassed and are fleeing his gaze… he loves it. You’re adorable like this.

But then you look up at him all of a sudden, and you’re the one grinning with mischief.

“… Lewis.”

His mouth falls open in shock, and you can’t refrain your laughter as you see him clenching his jaw.

That backfired alright…

He nods slowly, tapping the paper against the table.

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Can’t compete with this guy.”

You’re still laughing, and think you’ve gotten away with it, when the man next to you frowns at the readings of the lie detector, and he lets out his conclusion in a cold voice.

“That was a lie.”

You and Ben exchange a glance, before both of you would explode with laughter.

“You’re so cruel!” Ben waves a finger at you.

“I tried! I tried! But then again, you were being mean with that question.”

“Mean? Me?”

“Obviously.”

“You still haven’t answered.”

“You know the answer.”

And you think that he’s going to drop it, because going on would reveal too much of your relationship, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he leans a little over the table, tilting his head, a devilishly charming smile on his lips.

“Well, it’s still a nice thing to hear. Especially from such a beautiful woman.”

You’re quite taken aback at the obvious flirt in his tone. Not that it’s anything unusual between the two of you, but during an interview?

You bite on your lower lip as you smile, trying to hold back a cheeky remark, without a doubt; and he can’t control the way his heart swells with fondness and love at the sight.

God, he loves you so damn much…

And he knows he’s taking the game a little too far, that he’s fishing for compliments, but he can’t help it. Sometimes, he still struggles believing that you really think this of him… but you prove it one more time.

“You. I think you’re the most attractive member of the cast.”

The grin that’s plastered on his face and his proud, delighted little wiggle are worth your burning cheeks.

He turns to the camera.

“I’ve obviously paid her to say that.”

“He did,” you confirm.

But the lie detector expert chooses this moment to chime in again.

“It was the truth.”

Both you and Ben explode with laughter, just like everyone in the room.

“Well, thank you, Y/N,” Ben grins.

“When is it my turn to ask you questions so I can torture you?”

“Soon.”

“Good…”

“Actually, we’ve just run out of time. It was a pleasure to be here!”

“No! Ben! Absolutely not! I want to ask you shitty questions too!”

“Shitty questions? I’ve literally chosen the best ones. The last one was the only one teasing!”

You mumble something unintelligible under your breath, making him laugh fondly at you again.

“Okay, one last question, cause that’s a nice one,” Ben clears his throat, calming down again. “Do you think working on Shadow and Bone had a positive impact on your life?”

You think again of the first time you had met Ben for the script read-through. The way he smiled that day, all shy and charming. Your long afternoons spent learning your lines together, your evenings spent talking for hours while eating pizza, your sleepless nights as you told him everything about you, your first kiss in an empty street of Budapest…

And to that, you have to add all the friends you’ve made along the way…

You’re grinning as you answer.

“Yes, most definitely, yes. I’ve met amazing people on this project. I’m very lucky to be a part of it.”

You exchange one last smile with Ben, before the interviewer speaks up again.

It’s Ben’s time to answer questions, and you keep teasing him about it, as you browse through the list.

“So… which ones are the most embarrassing…?”

He rolls his eyes as his fingertips are being covered with wires.

“Very funny,” he replies, and with much maturity, sticks out his tongue at you, making you laugh.

But he does look quite uneasy as he sits down, although he’s still much calmer than you were.

“You’re alright?” you ask, your voice soothing now instead of teasing.

“It is quite uncomfortable to be plugged to this thing,” he admits. “It does feel… intimidating.”

“Right! I told you!”

“I swear, ma’am, I know nothing about the secret services.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head at his silly joke.

“Right, let’s begin!” you declare, as the journalist gives you a nod. “Your name is Ben Barnes.”

“It is.”

“You are British.”

“I am.”

“Are you ready to start the lie detector test?”

“I am. Fire away.”

“Confident!” you narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s find a terrible question to bring that cockiness down a notch…”

“Cocky?”

“Ha! Found one!” you ignore his protest. “Do you find an American accent sexier than a British accent?”

He frowns a little.

“No,” he answers truthfully, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.

“Do you ever wish you could move back to the UK?”

“Yes, I do. My family lives there, and many of my friends too. It’s hard sometimes.”

“Do you prefer British or American snacks?”

“British.”

“Jaffa cakes?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“Obviously. And these… chocolate biscuits you have with your tea… delicious.”

You go through the list, ask him a few questions about his role, but they are all rather tamed, and by the end of the interview, you’re not satisfied with how much you’ve managed to tease him.

Until your eyes read through the last line.

Ask a question of your choice.

Oh yes…

“Alright, last question,” you say, struggling not to smile.

You’ve got ‘mischief’ written all over your features, and Ben narrows his eyes at you at the sight.

“Oh… I’m in trouble with this one…”

“I’m using the last one.”

“Which one is it?”

You turn the paper around so he can read the line, and he bursts into laughter.

“Oh… that’s bad! What are you going to ask me?”

You put the sheet of paper down, and lean over the table.

“Ben Barnes,” you speak in a low voice.

“Yes?” he answers with a nervous giggle.

“Remember that you cannot lie.”

“I remember.”

“Ben.”

“Yes?”

“Did you eat the last of my chocolate chips cookies yesterday?”

He laughs at that, but you can see him blushing hard.

“Oh… no… I’m in so much trouble now…” he winces.

“Because, yesterday, you denied it!”

“I did.”

“And the truth is…?”

He bites on his lip, but closes his eyes.

He can’t lie anyway because of this bloody machine…

“I ate the cookie,” he confesses.

“I KNEW IT!”

“I was very hungry,” he argues.

“I knew it was you!”

He laughs at that, shaking his head at you.

“If you didn’t eat it, who else could it be, darling?”

Your eyes widen at the pet name, and so do his. He glances over at the camera, blushing more than ever, red spreading over his skin all the way to the top of his ears.

He clears his throat, but his voice sounds deeper now.

“Anyway, I’m the culprit.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you answer.

Damn be the interview. When Ben smiles again, he’s more relaxed, the flush leaving his cheeks.

Damn be the interview…

“I’ll buy you some more tomorrow, I promise.”

“You’d better not forget!”

“I’ll make you forgive me.”

“Cocky, once again…”

But he shoots you a smug grin.

“Confident, that’s all.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about your plan to reach forgiveness soon.”

Someone starts to detach all the wires from Ben’s fingers, and you both assume that the camera is turned off and that you can act like your normal selves once more.

“What about flowers, my darling?” Ben asks softly, so as not to be overheard by too many people in the room. Only the technician who is taking care of the lie detector seems to hear him.

“Hmm… that’s a good start.”

“You ate the last of my jaffa cakes last time we came back from London, remember? And my mom had bought them for me!”

“For us, honey. Your mom bought them for us.”

He rolls his eyes at that, before heaving a sigh.

“You’re going to use that to decide what we’ll eat tonight, won’t you?”

You nod, excited all of a sudden, and Ben wishes he could be annoyed, but he fails miserably. Your smile is too bright for that, it gives him butterflies and a stuttering heart and he adores every second of it.

“Very well, then. You can pick whatever you want.”

“Yes!” you wiggle happily, standing up to leave the interview.

Little did you know that the camera was still rolling, the mics still recording. When you watch the interview a couple of weeks later, you both laugh uncontrollably. The comment section is on fire, and you spend the evening with Ben, lying on the couch together, laughing at all the crazy reactions to the interview.

You don’t mind. You don’t mind one bit, and neither does Ben, actually.

Although, you tease him about it for weeks.

“So much for being professional, huh?”

***********************************

Taglist : @sergeantbuckybarnes @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

#ben barnes #ben barnes x you #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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drewsbuzzcut · 10 months

Text

73 Questions With The Barzals

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic (the vogue series)

warnings: mentions giving birth, reader and Mat slap each other’s ass, alludes to sex, and I think that’s all

You look at your appearance in your mirror strategically placed by the entrance. You fix your hair that’s in its familiar messy updo, your favorite silver hoop earrings on display.

You smooth out your dark blue pullover (that was Mat’s) and adjust your light grey, cotton shorts. Your outfit is very simple and casual, probably too simple and casual for the video you’re about to film, but when you’ve just given birth not too long ago, comfort is what matters most.

The knock on your front door gathers your attention, you take deep breaths, mentally preparing for this vogue interview. You know your fans and Mat’s fans will be excited to hear your answers to some of the questions and get a tour of one of your homes.

Your face lights up in a smile upon opening your door, “hi!”

You’re leaned up against the doorframe, ultimately blocking the view inside of your home, but it gives the cameraman a perfect shot of some of your home’s exterior.

“Hi, y/n! Thank you so much for having me over,” Joe Sabia greets.

“Of course!”

“Can I just say that you have a beautiful home, and especially for it being your Italy home,” Joe gushes, looking around in awe.

“Thank you so much! That’s one of my favorite compliments because Mat and I have put so much into this place to make it our home away from home,” you can hear the warmth and appreciation in your voice.

“Can we go on in?”

“Yes, please come in,” you move to the side, allowing Vogue’s crew to come in.

“How does it feel to be added to the list of celebrities doing Vogue’s 73 questions?”

“I am excited and honored. I know Mat’s excited, too,” you answer and move to your kitchen.

“Why the color green for your kitchen?”

“Ugh I just love the color green. My kitchen in our first New York home was green, and it was my favorite, but then we moved into a bigger home and I decided to not have it green. That’s why this kitchen is extra special to me. Plus, this kitchen holds a lot of memories,” you smile, thinking about everything that’s happened in this kitchen.

“That’s sweet. What’s the first memory of this kitchen that pops in your head?”

“Earlier this week! I was in here, cutting up some fruit for the boys and they were supposed to be in the family room with Mat just playing with toys, but Angel walked to the kitchen. It was his first steps and I just remember calling out for Mat and Angel walking to him as well. We were crying messes,” you recall.

“Congratulations to your son, I know moments like those are the most special. Speaking of children and special moments, you just welcomed your third baby and first girl into the world about a month ago. Congratulations to you.”

“Yes, thank you. She’s my special girl and she’s so spoiled already, especially with Mat.” Your cheeks get rosy, feeling an overwhelming amount of love fill your heart at the thought of Mat being the best dad he is.

“What’s something you learned when you became a parent?”

“Responsibility. It’s easy to lose a handle on yourself and life when you’re solo, so when you have other humans to take care of, you learn more about what responsibility looks like.”

“Favorite summer drink?”

“A very cold glass of water or a cherry limeade,” you laugh at the random question.

“Mama!!” You grin when you hear Nolan’s shout, knowing he’s about to jump into your arms and cling to you.

When you see him running towards you, you prepare for his tiny impact and easily lift him up. You push his hair out of his face, but it’s no use as he hides in your neck.

“My big boy! Wanna say ‘hi’ to the camera?” You rub softly on his back, feeling him melt into your touch much like Mat does when you embrace him after a tough game or a long roadie.

“Hi,” he says shyly.

“I want daddy,” he adds in, hands on your cheeks. He gives you those big puppy eyes.

“Daddy?” Your youngest son, Angel waddles around, interest piqued at the mention of his father.

“Y’all want to see daddy? Well, I guess it’s time to take a detour outside,” you say to the camera before telling them to follow you to the back.

The camera captures you holding both your boys while also grabbing the baby monitor, so you can keep an ear out for Sloane as she’s napping. You walk with an effortless strut even though your feet haven’t touched a runway in months.

When you step onto the warm cobblestone of your back patio, the camera gets a view of your boys wiggling in your hold. They press quick kisses to your cheeks, something Mat taught them to do whenever they were leaving your presence, and beelined straight into Mat’s thick legs. He is pining clothes to dry, but the minute the pitter-patters reach his ears, he’s all focused on his babies.

You stand by, enjoying Mat as he’s shirtless in all his beautiful glory. Your eyes sparkle with love when you watch him pick up both boys with ease. Your eyes also glimmer with tones of want as you see the way his muscles flex and veins bulge out from underneath his skin.

The sweet giggles coming from Nolan and Angel pull you towards them. Mat’s tickling their stomach, simply unaware that there are cameras near.

He finally looks up, connecting eyes with you. You smile and tilt your head towards the cameras and he just nods, beckoning you closer to him.

“Mat, it’s nice to see you man,” the interviewer breaks the silence.

“Hey, guys. Welcome to our home,” Mat greets, handing Nolan into your arms so he can wrap his hand around your waist.

“Y/n, what’s your favorite thing about Mat becoming a dad?”

“He’s so gentle, not that he wasn’t ever gentle with me, he was, but he is such a big softie for his babies. He’s also really matured, it’s fascinating seeing him learn something new everyday,” you answer with sincerity and a loving gaze locked on his shy smile. Mat stays quiet, kissing Angel on his temple before reaching over to kiss you and Nolan.

“Mat, what’s your favorite thing about seeing y/n become a mom?”

“I get to witness the force of nature that is my wife. The way she takes care of all of us, and just struts her way through. She makes it look so easy, so I guess that’s why I love to see her in action because I know raising children isn’t easy.”

Your cheeks heat up and you make your way to Mat, hugging his body to yours.

Mat kisses your cheek, choosing to ignore the cameras capturing your pda, and whispers in your ear that he’s going to check on Sloane. Choosing to ignore the camera’s presence as well, you give him a chaste kiss on the lips and slap his ass as he goes upstairs.

“Sorry. I get so caught up in Mat sometimes everything else disappears,” you admit shyly, fingers lingering on your lips.

“It’s okay. The rawness is good. So, New York or Italy?”

“New York!”

“Favorite tattoo?”

“I have quite a few favorites. Firstly, my “angel” and “Nolan” tattoos are ones I adore. I also love the “13” I have for Mat. I also love my cherry tattoo, it’s my first one I ever got. Lastly, my “divine feminine” tattoo because Mat loves tracing that one all the time,” you explain.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I’m getting a tattoo for my daughter soon, so that’ll be another favorite,” you add.

“Biggest fear?”

“It used to be heights, but since becoming a wife and mother, my biggest fear is my husband or children getting hurt. However, I’m still scared of heights. Becoming a mom has made me much stronger, but I’m no superhero.”

“I beg to differ,” Mat chimes in, coming down the stairs with your newest bundle of joy nestled in his strong arms.

“Is that my precious baby girl?! It is,” you say before turning your attention to the camera. “This is the first glimpse that the public is getting of her and we’re excited!” You rub your nose against her baby smooth cheek, inhaling her scent.

“Everyone, this is Sloane Augustine Barzal,” Mat introduces Sloane. The camera zooms in on her sweet face. She’s barely awake, but her grasp on Mat’s finger doesn’t let up.

“She’s adorable, guys,” the man compliments.

“Thank you. I think she looks just like barzy,” you say.

“Why the name Sloane?”

“Mat is actually the one who chose the name. We both made a list of S names and he chose Sloane,” you explain.

You guide everyone back outside to sit on the outside furniture. You and Mat are on a couch in front of the camera, Nolan and Angel sitting next to you playing with some toys while Sloane stays tucked in Mat’s arms.

“Mat, what are you looking forward to in the future?”

Mat looks up, pondering his answer before saying, “seeing how tall Nolan gets!” Mat jokes which make you giggle and card your fingers through Nolan’s hair. He’s getting so big and you can’t stop time. “No I look forward to the little mundane things. For example, Y/n and I taking our kids on vacation, or just even having pregame naps in our bed. I sound like a sap, but ever since becoming a father, they’re the only ones I think about when I think of my future,” Mat finishes, making you look at him with a loving look.

“What’s your favorite photo shoot?”

Excitement takes over your features, your body sits up straighter and your eyes light up.

“The one I did for Rolling Stone! I got to dress up in super fun outfits! And most importantly, Mat joined me on that one and it was just a sexy time,” you peer up at Mat, hand finding its place on the back of his neck, and you smirk at him while the flashbacks of that day pop in your head. He matches your smirk and rests his arm around the tops of your shoulders.

“That was a fun time. A time when I truly understood how much fun it can be to change your wardrobe or hairstyle,” Mat says.

“Don’t go getting any ideas about another haircut,” you tease, resulting in him pinching you lightly.

“Can I just compliment your relationship? I can see how genuine the love is and the bond between your family. It’s really refreshing,” the interviewer says sincerely.

“Thank you so much. That means a lot,” you reply and Mat agrees.

“What’s something you wouldn’t change about the past?”

“The way Mat and I communicated in the early stages of our relationship. It really helped us grow as people and as partners. I know there are people who wish they were more communicative, but I appreciate the time and effort we both took to learn how to properly talk with each other. No one really knows that we had a communication issue in our relationship, so I won’t get into great detail,” you rant a little.

“We were good at feeling a lot of emotions, but bad at expressing them verbally with each other. I’m so glad that she was willing to have patience with me in the beginning of our relationship,” Mat adds in, shining the tiniest bit of light on a major relationship issue you’ve had in the past.

“I like that answer. Thank you for being honest.”

You nod your head and give an appreciative smile.

“Favorite memory of Italy?”

The way both Mat’s and your face light up is all telling about how in tune you are with each other.

“The first time we came to Italy together. It’s cliche, but I just knew Mat was my person.” You reach out to caress Mat’s cheek, falling more in love when he nuzzles into the warmth of your palm.

“It’s true! Italy is a place that will always feel like home, and bringing Y/n was allowing her to build a home in my heart. It was such a fun trip. We got to learn about each other more while experiencing new things together. I will never forget that feeling of intense love. It’s even more special that we get to bring our kids here and have a home here.”

You start to tear up, immediately pulling Angel into your lap so you can hide your face in his soft hair. You make sure to give him multiple kisses. This, however, makes Nolan just a tad jealous, so he moves to wrap his arms around your shoulders and gives you kisses on the cheek.

“We feel left out,” Mat breaks you out of your kiss attack, leaning towards you to kiss you on the lips. For the sake of the cameras you keep it soft and quick, but it’s also quick so you can give kisses to Sloane.

“We’re nearing the end of this interview. It’s been a lovely one. I will be the first to say I don’t want this to end.”

“Aww thank you for being an incredible interviewer and for picking my brain. This has been a delight.”

“Okay! Favorite material thing?”

“My wedding rings. Hands down. It’s so special to me, especially because Mat designed it himself. Little fun fact: my wedding band has the initials of each kid engraved on the inside,” you gush.

“Mat, please do tell us the story of why you designed her ring the way you did.”

Mat’s face goes red in a flush, getting shy at the world finding out how sentimental he really is.

“It wasn’t hard. Two diamonds being joined together: toi et moi (you and me) and I love the concept. Plus, I know Y/n loves rings, so I had to make sure the diamonds were Y/n’s favorite shapes. The wedding band itself is simple. Although I had Nolan’s initial engraved already, the other two were just added at later times. As for the other band of smaller diamonds, I picked out for our first wedding anniversary, symbolizing the many moments that will forever be on the forefront of my brain and heart,” you want to squeal and lunge yourself into Mat’s arms. He is such a sweetie. You love him so much.

“That’s really sweet.”

“He’s a sap and I love him for it,” you muse, knowing Mat will roll his eyes even though he’ll blush more.

“This is our final question, so I’ll make it an easy one. What is your favorite room in this house?”

“Easy? That’s a hard question! Oh… I don’t know. I love my babies’ rooms, but my closet is the first thing to come to mind. I do love my kitchen so much, but I already talked about that, so I’ll say my closet,” you claim.

“She loves spending hours in there,” Mat chimes in, throwing you a teasing wink.

“I am grateful for everything I own, so that means I admire all my items. I’m a material girl at heart, so yes I do love spending hours in my closet to organize or just to simply admire. You spend a while in your closet, too, hotshot,” you tease back.

“I love the harmless banter. Guys, this has been incredible. Your home is lovely as well as you all. Thank you for having us in your home and for being so welcoming,” the interview closes the interview.

“Thank you for having us. It’s an honor to do this interview. I had a good time. I hope there will be more Vogue interviews in my future,” you say back, smiling your signature smile.

It’s around 30 minutes after you bid your goodbyes to the cameras that they’re turned off, and you’re once again biding your goodbyes.

When the house is calm and just your family, Mat pulls you into a deep kiss, making sure to dip his tongue into your waiting mouth.

“I have been wanting to do that the whole time,” he whispers against your lips.

“So why didn’t you?” You tease, nipping at his bottom lip and pulling a groan from him.

“I wouldn’t have been able to stop,” he says surely.

“It would’ve been a whole different kind of video,” you muse, smirking up at him while your arms are resting over his shoulders.

“No doubt and that content is for our eyes only.”

You decide against saying anything back, just leaning up to kiss him again. Sloane has other plans, though. Her cries ring throughout the house, bouncing off the walls.

“That’s your daughter,” you playfully chide.

“Your daughter.”

“She’s the result of you not knowing how to keep your hands off me,” you bite back.

“No. More like the other way around,” Mat replies, tickling you on your stomach.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, hotshot,” you whisper against his lips, not kissing him and running to get Sloane, but not before he sends you with a smack on your ass.

a/n: FINALLY! The first part of the vogue series is here, and I hope you all enjoy it.

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal angst #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal smut #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses #vogue series

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