#single hot dad alert

[sexbot300]

telling them they have a small dick!

pairing: toji x reader, gojo x reader (separate)

⤷ 18+, MDNI

tw: man-handling, p in v, unprotected sex, power play, cunnilingus, falsetto, huge dick (come on now), mentions of creampie, orgasms, degrading/dirty talk, slight size kink if you squint, text format for gojoe.

a/n: this was so funny to write i cant stop laughing. this was longer than i expected, i will be making a part two with choso, geto, and nanami if asked for. originally it was meant to include them but this is a bit tew long. I actually like this more than anything i’ve ever written before :’) comments r more than welcome thank uuuuu. luv u all xoxo (felt things while writing this, it’s funny that I think it’s my best work)

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Toji ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Reading your diary

Toji Fushiguro pissed you off. There were no ifs and buts or any way around it. As much as you adored being friends with Megumi and spending time near the stoic guy, coming by his house felt entirely dreadful. Mutual friends frequently visited his abode, leaving and visiting often without a sliver of complaint leaving their diction. ‘Maybe I was truly the problem.’ A thought had snuck up in the crevices of your brain until the mental image of why you didn’t come over as often decided to grace you with his presence. A shiver traveled up north of your spine, straightening yourself out mentally and physically. ‘Nah. That doesn’t sound right. I am NOT the problem.’ 

Toji was everything Megumi was not; cocky, arrogant, and trying to start anything with anyone if they remotely looked in his direction the wrong way. Was he hot? Of course. Would you ever admit it to the bastard? Of course, you wouldn’t. This is why what unfolds before you felt as if some cruel divine punishment, curated by the highest demon in the belly that cradled hell, deciding today would be the day to toy with you.

Closing your phone with a little, ‘Ding!’ Megumi had sent a text earlier entailing that something of your belonging had been left behind. Strangely enough, even he didn’t know what it was, which left a question of perplexity. All he knew was that his dad found it and to alert you about it. 

A sigh that had built up in the depths of your chest left, as you stood behind the mahogany-colored door. Praying that Megumi would just give the item so a beeline can be made as far as legs can sprint. Bringing a hand to the door, tapping with a fist, “Megumi? It’s me.”

With a shuffling heard from inside the house, the sound of the door unlocked and a slow swing revealed no one behind it. Stepping inside carefully and scooping out the area, an eyebrow raised as the familiar setting had no one in eyesight. Closing and locking the door behind, your voice even more confused, “Megumi? Hello? I thought you’d be here.” 

In plain eye view, coming around a corner stood the looming presence of a man that was hard to ignore. Leaning up against the counter behind, a protein shake in hand as his body seems depleted from a workout session. Glistening in sweat, he stood there devastatingly handsome. A simple white tank top clung onto his pectorals, highlighting the ridges of his stone-hard abs while the pump of his presumed workout caused his already massive biceps to look the size of planets. His gray sweats hung low off his slim core. He eyed you up and down as if inspecting every single thing about you.

“Oh yeah. My son's little friend was expecting you here.” He spoke in a casual tone, eyes met yours for a split second before eyeing you down in a carnal way.

Standing in place, mentally making note of killing Megumi for not being the one to give you what was missing from his home. Only leaving you to deal with his father.

He gripped something behind him his fingers grazing what seemed to be a bit lightweight. A light thud of a journal hit the island counter that stood between the pair. Eyes glancing down on what was thrown carelessly, the journal looked all too familiar.

My diary– fuck. All forms of color had drained from the hue of your face, replaced with a crimson flush. Frantically blinking up at the journal, your thoughts blared. ‘There’s no way he could’ve read it right?’ Almost sprinting at the piece of media, fingertips yanked it off the island forcibly gluing it to your chest almost to shield it from eyes it doesn’t belong to. 

Eyes darting back and forth frantically searching for relief in such a predicament, in a measly voice, “T-Thank you Mr. Fushiguro, it was very kind of you to give it back. I-I’ll be leaving now.”

He had only watched amused, but it wasn’t stated within his facial expression. If anything his demeanor was calm– his body leaned back at the counter behind him, legs crossed over one another while he wore what seemed to be a completely uninterested face.

“Smart girl. Probably read a lot, huh?” 

Clutching the diary tighter to your chest, almost impossibly close, furrowed eyebrows and a snap of a neck towards his direction. A low, barely audible, “H-huh?” 

“My favorite passage is where the narrator states that, ‘Toji is probably compensating his small dick for huge muscles.’” He chuckled deeply, taking a swing of his protein shake before setting it to the side.

Frozen in place, eyes widened, simply just going quiet. I mean– what could be said? For a moment so intense, all that ran through your mind was complete blankness.

“Kinda find it endearing how the narrator only uses vibrators on her clit because the idea of penetration ‘arouses’ yet ‘scares’ her.”

“Mr. Fushiguro did you r-rea-“ stated in an incredibly shaky voice. Embarrassed, wishing that the ground would do you good bidding and swallow you whole with no hesitation. He still looked calm, ridiculing every aspect of you, his eyes had darkened a bit due to pupil dilation.

Everything felt tense, hot, incredibly warm, a moment of heat transpiring between the two of you as eyes met one another. Except both eyes said a different story. His; was full of something that could only be described that an animal gets knowing that they had successfully captured their prey right where they were needed. Yours; full of complete self-pity, begging to be freed under the gaze of something that will eat you alive and leave no bones.

“Do you think that Toji's character might appreciate the narrator calling him ‘hot but probably hotter with his mouth shut?’” His large arms bulged, and crossed over his chest, enjoying every minute that left you squirming under his condescending gaze. You looked like something had caught your throat and any form of attitude seemed to exist on the lines written in the diary. 

Tilting his head, on cue his hair moved as well, his expression seeming bleak. “Aw, wish I could meet this narrator, express to her how far off she is from the truth. Seems the type to talk a lot but get quiet when confronted.”

With a croak of your throat you managed to speak in a weak voice, “Mr. Fushiguro I am so sor-”

A silky voice met your ears, “Megumi taught me a bit about books. You know what’s funny about narrators sometimes?”

“W-what?” Your voice croaked.

“They’re unreliable.”

“Want to know something else funny?”

Body shifting off the ledge of the counter his bulky body slowly walked, emerald eyes glancing down while you stared up with the most innocent expression. ‘Cute,’ he thought. Staring down, a waft of his natural musky scent hit your nasal passages. He towered right in front of you. His long finger gripped a loose strand of your hair, twirling it mockingly.

He juxtaposed the flustered expression drawn on your face, a grin that stretched from ear to ear, a sly expression painting a look of hunger. “Yeah,” his tongue swiped at his bottom lip, voice dropping a few octaves, “it’s tiny even.”

-

On the checklist of things you hated about Toji, you mentally jotted down that he was a liar. He was a complete liar. 

Knees blown out, nose buried deep into his neatly trimmed pubic hair, lips trying to adhere to a girth that wasn’t friendly to take down, saliva coating your chin and seeping through the cracks of the side of your lips, and mascara smeared down the sides of your cheek. 

Toji was anything but tiny. A huge hand gripped the back of your skull, yanking at the follicles of your hair bouncing your head back and forth on his dick. He had to be 8 inches at least.

Gagging and whimpers filled the air, as you pathetically took down all the length he forced down. Your eyes beaming with tears, while he looked down at yours mockingly. Eyebrows slightly furrowed at the feeling of your tight throat clinging onto his cock like a vice. He smirked staring you down as you struggle to take him in, light pants escaped from his throat as spit slowly exited his mouth, meeting the exposed part of his dick and a part of your face.

“Slow down sweetheart, shit,” a condescending laugh, “I’m not going anywhere.” He hissed in a bit feeling your tongue desperately lap up and down his cock as you took the initiative to get completely lost in the feeling. 

It was all too lewd– he had stopped guiding you by bobbing your head, but kept a firm hold; all you did was suck him as if your life depended on it. His hefty cock felt divine to the tastebuds, weighing heavy down your throat and around your tongue. Frantically allowing your tongue to brush over the large veins running throughout his shaft, your hands jerking off what you could, letting the room fill up with the wet squelches. Moaning onto his cock the vibrations cued a grunt from Toji, sucking his massive tip with a ‘pop!’ He pulled you away, noticing the whine in your face when separated from his dick. He laid it on your face, grin sprawled out. 

“You suck dick good for a girl who only gets off to filthy fantasies about a man who she hates.” 

Panting, studying him while feeling incredibly small under his stare, catching your breath. So perfect, you looked so perfect to him.

“Fuck- I could just cum looking at your face like this,” gripping your hair earning a mewl from your throat, he held onto his dick tapping the tip of your tongue repeatedly, he grinned wider noticing how you desperately leaned into every tap. “Heh, want more huh? Coulda came from your throat, rather fuck it in your little pussy instead. I could tell you were a cock-deprived whore from the start.”

All you could do was blink up at him, gulping at everything he was saying, a new wave of arousal crashing down in your panties. Eyebrows furrowed, keeping steady eye contact with him, he noticed your fucked out expression. 

“Aw? No back-talk? Seem to have a lot to run your mouth about in that little diary, girl. Do you even remember your name? Already trained you well without stretching you out? Or does it make you feel ashamed to be this wet in the house of a man you hate so much? Do you have no shame?”

“I-I’m,” you cleared your hoarse voice swallowing any bit of saliva that didn’t engulf his cock, “not wet.”

He blankly stared down at your face before a loud chuckle eroded from his body, shaking him slightly, “Darling, you’re practically dripping on my kitchen floors. You think I can’t see you clenching your thighs f’me?”

“I-it’s not for y-you, Mr. Fushiguro-“

“Cut the shit, it’s Toji. Stand up.”

Pushing your knees off the position they were in for the longest time, you whined and stumbled while Toji watched amused. Standing on your feet, wobbling, he did the honors of throwing you over his shoulder eliciting a loud gasp as your torso made contact and leaned into his broad shoulders. His fingers lightly grazed your wet folds that leaked through your leggings, causing a slight gasp.

He only chuckled again, walking to his master bedroom. “Not wet, my ass.”

-

You’re not sure what round this was, but being thrown like a rag-doll by a man who easily overpowered every aspect of you was not how you expected this visit to go. He did the honors of prepping you for hours long– edging you and making sure you were on the brink of insanity so taking his cock in would feel much more manageable. At first, you winced taking him in, but the pain subsided once the overwhelming bliss of pleasure overtook all feelings of discomfort.

Toji started by fucking his tip in, rocking back and forth to let you become accustomed slightly. He quickly learned that you were nothing more than a cock-deprived whore.

“T-toji, y-you’re, ah! Breakin’ me!”

“Good.” His face had a wild expression, grinning ear to ear, his long onyx hair clinging to parts of his forehead from sweat while the rest dangled in your face. This man just found his new favorite plaything, he’d be damned to stop this. 

Toji had you mangled in a mating press, feet planted firmly into his mattress, feeling every last bit of dick he could give. Holding your thighs back with large hands, he drilled into your poor cunt, legs hanging off his broad shoulders, the sounds of skin-on-skin vibrating in the room alongside his pants, and your loud moans.

“T-toji, ah! I-I’m sorry, t-too,” a deeper thrust sent a harsh quiver from your lips while his lips dropped low to your ear, “Too! Big! Cant!”

Grunting into your ear, the same smirk plastered on his face. He angled himself even deeper, never stopping the rhythm, slamming his inches into you. All you could do was take it and moan desperately. Head thrown back while eyes rolled back into your skull. 

“Don’t” thrust, “care.” He stated casually in your ear while his voice grew huskier, “Gonna fuck my cum into this lil’ ah, fuck, pussy. Make sure it only learns how to take me in.” He chuckled while he never stopped drilling, he pulled all the way out, leaving only the tip in. Causing you to pant rapidly at the loss of dick, hating how empty yet incredibly full you felt just from his tip alone.

“P-Please, please Toji, please,” fingers dug into his biceps in a fucked out voice, “don’t stop.”

“Aw,” he placed his forehead atop yours, mockingly cooing at the mess you’ve become. “Why should I let you cum?” He whispered now, lips ghosting over your own, “Had a lot to say about me being tiny but your greedy little cunt is both clinging onto me and stretching out. Disgusting girl” 

“I’m so so so so sorry, Toji I promise I’ll be good, I’ll be so good.” Frantically scanning over his face, your body still throbbing from the positions he put you in. Meanwhile, he felt just as warm to the touch, the feeling of sex coated him entirely his composure not faltering.

Wrapping a strong hand around your throat he tightened his grip as he pummeled right into you at once, body jerking forward at the sudden stretch. A loud gasp and moan abruptly left your mouth. Before he could continue pumping into you, his lips still hovering over yours, he had a cocky smile still etched onto his face.

“Sent Megumi off with his little friends, they’re having a sleepover.” His smirk deepened, “Oh don’t worry, you’ll be proving to me how good of a whore you’ll be for me all night.” He scoffed, “Maybe then in your little diary you can write about how good I fuck you.” He pulled out yet again, suddenly feeling his body weight push off your body entirely, making you whine at the loss of sensation in your cunt and body. In an instant, he flipped you over.

Back arched completely, chest pressed down into the sprawled-out duvet, legs spread out ready for him to obliterate all self-dignity you had left, his knee pushed into the bed behind you. Placing his socked foot in the back of your head, he gripped his cockhead dragging it along your puffy folds. Moaning slightly at the feeling of contact as he circled his massive tip around your clit, your eyes fluttered shut again. Drool seeped through the sides of your mouth not caring that this man had stolen all sense of respect you once held for yourself.

“Now,” his voice husky again grunting as his cock slowly teased at your entrance before shoving it in at a tantalizing pace. Staring in awe at your hole as it glistened, hearing your cunt squelch around his thick width, “Hear her for me?” Physically tightening at the words he just said, he let out a slight grunt.

“Mhm,” you let out a mangled noise which caused him to chuckle, feeling his foot press deeper onto the back of your head while your fingers desperately gripped at the sheets below. 

“Maybe,” he pushed himself in, a wild smile on his face while he heard you whimper below, thrashing around still not used to a length this immense. “You should listen to her more often than that dumb little brain of yours princess.” 

Swiftly gripping your wrist, he firmly pinned it back at the small of your back, while rapidly thrusting in and out all at once. “Ah! Ah! T-Toji… So! Hnghhh, G-Good,” moans incredibly muffled as they were pushed into the sheets, cunt gripping onto him every time he moved in and out.

Grunting at the view of your ass clapping back at his pelvic region every time he drilled inside, your walls trying their hardest to take him. He only cackled before whistling, harshly slamming a hand down on your ass letting it recoil with a red mark left behind.

“Should’ve told you I read that stupid diary ages ago…”

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Gojo ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Failed date

“Ding! New message from ‘toruu.’” The robotic voice announced in your headphones, breaking you from wallowing in your sorrowful haze.

Shuffling in your bed, trying to forget the events that unfolded earlier today, your hand reached out to your nightstand fidgeting around to find your phone. You thought maybe lying down with sad music blaring in your ears would help, but spoiler; it did not. Groaning slightly while your eyes try to adjust to the phone's brightness. A failed date equated to a failed day, lo and behold, your eccentric friend was at your side ready to wipe away any discomfort. 

Shifting your body upwards, a smile couldn’t help but be formed at his words. At the end of the day, the guy was just that, a guy. There was nothing to stress over. Was there a slight skip in a heartbeat hearing Satoru speak fondly upon you? Yes. But that’s all that there was. Risking a friendship with him wasn’t worth it in the grand scheme. He was appealing in all senses, there was no surprise that girls and boys alike flocked to him like candy. Getting laid wasn’t exactly the objective, but hanging onto things that weren’t feasible was. 

Joking with Satoru came second nature, but having him become defensive over a harmless joke startled you a bit. ‘There’s no way he’s acting like this.’ Nibbling at your bottom lip staring at him laughing in all caps. Is he being defensive? Eyes moving back and forth on the screen questioning what to say next, the conversation continued.

Snickering to yourself, ‘Oh, so he IS being defensive.’ The thought danced around in your head, rolling eyes at every other thing he texted. “There is no way he is serious,” mumbling to yourself like a madman in the dead of night alone while speaking to nothing but the screen at hand. 

A light ping indicated that your message was sent, as you glanced at the dots that appeared from his end. Breath slightly hitching at what he stated next.

Eyes widening, breath caught in throat quickly throwing the phone down face first as your face burnt. Breathing shallow breaths to catch up, time felt a bit still before shaking hands gripped the phone, and slowly brought it into your line of sight. 

My God was Satoru Gojo, huge.

His tip was a light dusty pink, almost made to be kissed, forming a beautiful head that had a bead of translucent precum decorating the slit. The shaft was thick, matching his milky pale tone and fading into an ombre ending right where the tip started. His veins were many, mapped out all around his shaft, up and down, a prominent one stood at the center. It looked heavy, he appeared to be standing up in the picture. A white-happy trail formed alongside the end of his abs and faded around into his neatly groomed bush. You blinked slowly, taking in the image of your best friend’s fat cock. He wasn’t lying. At all. He had to be pushing 8 inches and more. This was the image alone, thumb hovering slightly over the video attachment. Feeling your cunt pulsate slightly and clit growing a bit hard, shuffling some more. 

‘I can't be getting wet over my friend. This is so wrong, he’s probably joking too right? Guys do this all the time with their guy friends. Except, I’m not a guy…’

Biting the bullet and taking the initiative, clicking the video attachment was a wrong, wrong idea. Still, in the same position, his gray sweat pushed down his mid-thigh, the flash was strong in the video. In your ears, everything was heard. Still standing erect, you could hear him lightly chuckle, almost as if he was taunting you in the same room. For some reason, the slick heat flooded more, He brought his large veiny hand, placing it side by side with his cock, holy shit, it was larger than his hand. He spoke your name in a sultry voice one that sent waves crashing down your pussy, a voice that you’ve never heard before. 

“You already know how big my hand is, I mean you’ve held it before. Do with that information what you will.” You could hear the smirk in his voice before plopping on the bed before him, a soft grunt echoed in your ears. So his dick was heavy, it flopped straight on his abs which elicited a laugh on his end. 

“Sorry, I couldn't send you it while lying down. It’s a bit too heavy.” With that, the video ended. Gulping and staring dumbfounded, your fingers anxiously wrote whatever they could, trying to keep any semblance of a friendly demeanor. 

Sighing while rolling your eyes at his behavior, mentally sighing that he's back acting like the immature soul he’s always been. Guess, it’s time to rely on the good ol’ vibrator to solve this problem. Knowing him he’d probably hang this compliment over your head for eternity and that was that with this conversation, which is why what he stated startled you a bit.

Staring at the screen once more, feeling a bit anxious about his response. All that could be thought of is if the wrong thing was said to him. He’d be over the moon hearing that his cock is big as fuck, right? Sighing while dropping your shoulders and clicking the side button to shut the phone off, eyes closing once more while the back of your head met the soft headboard. 

“Ding! New message from: ‘toruu.’”

Eyes widening, the heat still pooling in your lace panties, thanking yourself for another failed date. Within ten minutes the phone was chucked out of hand, racing to get ready for his arrival even though it wasn’t the typical hangout.

Slipping on a lacy, cerulean bra and throwing it on, keeping the same undies on having a feeling that the slick wetness would be favored for you both, fixing your hair, spritzing a gourmand perfume, applying a bubble-gum colored lip gloss, and pulling on a light blue hoodie, tight black spandex shorts, with black house sandals. It wasn’t long before a certain man rang the doorbell.

Rushing to the door while maintaining some form of composure and unlocking it to be met with piercing eyes and a shit-eating grin towering over you. He wore the same sweats in the video and a black hoodie that did very little to hide his massive frame.

“Hi,” he stated in his typical voice, eyes looking over his glasses down at your face, as he put one strong arm over the doorframe. “Hello, ‘Toru…” audibly speaking so only he heard, while a light blush scattered across your face.

“Heard your date got canceled or whatever, what a bummerrrrrrr.” He rolled his eyes exaggerating his disdain due to unexpected plans. “Gonna let me in?” His voice stated in a whisper while studying the curves of your body. 

Slightly nodding, shifting to the side to let the tall figure in, a waft of his cologne hit all senses and shot straight to your core. 

While he walked in, your hand pressed against the doorframe closing it and locking it before a large hand turned you around. Gasping at the sudden feel of his hand around your waist, while the rest of your body was pushed against the door. Staring up at his face, not recognizing the look displayed on his usual happy-go-lucky face, painted a darkened expression of desire. Satoru pressed your chest against the front of his body, pushing you closer by the hand on the back of your waist. Caging you in his embrace, the other hand laid flat behind the door.

Smelling his sweet breath from the various candies he indulged in, the air hit the tip of your nose while his lips were merely inches away from your own. 

“No offense,” his voice silky, smooth, and deeper than usual, “Kinda glad this asshole bailed on you. Wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you anyways.” His smile deepened while you responded by cupping his soft face in both hands. 

Breath a bit higher than a whisper, lips almost touching his while his grip on your waist felt stronger, “Oh, yeah ‘Toru, and you know what to do?” 

Feeling a vibration from his chest against your frame, as a laugh erupted from him, he stared into your eyes intensely. “Let me kiss your lips and show you. I think you know by now my words match up with my actions.”

Almost on command, both of you smashed your lips into one another savoring the feeling of tasting what you wanted for so long. Mutually moaning slightly upon the impact, Satoru quickly moved his large hands to caress all over your tinier frame. Ass, waist, thighs, hair, neck, his long slender fingers were everywhere, anywhere, every chance he could get to press you impossibly close to him.

Mouth agape, he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue in, slithering it around your mouth while your tongue circled his own. Hands entangled in his hair, tilting your head, and on cue, he did the same. Tongues squelching and roaming each other's mouths as if you’ve been thirsty and the only cure was one another. His hands finally stop at your ass, giving a light squeeze before carrying you up, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Breaking away faces mimicking a blush on both faces, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Slightly panting as your forehead meets his, he stares deeply into your eyes. “Cute and all,” he says still in a haze, “but those weren’t the lips I was talking about.”

-

Hovering over his torso, while your mouth was stuffed with his huge cock. Hungrily lapping up his dick with your tongue, your hand wrapped around his base in a circular motion going up and down while your mouth struggled slightly to take the entirety of him in. Moans sent vibrations across his huge shaft, he was so big, so so so big. You loved every minute of it, it was evident with the sticky residue of cum that formed on his thighs and pubic hair from the previous rounds you’d gone. Saliva pooled on his dick, to rest on his balls and underneath his thighs. 

It was a mess, “Mhm!” You panted, separating yourself from having his cock buried down your throat but quickly attaching your lips at the head, smearing precum on like a lip product. Lapping the precum up and down the slit, before indulging his length back in. “Sa-Satoru- Ah! S-Stop!” Lips making a ‘pop!’ noise after pulling his dick from your throat, hands still echoing a wet sound as they both rapidly jerked him off.

Gojo laid on his back his face stuffed in your cunt, “Cant, ahhhh, too good,” His voice sounding hoarse. Bringing his head up even further into your slick heat, he licked long strips with his tongue from clit, hole, and ass. Both of his large hands spread your cheeks apart, your discharge soaking the bottom half of his face. He dove in head first, nose pressed directly in your pussy while his mouth harshly sucked at your clit, twirling it around his tongue effortlessly. Years of sucking on candy couldn’t compare to this. Pulling away both hands from your ass, he placed them on the front of your thighs, forcing you to sit on his face with a welp that broke away the string of moans.

Continuing to jerk him off, your eyes crossed while spitting down his length, feeling him twitch slightly under your motion. You mewled, “Mhpmh! Satoruuuuuuu!”

Harshly sucking on it before pulling away, he kissed your clit before dragging his head around in a circular motion licking all around like a madman. He closed his eyes and buried his tongue deep in your walls that tightened and contracted around him. Bobbing his head back and forth, tongue fucking your tiny hole, thumb diligently working in circles on your swollen clit. Slowly feeling your high soon approaching in waves and feeling him twitch even more violently underneath you. 

He moaned deep into your cunt while high-pitched yells escaped your throat, “Oh! Oh! Oooooh! Oh, Satoru! I’m c-cumm- ah!” Soon enough, Satoru’s face was full of liquid when your orgasm arrived. Sticking a tongue out noticing him jerk in your hands, closing your eyes, while cum painting your tongue and face. Swallowing him all while quivering from the impact of cumming all over his face.

For once in your life, this was the most quiet Satoru has ever been. 

Breaking away from your cunt, Satoru took a deep breath, laughing to himself shakily.

“Fuck, I should pay men more often not to date you.”

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[punkette1026]

I Run to You

Summary:

After a fight with Pedro, you two go your separate ways for the holidays. However after receiving a phone call that Pedro got hurt, you rush to him in the hopes that you can salvage your relationship and nurse him back to health.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader (use of Y/N)

Rating: T

Word Count: 9155

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your support. This one was a little scary to write because I have never written a Pedro non character fic. Please be kind and let me know what you think!

****italics means flashbacks

This was not how you expected your Christmas Eve to go. You were supposed to be in the kitchen helping your mother bake her famous Christmas cookies. Instead, here you were on a plane rushing to see your boyfriend of three years, Pedro. You felt a surge of guilt in your chest as you realized that you should have never agreed to spend the holidays apart after having one of the biggest fights in your life.

You had spent the last few days at your parents’ house moping around debating whether or not to call him and apologize first. Then you got a call from Pedro’s sister Lux, letting you know that they had to take him to the hospital. When you heard those words, it felt like your whole world stopped. The fight that you had with him no longer mattered. All of that went out the window and you knew that you had to get to him as soon as you could. However, getting a flight out to Chile on a holiday weekend was going to be nearly impossible. Thankfully, after numerous calls and by a Christmas miracle, your dad got you on the first flight out to Santiago.

As you sat there looking out the plane window, you couldn’t help but think back to the fight that you and Pedro had. Now it seemed so senseless, but back then, it became intense quickly. Sure, you had small fights before, but nothing like this. You both said some things that you regret and neither one had yet to apologize or even check in on each other.

You remembered that it all started over a picture you saw on X. You had already gotten cozy under the covers while Pedro got ready for bed in the bathroom. After scrolling through tik Tok for a while, you switched over to X and that’s when you saw it. It was a picture of your boyfriend walking out of a restaurant. The caption read, “New Couple Alert! Pedro Pascal and former costar seen getting cozy at prominent LA restaurant Friday night. The pair was spotted having drinks and left in smiles as Pedro walked the actress to her car. Could this be the start of a new power couple?”

Normally these types of rumors didn’t bother you. You could care less, because you had seen for fair share of them, and you knew that every single one of them was a stretch. You also knew that was something that you were going to have to get used to if you were going to date a celebrity. However, to you, Pedro wasn’t a celebrity. He never acted like it and was very down to earth. If fact, that was what drew you to him when you first met.

You remembered like it was yesterday when he stepped out of his house and saw you outside of your own home struggling to change the tire on your car. For whatever reason, you just couldn’t seem to get the last nut off of the rim.

To be honest, Pedro had noticed you way before that, but he had been chickening out. He first took notice of you when you moved into the neighborhood over a week ago. He was hesitant even then to come over and introduce himself. He was instantly taken back by your beauty as soon as he laid eyes on you for the first time. You looked absolutely stunning in that black polka dot dress. Your smooth legs glistened in the hot summer sun. Much to his luck, it looked like you were moving into the single story alone. He did spot two other people helping you, but it looked like they were your parents. Little did he know, but that was the first time that you saw him too.

After that the only interaction that you two had was a quick wave here and there when one of you left. Neither one of you had mustered up the courage to go over and introduce yourselves to each other. Pedro almost chickened out that day as well, but after giving himself a pep talk, he decided that it was finally time to go over and say hi.

Quickly doing his best to look presentable and that meant in his favorite Lakers shirt and a pair of gray shorts, Pedro casually walked out of his house like he was going to go check his mail. Then when he was hidden by a couple of cars, he crossed the street and began walking up your side of the street making a B line straight to you. You didn’t even see him come up from behind.

“Hi there neighbor!” he called out to you. “I was just walking by and noticed you struggling there. Do you need any help?”

“Oh my, you scared me,” you chuckled. “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. I have been struggling to get this damn nut off. I think it’s stuck, or I did something wrong.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. You just need a little more muscle. May I?” he asked holding out his hand.

You nodded appreciating the help and handed him the tire iron, “Of course, knock yourself out.”

Like nothing, as soon as Pedro tried to turn the tire iron, the nut came loose with ease. “See there, easy as pie!” He smiled up at you with his dimple on full display.

You almost melted right there and then. It took all that you had to not lose your shit. “Hey that’s not fair. I’ve be trying to get that off for the past fifteen minutes!”

“What can I say, you just needed little more muscle,” he teased again before helping you swap out the flat tire for the spare. “There you go, all done.”

“Thank you so much! You are such a life saver. I was so sure that I was going to have to call a tow company. I’m Y/N by the way,” you introduced yourself.

He hesitated for a second with shaking your hand. He didn’t want to get you dirty, but when he saw your hands were equally covered in grime, he graciously shook it, “Hello Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Pedro, I live across the street.”

You let out a cute giggle that melted his heart, “Yes, I know exactly who you are Mr. Pascal. I... may have seen a movie or two of yours. Also Mrs. Walker next door seems to be very smitten for you too. She came over with some cookies and told me all about the famous movie star that lives in the neighborhood.” Mrs. Walker was their 85-year-old widow that took care of the neighborhood.

Pedro’s face grew red with embarrassment, “umm...yeah, she may or may not have a crush on me. Listen umm...Y/N, I was going to grab a coffee or something. You-you wouldn’t want to join me, would you? I-I mean if you are not busy or anything. If you are then no big deal maybe next time. I can-I can just go by myself.”

You thought the way he nervously rambled on was adorable. You had never met a celebrity before, and he was completely different from what you thought it would be like. From your very brief experience with him, Pedro was just a normal guy, older, but normal guy. You weren’t going to lie to yourself when you thought that he was pretty attractive too. That dimpled smile of his, the soft brown curls, and those broad shoulders of his, ugh all of him got your blood going. Not to mention that he towered over you. That was one of your turn ons. You could almost imagine yourself wrapped in his embrace.

“Um...yeah, I think I can do that. I was going to go get groceries, but I think that can wait till tomorrow. Besides, it’s not every day that Oberyn Martel asks you to get a cup of coffee. Did you know that Mrs. Walker has a few photos of you up on her wall in that ugly mustard robe?”

“Okay first off, that robe is freaking amazing, super comfortable. Next, I did not need to know that. Do you know how awkward it’s going to be now when she brings me over one of her famous apple pies? I’m not going to be able to look at her in the eyes now,” he groaned causing you to giggle again. “Well, I’m that you find that funny Y/N. You know if I was a smart guy, I would revoke my coffee offer to you.”

“Awe did the little celebrity get all embarrassed,” you said like you were talking to a baby. “Well, I’m sorry Pedro, I apologize. If I buy you a cup of coffee, will that make you feel better.”

Pedro playfully pouted his lips with a frown, “It might, but I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t buy you the first cup. So about I buy us coffee time, then next time, you can buy that round.”

Your heart about nearly skipped a beat at the thought of possibly getting to hang out with him at a later point in time. You felt like a giddy schoolgirl who’s crush finally gave you the time of day. But at the same time, you knew that you had to play it cool, “Next time huh? Who said anything about a next time Mr. Pascal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you are right and stop calling me Mr. Pascal. That’s my father,” he pouted again. “But umm…Y/N, do you think I can come in for a second and wash my hands. It beats having to go all the way home.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Oh yes because it’s such a long walk. Well follow me then Mr. Pascal” you winked at him before leading him up the driveway. “And I do apologize for all the boxes everywhere. Nursing school has been taking up the majority of my time and it’s been a little hard finding the energy to unpack.”

You didn’t realize it, but as he followed you, Pedro couldn’t help but stare at your ass. He didn’t mean to stare like a dirty old man, but he couldn’t help it. It would end up being one of his favorite things about you.

As you both made your way inside your house, you weren’t lying. Boxes littered the kitchen and living room. Thankfully Pedro didn’t seem to mind though as he made his way through the maze behind you. Taking turns at the sink, both of you scrubbed the grime off of your hands the best that you could.

However just as Pedro went to dry his hands, his large frame accidentally knocked over an open box that was full of VHS and DVDs. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he quickly bent down and started to pick them up.

“It’s okay Pedro no worries. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m surprised that I haven’t done that myself already,” you really hoped that he didn’t feel bad. It was just an accident.

“You umm...you sure do have a lot of movies. You a bit of a movie buff?” He was amazed at the vast selection that you had. A lot of them were some of his favorites and some that he hadn’t seen in a while. Then a certain VHS tape caught his eye, “No way, you have this on VHS still? You don’t look old enough to know what a VHS is.”

“Ha ha very funny Pedro. I may be 24, but I sure do know what a VHS tape is. That’s all my grandmother watched when I was little. Gosh, I didn’t think that I still had that one. I used to watch that at least twice a week in high school. See I umm... I was bullied a lot in school and my parents were too busy at the time dealing with their own shit. After school in order to just get away from everything, I would put this movie on or any movie really and get lost for hours,” you couldn’t help but get teary eyed at the thought of how lonely those times were. Then you suddenly got embarrassed already crying in front of him, “I’m sorry Pedro, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.”

“Hey it’s okay really, I don’t mind. I want to know more about you,” he then sympathetically reached out and took your hand into his. “Movies also hold a special place in my heart. Seeing the different actors portray different characters, emotions, and storylines, all that appealed to me and is part of what made me want to become an actor.” He then got an idea and really hoped that she didn’t mind if they switched things up, “So umm...Y/N, would you be opposed if we instead of going to get coffee, we put this baby on, if you have a VCR that is, and I can help you unpack. Seems like you could use the help more.”

“You know what that sounds like a wonderful idea. I still have my grandmother’s VCR and it’s still like brand new. And if you don’t mind, what if I order some pizza for some energy? I have a six pack of beer in the fridge as well if you drink. Otherwise, I have some water and juice.”

“Beer is perfectly fine by me Y/N and as for the pizza, since I’m the one who offered coffee and came up with the new plan, please let me buy it. It’s the least I can do. Think of it as a welcome to the neighborhood pizza.”

You nodded your head as you were too embarrassed to speak. You had never met someone so generous as Pedro. You could see the both of you becoming really good friends. It was like you instantly connected and were already comfortable with each other. “Alright fine, but remember Pedro, I get the next time. Now come on, everything is already set up in the living room.”

Once the movie was playing and the pizza was ordered. Both you and Pedro got to work unpacking the living room. You had made a lot of progress getting through a couple of boxes while making small talk. However as soon as the pizza came and you sat on the couch to eat, that’s where the packing stopped. Between the movie and swapping stories with Pedro, all of it consumed all your attention.

Before you knew it, it was well past midnight. After helping you clean up and taking some boxes out to the dumpster for you, Pedro bid you a good night. However, before he left, he promised to come over and help you finish the rest, so he gave you his number and told you to text him when it was convenient for you. Much to his surprise, you texted him the next day asking him if he wanted to come over for some breakfast. Before you even had time to crack an egg, he was at your doorstep with two cups of coffee in his hand.

From that point on, you and Pedro had become inseparable. You spent every moment that you could together. Whether it be at your house or his, you two became super close. Both of you knew you had feelings for each other but neither one of you was brave enough to admit it out loud. Then after a month apart since Pedro had to go out of town for work, he showed up at your door with a bouquet of flowers. There on your door step, he admitted his true feelings for you. How he felt so strongly for you and missed you every day that he was gone. That he couldn’t go another day without you being his. Before he could even finish expressing himself to you, you jumped into his arms and placed a deep kiss to his lips. You had never loved someone as much as you loved Pedro. It felt like you met your soulmate, and you weren’t going to let him go.

The last three years had gone by in a blink of an eye for you as it did move faster than any other relationship that you had been in, especially in the early stages. By the time your one month anniversary came, you two were already sleeping together and saying I love you to each other. Heck by the time your six month anniversary came, you were practically living with him. From the outside, your friends and family thought you two were crazy for how fast you were moving, but you two didn’t care. You were so in love that it just felt right to you.

That got you thinking though, maybe that’s why this fight had turned out to be so bad. In the entire time of your relationship, you hardly argued. If you did, then within a few minutes after it ended, you both would come running back to each other apologizing profusely. You couldn’t stand being mad at each other, so now what’s changed?  Were you getting fed up with each other? At one point you thought that you had the entire world, but now, you felt so unsure. It felt like everything was now up in the air. You hoped that this surprise trip to your injured boyfriend would be enough to salvage your relationship.

As the plane landed and the passengers began to deplane, you grabbed the only bag that you brought with you and followed the hoard of people. You then as quickly as you could headed straight for the exit where your ride was waiting for you. Thankfully it didn’t take long to find her. It was Pedro’s sister Lux, the one that called you about his accident.

“Y/N over here!” she called out to you. As soon as you got close enough to her, she ran straight into your arms, “Oh Y/N, it’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you! Thank you for coming so quickly. My brother is going to be so happy to see you. He had been a grump since he got here.”

“I really hope so Lux and it’s so good to see you too. How is he?”

“He’s hurting but thankfully it’s just his shoulder and nothing too serious. They released him from the hospital a few hours ago. He is at my father’s house sleeping,” she updated you as you walked to her car.

“So, what exactly happened? All you said was that he fell.”

Lux just shook her head in disbelief, “I still can’t believe it myself. We were talking in the kitchen and then the next thing we knew, we heard a big boom and Pedro was at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn’t tell us what happened, and he couldn’t move his arm.”

“And the doctor’s what did they say?” You really hoped that his injury wasn’t going to be too bad.

Being a nurse, you had seen your fair share of shoulder injuries and had seen the range that they could vary. What you were really concerned with those was Pedro’s mental health. You knew that he would be beating himself up as this injury may affect his professional work. He had a busy schedule in the upcoming year with award shows and production on varies projects starting. You were so happy to see him finally get the recognition that he deserved. You just wished that you could be there to celebrate with him.

“Well, they think he may need to have surgery,” she sighed. “He may want a second opinion though. He damn near almost choked the doctor when he heard them say that. I know seeing you is really going to brighten his day. I was really shocked when he showed up alone. I thought you were going to split the holidays again.”

For the first two years of your relationship, you and Pedro compromised and decided to spend Christmas with one family and then New Years, with the other. This year, it was Pedro’s family to host Christmas. “Umm...yeah well, I don’t know if Pedro told you or not, but we decided that it would be best if we took some time apart away from each other. We umm...we had a pretty bad fight.”

You trusted Lux in telling her what was going on. Over the years, you two had gotten super closer to each other. You had been an only child, so she was closest thing to a sister that you had. In fact, you had grown close to all his family.

“I didn’t know you two had a fight. All he said was that this year, something came up and you weren’t able to come this year. That’s so strange though. You two never fight. In fact, I have never seen either of you even raise your voice at each other. What was the fight about?”

Tears began to fill your eyes as you recalled that night....

Pedro finally finished up in the bathroom and came to join you in bed. However, as he got under the covers and tried to pull you over to him, he was surprised to have you pull away from him. “Hey what was that for? What’s going on mi vida.”

You said nothing. You just rolled over to your side facing away with tears starting to fill your eyes. “Mi vida, Y/N, what’s going on? You know that you can tell me anything.”

“You...you lied to me,” you said quietly that he could barely hear you.

“I... I’m sorry what?”

“I said that you lied to me Pedro!” you shouted and got out of bed. “You...are a liar Pedro Pascal and that is something that I thought I would never say.”

Pedro’s eyes grew wide. He had never seen an outburst like this from you before, “Whoa, what the actual fuck Y/N. What the hell are you talking about?”

He got out of bed and tried to get to you, but you didn’t let him “No, you just stay back,” you yelled. “I know about Friday night Pedro. Were you stupid enough to think that I wouldn’t find out? The paparazzi follow you everywhere for crying out loud. I saw the pictures of you!”

Pedro just huffed and shook his head, “Really Y/N, this is what it’s about. So, what, I went out Friday to have some drinks with old friends. What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal? The deal is Pedro Pascal, that you lied to me about it! When I was leaving for work, you told me that you had no plans that night. Now I find that you did go out and that you were hugging up on some chick!”

“You...you’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned. “Please don’t tell me what I think you are inferring. Please tell me you don’t think that I’m cheating on you.”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think Pedro? Did you plan this? Did you plan on hiding this from me?” tears stung your eyes as you threw the phone at him.

Pedro managed to dodge the phone as it hit the wall behind him, “Jesus Y/N what the hell! I didn’t lie to you okay. I had every intension of staying home, but then one of my old costars called saying that they were having a get together. I figured that since you were working yet again, I would go. I also am not cheating on you. I fucking love you okay. Yes, I know there were rumors about me and her back in the day, but nothing ever happened. We were surrounded by our friends the entire time. We were never alone together!”

“Oh, so now this is my fault, because I had to work. Well, I’m sorry that the hospital is short staffed Pedro. Besides, weren’t you the one encouraging me to work overtime?”

“Yes, and that was when I was working!” Pedro shouted at you. “I told you that you should work some more when I am not home, so you wouldn’t have to think about us being apart like you usually do. I don’t get why after I have been gone for months filming, you all of a sudden want to work more hours now. I’ve hardly seen you in the past two weeks.”

You couldn’t believe how selfish Pedro was acting right now. “Are you serious Pedro? So, you mean to tell me that when you leave to go work in another country, I have no choice but to be here all alone in this big empty house, but when you come home, I am not allowed to work. I have to be here with you, so you don’t feel the same way that I do when you leave. So, you do not get bored. I know things were easier when I was in nursing school because I was able to be home and work on homework and stuff, but now that I’m that working, I can’t just drop it all as soon as you walk in the door. I work in an environment where people’s lives are at stake.”

“I know that Y/N and I’m not asking you to give it all up. I know how hard you work and how much you love your job. All I’m asking is just to have some uninterrupted time with you. No work, no commitment, nothing. Next year is going to be super busy and I want us to spend as much time as we can with each other,” he sighed.

“And if I do manage to stop working overtime Pedro, what are we going to do then? Stay home?” you asked. “Stay cramped up in this house, door dashing date meals. Ever since this whole “Internet Daddy” thing started, we don’t even go out anymore. You don’t let us go out together anymore.”

That was true. In the beginning of your relationship, you were able to sneak in dinner dates, coffee trips, and the occasional vacation without being noticed by the public. But now that Pedro’s popularity blew up, cameras constantly caught his every move. It was a miracle with social media being what it was, that no one had a clue that he was dating. He made sure that you always took the proper precautions if you needed to go out.

 “Yes, you are right, and I still stand by that decision Y/N. There is no way in hell am I putting you in the public eye. No, I will not do that to you. They will tear you apart. I have a lot on my plate already and I do not need to be constantly worrying about you. No, things are much simpler and safer if people don’t know about you,” he tried to convince you.

“But at what cost Pedro? You can’t keep us locked up in this house forever. It’s not healthy. Someone at some point is going to find out and then what? We deny that we know each other? Deny that we love each other? No, I refuse to do that. There are tons of actresses and actors that keep their wives and families out of the public eye yet can maintain a normal life. They aren’t afraid to go out and get seen. Why can’t we be like them? If you are worried that I can’t handle it, then I swear to you that I can. I can handle it Pedro,” you pleaded your case. You didn’t understand where this sudden fear of his was coming from. It wasn’t like him at all.

“Oh, like you handled seeing that picture?” he snapped back. “You really handle that like a champ.

You growled at the nerve of him trying to turn this around on you, “No, no Pedro, you do not get to do that. You do not get to use that on me. I don’t care that you went out. You can do as you please. What I am mad about is that I had to find out on the internet what my boyfriend has been up to. I would have never know that you went out if the pictures didn’t get released Pedro. I’m hurt that you didn’t even bring it up the next morning. I even asked how your night went and you said that it was fine. You always, even on set, tell me when you are going out. So why not this time? Was it because she was there? You two looked pretty cozy as you walked out of the restaurant with your arm around her waist!” you gave him a look that could kill.

“It was nothing Y/N! And I did not go there because she was going to be there. The reason why didn’t tell you was because I didn’t think that it was a big deal. I got the text at the last minute. I stayed for maybe an hour, two hours tops and that’s it. I came right back home and spent the rest of the night upstairs reading scripts and emails. The only reason why I walked her out and to her car, was because she was telling us about a stalker that she had. I just wanted to make sure that she got to her car safely. You know that I would have done that with anyone,” he just couldn’t understand how you couldn’t see that. Nothing else happened after that and it would never. Pedro loved you with all his heart and would never disrespect you or your relationship like that.

“The...the stalker thing, are...are you afraid that might happen to us? With me?” you asked shuddering at the thought of some stranger being completely obsessed with you.

Pedro’s face fell as the same thought came into his mind, “Yes in a way. People are crazy Y/N. you can never know what can happen. I’d rather keep you here safe, away from all of the craziness. Now can we please just forget about all this and go to bed. I don’t like fighting with you Y/N.” he tried to take a step closer to you and for a second, you let him.

However as soon as he got close enough to try to reach out for your hand and pulled you to him, you placed your hand on his chest to prevent you from being pulled closer, “I...I... I’m sorry Pedro, but I can’t. I just...I can’t get over how you are acting like this isn’t a big deal. I feel betrayed right now Pedro. I...I don’t think I can sweep this under the rug like that. I’m sorry.” You then walked over to the bed and grabbed your pillow and the quilt that was at the foot of the bed.

“Where...where do you think you are going?”

“I’m going to go sleep in the spare room Pedro. I...I just need time to think and calm down,” the pain and hurt that you were feeling was clear all over your face. You felt completely drained.

Pedro was right behind you hot on your heels as you made your way to the guest room, “So this is how we are going to start off the holidays Y/N. Everything up in the air now because of one picture that made you feel insecure....” As soon as that word left his lips, both of his hands flew to his mouth shutting himself up. He knew that he messed up. “Y/N, Y/N, mi vida, I’m sorry I didn’t mean...”

You didn’t care if you hit him with it, but you slammed the door right in his face. You couldn’t believe that he said that. You always thought of yourself as a strong woman, but for the first time, you felt so small, so little. Were you really being insecure? Were you really blowing this whole thing out of proportion, because of your sudden lack of self-esteem? You didn’t know, but you didn’t like what you feeling deep down inside you.

You both went to bed feeling angry and disappointed with how things played out. You both tossed and turned, plagued with nightmares and replaying the fight in your head. The next morning, you stayed locked away in the guest room. You were too scared and still annoyed with Pedro to face him. You only came out when you heard him leave. That gave you enough time to freshen up for the day, find your now cracked phone, and get something to eat. When you heard him come home, you rushed back to the guest bedroom and locked the door. You could hear him sigh on the other end of the door but couldn’t find it in your heart to open it.

“I stayed locked up in there for the rest of the day. When I finally did come out, we could hardly look at each other. I don’t know if it was anger, guilt or what, but we completely avoided each other. The next time we did speak, I told him a was going to my parents for Christmas and New Years and he said that was probably a good idea. We didn’t even see each other off the airport, we just left,” You sighed. “I... I don’t think we are going to make it Lux. Maybe we did rush into things like everyone said in the beginning. Maybe the honeymoon stage has finally come to an end, and we are as compatible as we thought.”

“No, no, do not say that Y/N. You two are meant for each other. I can see it in your eyes. Having one big fight doesn’t mean that it’s the end for you. Sometimes fights happen that you can’t avoid. Both of you had very valid points. Pedro should have been honest with you. I know for a fact that my big brother would never, ever, cheat on you. I just think he honestly didn’t see it as a big deal. I do agree that he should have mentioned something just in case you came home before he did or just to check in with you in case something happened, and you knew where he was. With that being said, he is an idiot for calling you insecure. I have half my mind to break his other shoulder. You are not insecure Y/N. You are entitled to your feelings, and he shouldn’t have invalidated them. You just have to look at things from his perspective. After the loss of well...you know, he has closed himself off in a way from every really truly loving someone. That was, until he met you Y/N. The past three years I have seen my brother grow so much. He truly, madly, deeply, loves you. I think part of him feels like if the stress of you two going public is too much for you, he may lose you in more ways than one. I don’t think he would survive that if that were to happen. I believe that you two can work this out Y/N. You just need to be completely honest with each other. We love you Y/N and we would really hate it if you and Pedro broke up. You just need to take things slow. I believe both of you will really grow from this.”

Thankfully at that point, you had pulled up to the Pascal family home. So as soon as the car was parked, you quickly undid your seatbelt and threw yourself into Lux’s arms, “Thank you Lux, for everything. I owe you more than you know. Your words mean so much. I promise you I will do my absolute best to work out things with Pedro. So much of what you said makes total sense. We both let things get out of control. We should have really listened to each other and saw where each other was coming from. I think we both invalidated each other. I hate to say it, but maybe him getting hurt is what may help us put everything into perspective and work things out.”

“See now that’s the spirit. You just gotta go into this positively and have an open mind. Now come on, let’s go see that boyfriend of yours,” Lux smiled brightly.

Walking into the Pascal Family home, it was still warm and welcoming like you remember. When Pedro first brought you there, you could remember how nervous and scared you felt, but as soon as his family welcomed you with open arms, you felt like you had been part of the family for years.

Following Lux to the kitchen, you smelled wonderful cooking on the stove. That’s when you saw Pedro’s father Jose come around the corner, “Oh Y/N, you made it! So glad that you could make it. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, but I’m glad you are here.”

“Yes, I came quickly as soon as I could Mr. Pascal. There is no other place that I’d rather be. I am so thankful that Lux called me,” you said giving the older man a big hug.

“Well, I’m sure that son of mine will be very happy to see you. Lord knows that he could use the company. And please for the thousandth time, call me Jose,” he chuckled.

“You got it Jose. So how is he holding up?”

Jose frowned as he thought back at what happened, “He is okay for now. Poor guy gave us all a scare. I feel so horrible. He is upstairs sleeping now. Why don’t you go to him? It’s the first door on the right.”

Nerves suddenly overtook you as you nodded and headed towards the stares. You couldn’t help but have visions of Pedro lying at the bottom of them. Guilt then consumed you as you knew that you should have been here. Like he said, it was so dumb to pick a fight right before the holidays. You should have just calmly asked about the picture and the other stuff, well the other stuff should have waited.

Quietly opening the door, your heart broke as you saw the love of your life sound asleep. His poor arm being held closely to him by a sling. Walking over to the bed, you gently pulled the covers back, took off your shoes, and got in next to him. You carefully tucked yourself into the side of his good arm. His breathing was slow, and you could hear his heart beat under your ear as you rested your head on his chest.

Pedro must have sensed the pressure on his chest, because you felt him take a deep breath and let out a groan. Lifting your head, you saw those big brown eyes staring down at you. “Y/N...is...is that you?” he said hoarsely.

“Yes baby, it’s me,” you smiled and cupped his bearded cheek. “Lux called me and said that you took a spill. I took the first flight that I could get out here. You had me so worried.”

“I told no one to call you. I knew flights were going to be hard to come by. I wanted to call you myself when I was feeling better,” he pouted.

That damn pouty look of his was so adorable. You couldn’t help but lean up and place a small kiss on his lips. “Don’t be mad baby. I’m happy that someone called. Now you have your own personal nurse to help get you back to help.”

His pout turned in to a big smile as he got an idea, “Oh yeah huh? Do you think Santa will bring a naughty nurses outfit?”

“If you play your cards right mister, I think I can make something happen,” you then captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a little nibble.

When you pulled back, Pedro ran his hand through your hair and sighed, “I...I... I’m sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry for everything. I apologize for not telling you about going out and I am so fucking sorry for calling you insecure. That was my anger talking, not the real me.” When you went to open your mouth, he gently placed a finger to your lips, “Please mi vida, just let me finish. I need to get all of this off my chest. I never meant for you to find out about the get together from the internet. I had every intention of telling you, but I forgot. Between packing, the holidays, and everything that I have to do next month, it really did slip my mind. I know I should have for peace of mind, should have sent a text letting you know what’s going on. I know that if I saw you in that position, I would have lost my shit too. I swear to Y/N nothing else happened that night. Me and her didn’t even speak that much. She was completely on the opposite of the table. I only really talked to her when she told us about the stalker and as soon as I walked her to the car, I came straight home. I love you with all my heart Y/N. I would never cheat on you. I would never jeopardize our future like that. And you are not insecure. That was an asshole thing to say, and I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you. You are the strongest woman that I know. You are the backbone of our relationship and the reason I keep going every day.”

“I love you too Pedro and thank you for apologizing. I need to apologize to you too,” you smiled through tear-soaked lashes. “And I’m sorry for not seeing your side or reason. I was filled with so much anger and feeling betrayed that I just had tunnel vision. My mind was only seeing things one way. I just that all I could see was how happy you too looked together and a big part of me wishes that it was me with you. I couldn’t help but feel like you are ashamed of being seen with me.  I wished so badly that I was the one that you were parading around happily and the one that was making you smile that way. I know you are trying to protect me, Pedro. And I know that you have this fear of something really bad happening to me. As much as I still think we can and will be okay if we do make our relationship public, we can handle it. We would have each other to lean on. However, if you want to keep things quiet and keep things the way that they are, I am willing to do that. I know how important my safety and well-being are to you Pedro. Hell, we have been doing a pretty good job staying quiet the last three years, so why change it.”

Pedro reached out with his good arm and wiped the tears from your puffy face, “As much as I appreciate you doing that for me, mi vida, I had a lot of time to think things over and I realized that you are completely right. I have been being selfish and unfair to you. I have been putting my job and fears ahead of you and that’s not right. You have never asked me for a thing and the first time that you asked me to do something for you, I completely shut you down. It’s not that I’m ashamed to be seen with you Y/N. Like I said, it’s all been my fears controlling my every move with you, especially now. It was my fears that kept me from almost introducing myself to you and now that I have you, it’s my fears that are making me extremely overprotective of you. I’m just really scared that my fans or the media will come after you before they even have a chance to know you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You do not deserve that. I just can’t shake this feeling that all the stress and negativity will become too much for you and something will happen. I can’t let that happen Y/N and I refuse to let that happen. I would never forgive myself for that. I can’t lose you Y/N.”

Now it was your turn to be the strong one and comfort him. You held his hand tightly, while running your other through his soft curls, “Pedro Pascal, love of my life, my future baby daddy, thank you for being honest with me. That’s all I wanted. You don’t know how much I appreciate that. You don’t know how thankful that I am that I found someone like you. You are the greatest lover, friend, and protector that I have ever had. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel safe where it’s in your arms or by the sound of your voice when you are away. That’s why I am not afraid to be seen in public with you. I know that no matter what may happen, good or bad, you will be right there with me to help guide me. I honestly think that it won’t be that bad. Sure, it may be chaotic in the beginning but at the same time, it may not. Your fans love you Pedro and while they might be a little sad that you are seeing someone, I’m sure that they will be happy for you. Apart of me just keeps thinking of what happens if we do slip up and get seen together. Don’t you think that it would be best if we get ahead of this ourselves versus having someone else do it and spread lies. Do this on our own terms?”

“But…but…would you really be okay with this though Y/N? I really need you to think. You would be giving up your privacy. These days people are going to find everything about you that they can on the internet. Are you ready to see every move we make, documented by social media? I need to know that you aren’t going to run or shut down at the first sign of trouble. I need to know that how you reacted to the picture won’t happen again.” If you both agreed to this, he knew that this was going to be the ultimate test to your relationship.

“Pedro, I promise you on everything that I am not going to run. I have thought this through, and this is what I want. I really don’t care what people say. All that matters to me is your opinion and your opinion only Pedro. I will be the only one who knows the real you and you are the only one who will know the real me. I really want to take this next step with you Pedro. I want to be that proud girlfriend and hopefully wife who gets to brag about how amazingly talented their partner is. I want to be the first hug and kiss when you win an award. I want to show everyone how I’m the lucky one to have you in my life. If you still aren’t sure about this Pedro, then like I said, I’m happy to keep things the way that they are. But what do you say baby, will you take this leap of faith with me?”

Fighting back his own tears, Pedro nodded his head. Still to this day, even three years         later you still found a way to floor him, and he knew that you would continue to. You were so fucking incredible, and he got to call you his. He was still in disbelief that you gave him a shot. The thing that he loved about you and should have trusted in the beginning was how even after a fight, you found a way to be levelheaded and work things out. He never felt lost when you were with him. And even though you called to him to help guide you through the crazy waters that is the celebrity life, it was you that helped guide him though every life.

Every day you brought out the best in him. You gave him the inspiration to be the best man that he could be. Everything that he did, he did for you. He did everything that he could to make you proud. He tried to be that someone that you could proudly show off as the love of your life. He couldn’t believe that he had the potential to be your husband and father of your kids. Two things he didn’t think were ever going to be possible till he met you. You were everything that he could ever want, and you were everything that he could ever need. You were the one that he would take this leap with.

“I Pedro Pascal, would love nothing more than Y/N. You are right, no matter what happens, we will be in this together. You are remarkable Y/N and I think it’s time the world gets to know the woman that has captured by heart. Just at any point, please if things get too much, you need to tell me Y/N. All you have to do is say the word and I will do my best to shut it down. Can you promise me that Y/N? I’ll promise to be more open and understanding with you, if you promise to be open with me. This is the only way that it will work.”

“Yes Pedro, I promise you. We will get through this baby. I know we can,” you then carefully wrapped your arm around his good side and buried yourself into that strong neck of his. “I love you, Pedro Pascal. I love you so much.”

“I love you too Y/N, mi vida, with all my heart. And I make another promise to you here, right now. I will marry you Y/N and we will have as many kids as you want. Just say the word and I will get down on my knees. You deserve the world Y/N and I want to give it to you,” he muttered into your hair before placing a kiss on your head.

You pulled back slightly enough to rest your head on his, “I do have the world, Pedro. I have everything that I want and need right here.” You then leaned forward and pressed your lips against his.

Both of you moaned as soon as your lips met. These past few days that you were apart were brutal. Going days without speaking, cuddling, or kissing, was something that you never wanted to experience again. It wasn’t like when he was on set, and you couldn’t see him. No, this was way worse and both of you hated it.

Pedro couldn’t help but bring his hand up and run it down your side till he reached your backside. Giving it a rough squeeze, causing you to moan into his opened mouth, he pulled you close and deepened the kiss. But as he slipped his tongue in, he moved just enough to send a shot of pain running through his body, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Shit baby, are you okay?” you gasped and pulled away quickly.

He groaned, gritting his teeth and hunching over. “Just…just give me a minute.”

Never leaving his side, you sat there next to him making sure that you rubbed his back and peppered kisses on his good shoulder until the pain started to subside. “Just breathe baby, just breathe it out. I’m here, I’m here,” you whispered to him, running your hand through his sweaty hair.

“Th…thank you mi vida. Forgot that I can’t really move like it want to,” he sighed. “The umm…the doctors said that I fractured my shoulder. I may need to have surgery. I am such an idiot.”

“Hey, look at me,” you said sternly and lifted his chin to look at you. “You are not an idiot. Accidents happen Pedro. Do you remember what happened?”

“I…I just fell. I must have tripped and lost my footing. Next thing I know I’m at the bottom of the stair and everyone is running to me. My dad and sister took me straight to the ER. I can’t believe that I scared the shit out of everyone.” He could still see the petrified look on everyone’s faces, including his nephews.

You shook your head disappointedly, but you had warned him countless times to slow down when it came to stairs especially at your own house. “Jesus Pedro, you are so lucky that you didn’t break your neck. Have you called your doctor back home? Lux said something about a second opinion.”

“No, I haven’t called anyone yet. I just want to sleep and do all of that tomorrow,” he sighed leaning back into his propped-up pillows.

Your heart broke at seeing how much pain he was in. For being such a big man, at that moment, he looked so small. If you had the ability to take his pain away, you would. Instead, you were going to help him anyway that you could and nurse him back to health. “You sleep then baby. I’ll go downstairs and start getting everything sorted out. Do you need me to get you anything?”

Pedro nodded and looked up at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes, “Stay with me, mi vida. I know that plane ride wasn’t the most comfortable thing. You look exhausted. Take a nap with me?”

“Of course, baby, you don’t even have to ask twice. Let me just get out of these jeans first,” you told him as you stood up to strip them off and your sweater.

“That’s so not fair, mi vida. You just can’t get naked in front of me like that while I’m laid up here,” he pouted.

Rolling your eyes as you got back into bed, you couldn’t help but softly slap his chest, “I’m not naked and if even if I were and you weren’t hurt, we wouldn’t be doing anything in your father’s house naughty boy. No sex for a while I’m afraid. Last thing we need is for you to get more hurt because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

“That’s a chance I am willing to take mi vida,” he laughed and wrapped his arm around you as you cuddled into him. “I love you Y/N and thank you for coming to take care of your old man.”

“No need to thank me baby. There is no other place that I would rather be. Let’s just promise not to fight anymore, okay. And absolutely no more falling downstairs.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #hurt/comfort #injury #fluff #angst with a happy ending #romance

[huboi]

᭨ ⃟⃜㊙️. THE ITADORIS’ ू✙˚💬 ̳͟͞͞. 📁💢

CHAPTER 1 : EYE-TO-EYE

★ — NEXT CHAPTER

LINK TO ᭨ ⃟⃜㊙️. THE ITADORIS’ ू✙˚💬 ̳͟͞͞. 📁💢 MASTERLIST

╰┈➤ summary; one friday afternoon, you come face-to-face with a man covered in tats. when at the counter, a small voice politely asks ‘papa’ for a cookie…

╰┈➤ includes; gn! barista! reader, single dad! sukuna, child! yuji, extreme fluff, sukuna is 28 (had yuji at 18), reader is early 20s’ so somewhat of an age gap

╰┈➤ a/n; consider this mini series as a 1k follower special! I’m so stoked I made it this far, tysm for all the support throughout the years <3

╰┈➤ taglist; @alluresenses, @ryomku, @slaysksmska, @vduxx, @yanelis-world, @cloudy51, @gangeyes, @khaleesihavilliard, @valen-yamyam16, @craxy-gezel @kunasexygf, @sukunamylovexoxo, @mazzd4 (if you wanna be added just hit me an ask :3)

THE GENTLE TINKLE of the bell alerted you of a new costumer, causing you to turn around away from the coffee machine ready to greet said customer with a smile and polite welcome, only for your body to stiffen in reflex.

the man that now stood in front of the counter had an eerie aura to him. he wore a black wife beater, the tight clothing highlighting the muscles that lay beneath the clothing, his arms covered in black tats, the muscles making the tats seem extra prominent. his grey sweatpants may be baggy, but you guessed that underneath lays muscular legs and thighs that could easily crush a watermelon-

snapping out of checking out the hot, dangerous looking stranger, you gave him a strained smile at him, hoping he couldn’t sense your nervousness. a small voice saying “papa, can I please have a cookie?” startled you. two little chubby hands cling to the counter, a mop of fluffy pink hair peeking at the variety of cookies on display.

“oi you brat! you’ve already had dessert at chosos’, I don’t need you bouncing off the damn walls when we get back,” the man grunted, arms crossing against his chest, which made his man tits more profound.

“hey, how about this; you can have a hot chocolate instead of a cookie?” you suggested, smiling at the cute little boy in front of you.

facing his father, yuji proceeded to plead him with the signature puppy dog eyes whilst a continuous chorus of pleases left his mouth.

sukuna sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he mumbled out “one hot chocolate for the brat and black coffee for me,” causing yuji to throw a little celebration, squealing in delight and hugging sukunas’ slutty waist, literally jumping with joy.

the sight plastered a small, genuine smile onto your face, unbeknownst to you, causing a blush to form onto sukunas’ usually stoic face, heart pounding in his chest at this new feeling.

when they found a table to sit at, you began making their drinks. whilst brewing sukunas’ coffee you thought to yourself why only the father was out with his son, is the mother out of the picture? do they take turns with custody over the child? is he simply having some father son bonding time?

you choose not to pry over it, it’s none of your business anyways. it’s kind of comical seeing such a scary, dangerous looking guy with a cute little kid. you have to admit though, the kid’s cute, even though he’s just a carbon copy of the man, but cuter.

when finished with their drinks, you quickly carried them over to their table, noticing how yujis’ face seemed to brighten up at the sight of you carrying his sweet drink. you placed their drinks onto the table, yuji thanking you with all his might whilst sukuna mumbled a small ‘thanks’ in response.

“hiya! i’m yuji and this is my daddy sukuna!” the boy greeted before you left back to the counter. you decided to stay and talk to the kid a bit, since it was near closing time and no other customers seemed to be coming in.

“hi yuji, i’m (name), it’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, ruffling his hair, causing him to let out little giggles at the gesture. sukuna sat back idly watching you interact with his son.

‘mmm, they interact well with yuji. I haven’t had any luck with any partners, especially when they find out I’m a father. his mother was a piece of shit and didn’t even want yuji in the first place, she left me with the brat when he was born’ sukuna thought to himself, maybe he could try shooting his shot? earlier he did notice you eyeing him up and down like a piece of candy, so maybe you’re interested?

“oi brat! quit annoying them!” sukuna berated yuji, testing out the waters to check if you really did want to talk to yuji because you wanted to or if you felt obliged to.

“nonesense! he’s not annoying me, a cutie such as him could never annoy me. I love kids, they give me so much joy. your dad sure is a lucky guy to have you isn’t he?” you grinned, pinching his chubby cheeks in the process causing him to whine out in retaliation.

internally sukuna is smitten, he’s never seen anyone treat yuji with such love, other than choso. maybe you are the right one after all? the problem is, how can he ask you out without making a scene? (the scene being yuji making a huge fuss over him having a partner for the first time since his mum)

“do you have a pen by any chance?” the sudden sound of sukunas’ deep voice sent a small shiver down your spine. “yup, just give me a second sir” you curtly responded, rummaging through your breast pocket before grabbing a pen and giving it to the tatted man.

sukuna grabbed a napkin from the table and hastily scribbled down something before placing the pen back onto the table and practically chugging his coffee.

“brat you finished with your drink?” sukuna asked the little munchkin “noooo, need more time!” yuji cried out. you simply took his cup and placed the coffee into a take out coffee cup, giving it to him so he could drink it on the way back.

“thank you!” yuji bowed, before taking his dads’ way larger hand into his own tiny chubby one. you simply watched as they walked out of the shop, the gentle tinkle of the bell indicating that they’ve left.

you spotted the napkin sukuna wrote on, numbers scribbled along with a small ‘my number : if interested text me and we can go on a date’

you became flustered, feeling your heart flutter at the thought of seeing the attractive dilf once again. maybe you’d text him tomorrow, as you’re usually free on Saturdays as the shop closes earlier at 12:00.

you’re surprised that sukuna was interested, he didn’t show much interest during your interaction. he’s going to be a hard guy to read.

© content belongs to @huboi on tumblr, DO NOT REPOST ON ANY SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS WHATSOEVER

#ash.writes #jjk x reader #jjk x gn reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #jjk ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gn reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x gn reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna imagines #yuji x reader #yuji x gn reader #yuji imagines #yuji fluff #sukuna scenarios #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen

[ghostlywhiskey]

Dad!Price brain rot is real!!! All I could think about today is him carrying the babies in a chest carrier, one hand cradled protectively over their little heads, murmuring to them when they start to fuss and bouncing a little to soothe them, kissing the tops of their heads and sniffing in that baby scent, stroking the bottoms of their soft little baby feet

Price is the ultimate dilf and all the other moms are definitely jealous about hot handsome and attentive he is to you and your babies ♥️

this has officially sent me into a spiral i hope you know that? also the chest carrier PLEASE the way he definitely has this brand - honestly all the guys have it. price puts them on it.

but omg - you and price are at the point where you have two kids - the oldest being around 5 and the youngest only five months. when it comes to school related things, that was your area of expertise. PTA meetings, volunteering to be one of the class moms, etc. - you name it, you were involved. so, while most of the moms knew you, they knew little to nothing about your husband.

and when the holiday concert and art show comes around, price is back from deployment and in attendance. the chest carrier strapped on while the newborn rests their cheek on price's chest, little hands fisting to hold onto his dress shirt. while he walks around looking for his oldest sons art work on display, he can feel the eyes of a group of moms staring at him.

hand brushing back the small amount of hair on the baby's head, he places a kiss on the top. "we're like animals in a zoo exhibit," price mumbles to the baby, who lifts their head and looking around in curiosity despite not understanding price's words. "lookin for mommy? me too." sighing, his hands moving to give the baby's tiny legs a little squeeze.

the sound of heels approaching price only alert him when a familiar hand grabs his bicep gently, causing him to turn to face you. "thank god it's you," price murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "i don't like feelin' like a single dad."

"sorry, mini you was having a hard time with his tie and then i got held up talking with his teacher." you hand reaching for the baby's cheek, giving it a little pinch that causes him to smile at you. "hi, my angel." your baby voice slipping out as you speak to the child, price watching as you interact with him.

his hand reaching to cup your cheek, you glance up at him. "you're fuc-" price clearing his throat to stop himself from cursing with the baby this close to him. "perfect. you're perfect." he restates himself, leaning down to brush his lips against yours before giving you a kiss.

giggling at his attempt to stop himself from cursing, you kiss him back before pulling back. "i recognize that look," you tease, reaching to grab his wrist and gently pulling it away from your face. "that's what got you two sons."

price hums in agreement, grinning down at you. "no idea what you're talking about. i'm just making sure those vultures know i'm not a single dad." he laughs, and you glance over at the moms. the three women give you immediate smiles, and you return the same along with a small wave before looking back at price.

#john price #john price fluff #john price x reader #nic responses #nic talks price

[edytae]

"heat" (smut/mature) ft. Kim Taehyung x reader

(do not interact if you are underage)

pairing: Taehyung x (female) reader

summary: Taehyung gladly lets you use him during your "heat".

rating: 18+

genre/warnings: smut, established relationship, !werewolfTaehyung, !humanreader, reader goes crazy horny, just a brain dump bc Taehyung is so f*cking hot!

word count: 3.5K

A/N: Check these out! masterlist | inexperienced | you’re mine | Spoiled | take a break | Best Dad-dy (smut) |

“Tae, Tae, Tae…” You called out his name as you tried to move yourself. “Please, let me go!” Your sweet begs would never change his mind.

“Baby, did you lose your mind?” He asked breathily as you tried to peel his hands off. 

“I just want your dick, please. Why don’t you-” You hiccupped and cried. Your desperate need for him came over you so needily that Taehyung needed to stop you. 

“You will hurt yourself, baby.” He lovingly explained while patting your face to calm your cry. He gave two gentle kisses to your soiled cheeks.

“Oh my sweet human…” Taehyung caressed your body as you shook under him. Taehyung was a wolf by birth. He was a promising wolf in his tribe and loved by everyone including town people even though they didn’t know Taehyung’s tribe’s secrets.

For you, being with Taehyung was the most natural thing. He was your childhood love that transformed into something bigger, but as magical as always. Now, you knew him very well; he was a good man that could turn into a big puppy. 

Taehyung’s supernatural nature had a very traditional family aspect built into it. His tribe had become your second family with endless fun, dirty dishes and no leftovers. Taehyung’s tribe was his source of information about his nature. However, as human mates were rare, their nature wasn’t fully unknown. So, when your first heat came up, Taehyung was shocked at what to do. 

Well, he obviously knew what to do, but it didn’t expect you to have longer and more desperate heats as if your human body didn’t know how to process the superhuman urges. 

You were doing anything that a wolf would do. You were rutting against his limbs, sniffing him so deeply and licking all over his skin while burning with passion and leaking all over yourself. It was debilitating to the point where you said it was worse than your period. 

When he brought this up to Yoongi, his older brother emotionlessly commented, “Stop complaining. It’s not something you can’t keep up with.” Yoongi had a human mate but he wasn’t helping since he was very secretive with his partner. Despite everything, Taehyung had never seen someone have this much strong heat. 

It also didn’t help that you were so small for him. Tiny, itsy bitsy compared to him, way softer. You could only take only half of him when you tried your best and kept asking for more while Taehyung watched your juicy cunt stretch around him. Oh, then you smelled literally intoxicating. You alerted him with your naughty pheromones and turned him into a sex machine every single month. 

You pleaded again, this time hands holding his collar. You tried to shake Taehyung with every word.  “I want it to hurt. I- I just want you in me, okay? Fuck me, finger me- Fucking fist me! I just need you in me, Taehyung, please….” 

It was difficult for him as it was difficult for you. “You dirty princess.” Taehyung ever so slightly pulled your hair from the root, making your eyes roll back with pleasure. You followed his pull and climbed to his lap. Your lips immediately found his neck, licking it like a little kitten, rather than a scary wolf.

Taehyung fisted his hand on his lap, “You want me to fist you?” He laughed a bit too dangerously. “You can’t even take three of my fingers without crying, you dirty girl.”

His dirty talk was sweet nothings to your ears. As soon as your lips hit his smooth skin you were gone. It was very convenient that he was always burning hot so you lost your shirts in seconds. 

“You don’t have a bra on?” He hissed when your bare skin hit him through his skirt. “No? Why would I need extra layers?” You mumbled while your lips sucked his neck a big red bruise. 

Taehyung’s voice grumbled in his throat as you begged him further. “Take me to our bed, Tae…” Your voice was so weak and desperate. Taehyung followed your request. 

When his back hit the bed, you were back to ravaging him crazy. “Take it off, for fucks sake!” You complained when his cardigan tangled everywhere.

Taehyung airily laughed, “Don’t say bad words!” He spanked you with his large hand. You cried out fake tears. “What do you want, baby?” He asked as he watched you grind against his crotch mindlessly. 

“I- i… I feel so horny for you, baby.” You cried again, fingers digging at his soft skin. 

“Ride me until you are satisfied, okay?” He cooed your face as you got him out of his boxers and hovered over him. 

You were trying to get him ready as if he needed to. He was fucking ready for you before he knocked on the front door. His nose picked up on your smell, and his wolf brain realised his mate needed to be impregnated. 

“Tae…” You sighed as your soaked pussy touched his flaming hot tip. He immediately oozed some precum for you. You rubbed his head against your sensitive lips and whined, “Ahh, so good.” You let his dick go as it could stand by itself. You held Taehyung’s shoulders with both your hands and nestled his cock between your pussy lips. You were too eager but not stretched enough, you glided against his cock, and let his head hit your clit as you experienced pure bliss. 

Thankfully, Taehyung’s wolf nature came with strong stamina even though he felt himself spending after a night with you. 

“Good job…” He whispered as your cries subdued with the contact. His body drugged you like a sweet painkiller. “All you need is my dick, right?” He helped you glide over his dick. 

You hummed, “Yes… It is all...” You slurred. His pretty cockhead was bumping right against your clit as you leaked all over him. Taehyung was glad that your heartbeat calmed down a little bit. Your body was decently relaxed on top of him, but you still shivered from pleasure. 

“My sweet girl…” Taehyung caressed your face and got your hair out of your face. You basically purred into his skin. “You feel amazing, Taetae…” 

Your eyes were closed, your hands on Taehyung’s shoulders to get a good grip to glide yourself on him. You were focused on the pleasure. 

A smile covered your face, you let out a giggle. “Taetae…” You moaned his nickname out. A few giggles left your mouth. 

“What is my darling?” Taehyung asked attentively as your body gently twitched in his hold. Taehyung felt your juices slowly seep out and cover his dick. You made him sticky with your cunt. Your giggles now made more sense. 

You slowly let yourself lay on Taehyung’s chest, “I came Taetae.” You still had the most alluring giggle on your lips. 

“You just cum, baby?” He was intrigued. When you nodded like a jello in his arms, he decided to tease you. “But it has only been three minutes, baby?” 

Again, you gave him a sweet giggle, picked yourself up again and continued to pleasure yourself without caring about Taehyung’s poor dick getting drenched. 

Taehyung then realised what he was in… You continued to ride him for multiple orgasms. 

“Taehyung, oh, baby!” Taehyung wanted to pray for his God as you moaned out loud for the umpteenth time. You were holding his large hands as he supported you as you jumped on his dick like a crazy woman. “Y-you’r- s-so good! Oh- my!” You folded over his body once again as your cunt clenched over him again. You let his hands go as you lay over him, breathing frantically against his neck.

“Did you cum again, baby?” He asked hoarsely. His throat was dry from watching your goddess body ride him like you were obliged to. You rubbed your face to his neck, a sob left your mouth. “Yes, I did. I can’t stop, Taetae…” You confessed ever shy. Your pussy wasn’t shy at all. She was glamorously covering him in your sweet slick, squeezing him for his worth and cumming endlessly. 

“How many times did you cum, baby?” His hands caressed your lower back. He was tempted to spank your ass but the way you shake in his arms stopped him. “S-so many times…” You murmured and you picked yourself up again. Despite your messy hair and make-up and overstimulated state, you sat back up, intertwined hands and started riding him again. You were slow this time, but your thighs were more separated now, giving you a deeper angle to take him. Most of your thrusts were irregular as you got comfortable with the depth. Nevertheless, Taehyung was holding his orgasm vigorously.

“Ah, f-fuck!” You squeezed Taehyung’s hand, your face crumbled in a cry. “You feel s-so big!” Your hips halted with their jumping motion and you started to swirl your hips around. A high-pitched whine followed your actions. “Y-you are so long, fuck!” 

Taehyung was deep inside you. He could feel how you moved around to feel every inch of him. “Ggg-” Taehyung only could give you a low growl. “Getting a good feel of me, heh?” He asked. If you weren’t holding his hands this tightly, he would have given your ass a strong spank, or to your delicious boobs. 

“Yes, baby…” You arched back, Taehyung was sure that he hit the correct place. When you repeated your cute little swirl over and over again, he was sure that you were cumming again. 

“Tae…” Taehyung felt his cock getting flooded by your cum once again. The worst thing was he desperately both needed to cum and didn’t want to cum. 

“Baby… Are you–” He was enamoured by your pleasure. Despite losing your mind a few orgasms ago, you still had the audacity to play with him. 

“Are you mad at me, Taetae?” You pouted with his dick bulging your stomach. Your one hand caressed his face. Taehyung could see your act from a mile away so he bucked his hips up to you.

“Ahh, so biggg…” Your face crumbled in a second with a hazy burn. “You are so deep, baby.” You clawed at his shoulders but didn’t pull him out.

“Mhmm, I am going again…” You gulped, your hips going at their full speed. As your high reached again, you let yourself fall into Taehyung’s chest and cried a full orgasm out in his arms. The sight of your face fully comforted in pleasure was too arousing for Taehyung that he flooded your soppy cunt with his seed. As Taehyung came, his hips moved slightly and yes, feeling him cum you gave him another small orgasm. 

“Bab-y, how on earth?” He asked you with a strained voice. It took everything in him not to continue slamming you stupidly on his cock. 

“I-Iam sorry, it-’s just that- you know my hea-t makes me like this…”  You dared to apologise while subtly continuing to ride his softened cock. 

“Don’t ever apologise!” Taehyung warned you. What the fuck you were apologising for? For riding him like a good girl?

You shrugged with a pout. “You should have never let me fuck you. Now, I don’t want to stopp-” Your hands find their places on Taehyung’s shoulders. You could easily hold onto the bed and fuck yourself but no, you had to touch him.

“I fucking love it when you are like this…” Taehyung hissed through overstimulation. You were the one who fucking came back-to-back and yet he was the little overstimulated bitch. 

“You do?” You hummed as your hips sped up. 

“Fuck, yes!” Taehyung gave you a well-deserved spank on your ass. 

“Ah, don’t hit me! I am s-so sensitive…” You whined; your pout was still on. 

Taehyung rubbed the spot, feeling a little bit guilty. “Mhmm, you are my sensitive little baby, aren’t you?” You nodded; head thrown back. 

“You can’t make your cunt stop cumming… Oh, sweet baby.” Taehyung cooed your face in his palm. You nuzzled against his hand. So, you wanted to ride him like a starved slut and still act like a pampered princess. Okay, he could do that. 

“Do you like it this slow, baby?” He asked gently, his hand dropping to your waist. “Yes, I-I love it…”

“How does it feel?” He breathlessly asked. 

“Like… like I am on top of the world.” You mumbled, speaking true from your mind. Taehyung felt his heart stutter. “Is that so? Do you like using my dick for your pleasure? Come on, baby, use me nice and good” You cried listening to him. He was yours to use, yes. He was all yours. “I-I am h-having f-fun with yo-r dick.” You nodded while your hips worked their magic to make him hit your G spot. 

Taehyung chuckled, “Yes, you have so much fun, baby. I can tell by how many times you came.” You hissed when he tried to fasten your hips. You needed your own pace and so Taehyung opted for simply caressing your waist with his warm large hands when you whined. 

“Your hands feel so warm…so big…” You took a big breath and continued. “A-and your body… s-so big and s-safe for me… I love y-you so muc-h.” While you confessed, tears streamed down your face like an overstimulated baby girl you are. Your hands caressed his honey skin, feeling his silky-smooth body.

“Y/N…” Taehyung breathed out your name slowly and dragged every single syllable. He was getting close to his orgasm again but he didn’t want to end your fun by cumming too soon. 

“Taehyung…” You mimicked him, voice entrenched in pleasure. 

“Baby, I will cum, very soon.” He whispered. He felt like you needed a warning.

“Me too!” You cried. “You will make me cum again! That’s s-so…” 

Taehyung couldn’t bear your slow impaired pace so he started pounding you from where he lay. “Baby…” Your figure immediately shook and you couldn’t hold yourself up on Taehyung’s lap. When you laid over Taehyung, he wrapped his arms around you. He had more control over the position despite having your entire body over him. 

His ragged, low grunts filled your ear. “Yo-r moans…” Your whimpers made him grunt even more. “I-i could c-cum j-st listenin- you, Taetae… You-r ss-sexy…” 

Taehyung squeezed your ass, “Do it then baby.” He talked behind his gritted teeth. “You did come a handful of times, yeah? Why don’t you cum for me again? Let me see how your eyes roll back.” He was mean. He fucking knew what his words did to you. He knew his voice was the reason why you whined like a little slut. “Taetae…” You whined his nickname out with a big sigh and shook in his arms.

“Pretty girl, cum for me like that.” Taehyung followed your orgasm with his and exploded inside you. You ride him through his orgasm despite the overstimulation. He felt so creamy and snuggly when he came. He always gifted you so many good sensations so you retaliated back. “Thank you, baby.” You whispered in his ear while your hips worked subtly. You kissed his forehead. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for-” You hiccuped while Taehyung kept cumming endlessly as you rode him out. “You had so much cum for me…” Your voice was so quiet as if you were afraid that someone would hear you. Taehyung answered only with a grunt and lay with afterglow. You laid back on him fully and cuddle him with his softened dick still inside you.

“Please don’t move…” You whimpered when he tried to move. “I want to stay like this for the rest of the night.” And you did. 

Taehyung was well accustomed to having you sleep on top of him so he fell into a deep slumber after his brain got washed up with sex chemicals. You were drugging his mind so sweetly that he was addicted to you. 

As if you could hear his thoughts, you gently twitched in his arms, clearly waking up. He didn’t open his eyes. “Mhmm…” You moaned. Right then your walls clenched on his soft dick. It felt amazing like his dick getting a hug from your juicy walls. Then, you picked yourself up from his chest. You have drooled on his chest. “Ah!” You winced in pain right as you pulled Taehyung out of you. Taehyung always wondered what you were up to when he was sleeping.

When you pulled Taehyung’s cock out, cum that was plugged into you dripped out to his thighs. It was both an erotic and messy sight. Your womanhood didn’t feel good, your entire midriff was sore. You rolled off Taehyung’s large frame and your back hit the bed after hours of extreme sporty activity that was riding Taehyung. 

You looked over his handsome face. All of his muscles were relaxed. He wasn’t frowning, clenching his teeth or anything. He was sleeping like your cute bear. You couldn’t help your heart swell for him. Your lips wanted to peck that gorgeous face. Taehyung and you did dive into a little bit of somnophilia, but nothing fully. You would never say no to waking up Taehyung's tongue in between your legs. So, you were comfortable giving him an innocent kiss on his forehead. You brushed his fluffy hair back and kissed his forehead again. You murmured something but Taehyung couldn’t catch it. When Taehyung thought you were getting up, he felt another kiss. This time on his shoulder. Another kiss was granted to him in seconds. They were so gentle, almost like a feather tickling his skin. You snuggled to his side while giving him some small kisses. It was more for you to get up and have some motivation to clean yourself. 

When you got up, Taehyung sneakily peeked. You were rushing to the bathroom with your hand cupping your sex so that nothing would leak. It was so fucking hot. Taehyung considered getting up and joining you, but he decided to stay in. It was one of the best decisions he made tonight because when you joined back to him on the bed a few minutes later, you showered him with gentle kisses. It was like you couldn’t get enough of him. You always said this would be the last but pressed another kiss only seconds later. 

“Sleep well, my Taetae bear.” This time Taehyung heard your voice. Then, you snuggled him again and threw your one leg over him. Taehyung fell asleep after that. The last thing he remembered was how you played with his fingers. You lay next to Taehyung, your head resting on his shoulder as you listened to his gentle snoring. The rhythmic sound vibrated through the room, creating a soothing ambience that lulled you into a state of tranquillity.

As you gazed at Taehyung's peaceful face, you couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for the man lying beside you. His snoring was like a sweet lullaby to your ears, a reminder of his presence and the comfort he brings to your life.

You watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, vibrating with the gentle snores that escaped his lips. It was a symphony of sound that intertwined with your love for him. In this simple act of slumber, Taehyung radiated an aura of vulnerability and warmth that captivated you.

Unable to resist, your hand reached out to gently trace the contours of his face, your fingers gliding across his cheek with tender adoration. You marvelled at the way his snores continued uninterrupted.

As your lips pressed softly against his temple, you felt a surge of tenderness swell within you. It was a pure and profound love that filled your heart, a love that was intensified by the gentle snores that escaped his lips. At this moment, you are overwhelmed by the depth of your emotions, a deep-seated yearning to protect and cherish him. And with that realization, you close your eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over you, as you drift into a blissful sleep, cradled by the gentle serenade of Taehyung's snoring.

Morning came fast and early. You snuggled to his side; Taehyung didn’t want to get up despite being awake for hours. It was his turn to watch you sleep. He spent the entire morning pressed against you, titties he adored only a reach away from his hand. If you didn’t look so comfortable wrapped in his arms, he would selfishly pull himself back and drown in your titties. Until your sleeping figure decided it was over, Taehyung cuddled you back. He wanted his every day to be like this. 

masterlist | inexperienced | you’re mine | Spoiled |take a break | Best Dad-dy (smut) |

#taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #v smut #bts taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #taehyung oneshot #bts v smut #bts smut #masterlist #edytae

[poursomesunaonme]

taste you still !

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary: you've been the o'hara's babysitter for quite some time; miguel thinks it's time for a raise!

wc: 4k

a/n: i have nothing to say for myself - i wrote this in two hours off two glasses of wine LMAO

cw: minors dni (pls have ur age in ur bio)!, age gap (reader is in college), drinking (clear for consent tho), pet names (sweetheart, bunny, conejita, little girl), doggy, oral (fem and male receiving), handjob, 69, biting, edging, scratching, size kink, overstim, nipple play, squirting, modified missionary, finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare!

the tv flickers idly across the room as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt.  gabriella had been asleep for a few hours.  glancing at your phone, you find it’s just past midnight.  it’s a warm, friday summer night.  a soft drizzle begins to come down outside.

classes just finished for the summer.  if it had been any other friday, you’d be out at bars tearing it up with your friends.  however, the single dad you nanny for called you in last minute.  you didn’t mind.

the moist rainy air from the outside defeats the advances of the air conditioner, and it’s beginning to get hot in the living room where you sit.  you’re thankful for wearing light clothes, as it helps with the heat beginning to settle. the warmth and the sound of the rain to help your body settle, and you begin to doze off.

you jump as the lock clicks, signaling the return of your employer.  you clear your throat and check your phone before putting it down, acting like you were watching whatever animal documentary was on the tv.  

2:26am had blinked across your screen.  the father enters the house with a quiet sigh, locking the door behind him.

“hi, mr. o’hara,” you say lightly as he hangs his coat and shakes his umbrella before putting it in a plastic bag to dry off.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, trying to keep the noise down to keep from waking his daughter as he kicks off his shoes, too tired to care if they land strewn across the floor.

“how was your night?” 

“i need a drink.” he chuckles, his footsteps receding into the kitchen to assuage his desire.  “do you want one?”

he had never offered you a drink before.  of course, you’re of age - it was just uncommon, given your position in his family.  

“i, uh…” you stumble over your words.  “sure.  please.  it’s been a long day.”

“i hope gabriella didn’t give you much trouble.”  the crackling sound of ice breaking under an expensive scotch drifts from the kitchen.

“no, she was great.  she just… she missed you.”

the words unspoken scream that you did as well, but you ignore them.  it was delusional to think of him that way, but you couldn’t help yourself for that split second.  it was rare to spend more than ten minutes with him when you helped him out with nannying - there was no reason for you to feel such an emotion.

“yeah… i missed her too.”

some underlying meaning laces his choice of words.  the sound of his footsteps alert you to his presence before he reaches over the couch from behind you to offer you the glass.  you jump slightly, but accept it.  he sits heavily next to you, the couch creaking under his sudden weight.  you both take a heavy sip of the drink.  it slightly burns your throat, but you manage to choke it down anyway.

you’re aware of his identity, as it was necessary to be privy to such matters when taking care of his daughter.  you had detailed protocols to follow in case of such emergencies and the like, but that didn’t mean that you would ask about his mission.  you assumed the subject was off limits, and that strategy kept you in good graces with the man.  instead, he asks you about how the end of your school was, if there was any issue in securing an apartment for the next semester, mundane things and the like.

you answer all of his questions politely.  as much as you want to inquire about his missions, you refrain from doing so. he finishes his drink in no time, asking if you’d like another.  you eye your drink then finish the whole thing, handing the empty glass back to him.

you swear he mutters “good girl” under his breath.  it makes your stomach churn in a way you could have never imagined.

when he sits next to you with the drinks refreshed, it’s much closer.  you feel the heat radiating off his body.  the alcohol begins to course through your veins, and you can’t control the way your body easily gravitates toward him.  you struggle against the muffling feeling, struggle to keep control of your body that so badly wants to be pressed against his.

“oh, did i make a mistake?” he murmurs when he notices your proximity.  “want me to order you an uber?”

“no, no, mr. o’hara.” you shake off his offer.  “i’m okay.  thank you though.”

he pauses, swishing the alcohol in the glass before downing it swiftly.  “in that case, i’m gonna go shower.  you can leave if you’d like, or you can strip down naked and wait for me in bed.”

so i can finally fucking ravage you is the ending that he wishes to add, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

you’re taking a sip as he speaks, nearly spitting your drink out at his proposition.  however, you keep your composure and say nothing as he finishes his drink in one swift gulp and gets up from the couch, leaving a shivering feeling through your skin.

the second he leaves earshot, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. 

you’re fucked.

it’s like he knows the way you look at him in those minute moments when he leaves and returns from work. it’s like he knows that you continuously brag to your friends about how handsome he was.  it’s like he knows that you’ve said countless times that you’d jump him if you were ever given the chance.

but that was all just a silly little crush.  you never imagined that he would actually give you the opportunity.

he’d made you an offer you’d be downright stupid to refuse.

which is how you end up splayed in his bed, the cool air of the bedroom chilling your skin.  it was the obvious choice.  your chest rises and falls with anticipation.  the hopes of the man following through with his lewd offer brings on an ever-quickening heart rate.  you adjust your position again and again, hoping that each following pose will please him more than the last and help assuage the nervous feeling gnawing in your gut.

just as you chose the simple option to lay back against the pillows with your legs folded delicately together to one side, the shower turns off.  miguel doesn’t even bother drying off before he emerges from the bathroom in a dramatic billow of steam, wet gray-streaked hair tumbling into his face.  small droplets of water roll off his naked body and splatter against the floor.  the musky scent of his body wash hits your nose.  it makes you dizzy.  combined with the sight of him and the heavy alcohol rushing through your bloodstream, you’re completely susceptible to whatever plans he has in store.  you lose your breath at the sight of his tan, toned body approaching you.

“get on your hands and knees.”  the way he commands you is almost a detached sigh.  you don’t hesitate to obey, however.  without thinking, you get up from the position to poise yourself at the end of the bed in the way he ordered.  your heart speeds up, pounding against your ribcage.  this position already?  skipping to the main event?  you aren’t complaining, just surprised.

that feeling of surprise continues when you hear his knees heavily drop to the floor and his hands cup the globes of your ass and spread them apart.  the cold air hits that warm center and you gasp.  you gasp because the feeling is surprising and his lips press between your folds and you gasp because he groans so deeply at the first taste of you.

you’re fucked.

he takes no time to begin diving into every inch of your cunt.  you clutch at the bedsheets, wincing at the cold droplets from his hair running down the back of your thighs.

“mr… mr. miguel.”  you squeak, unable to muster up the brainpower to say anything else.  he works like it’s necessary for him to keep breathing, like he can’t wait to do anything else, like he’s starving, and you’re the first meal he’s come across in days.  

“is this okay?”  he finally pulls back, drawing a gasp from your lips at the cold air hitting that warm place again.  “just can’t… fuck… hold myself back.”

you make the mistake of craning your neck to meet his eyes at his panting candor.  his face just barely hovers above your ass, hands still spreading you apart.  you gulp at the sight of the shimmer of your essence on his lips.  he pants heavily, broad shoulders heaving with the force of his breath.  his eyes are gleaming, his pupils blown out with lust.  he looks fucking crazy, hair tumbling into his face.

you can feel your face heat up at the sight of him, feel your expression fall as you acknowledge again and again and again: you’re fucked.

a nod is all you can manage to urge him to continue.  you turn around and focus on the shiny silk pillows to ground yourself, bracing for the impact.

he merely grunts and dives back between your legs, splattering the last few drops remaining from his dewy skin onto you.  it takes everything in you not to collapse when he begins working with an increased fervor.  apparently, your words gave him great encouragement, as he intensified the movements, even daring to remove his lips from your folds to plant heavy, open-mouthed kisses on the backs of your thighs - and even daring to nip at the sensitive skin. 

before you know it, you sink down into the comforter, fingers whitening in a death grip on the sheets for support.  miguel doesn’t seem to notice - he’s too lost in the feeling of the increasing warmth on his tongue, of the blood rushing to where your body deems it to be.

just as you’re about to finish, he pulls back.  it draws a whimper from you, but before you can utter a word of complaint, he straightens up and begins to rub his length between the sticky wetness that welcomes him.  you whimper at the feeling, pushing your hips back against him as an invitation inside.  he wastes no time in accepting, pushing into you once he’s amply coated. 

your eyes bulge out of your head and you cry out a stilted moan as he doesn’t stop - not until he’s fully sheathed in you.  you sink down fully into the mattress, only supported by his hands when they grasp your waist to hold your lower body upright.  the beginnings of claws begin to poke into the meat of your hips.  overwhelming feelings circulate through every part of your body.  your mind begins to fog over.  you can’t differentiate the feeling from the alcohol or the pleasure; they work in tandem.

he doesn’t waist time to begin thrusting into you, more surely than he’s done anything in his life.  the rhythm is slow, but deep, and it drives you over the edge in no time.  since he left you hanging from the ministrations of his mouth, the movements of his length deep within you shove you over the precipice of pleasure.

“miguel… please, don’t stop.”  you whimper.  your eyes roll into the back of your head and you feel a great weight press into your back.  his lips appear on the shell of your ear.

“don’t hold back for me, bunny,” is the whisper.  “let go.”

you do as you're told, whimpers muffled against the mattress as you give into the pleasure, squeezing and convulsing around his length.  he licks behind your ear before nibbling on the lobe, drawing an extended moan that takes your breath away.  you can’t muster up any words - no praise, no thanks.  just incoherent sounds that express the feelings that you can’t articulate with the onslaught of pressure.

"mi conejita..."

miguel continues to rut into you like a wild animal.  his body presses flush against your back as his hips move, only going deeper and deeper as he jerks them back and forth.  there’s no relief, no breaks you get from his demanding size, from his desire to puncture you deeper and deeper until he finds his own sense of relief.

just as you finish, you think there will be a moment in the trembling of your legs that miguel will spare you.  however, you’re wrong.  the feeling of you constricting around him ignites a new passion in him, one that results in his lips meeting your neck, your shoulders, your back - one that draws his teeth into your skin.

a gasp escapes at the feeling of him nibbling on that sensitive skin, of the feeling of his hips continuing to mercilessly ram into yours.  you don’t want him to stop.  your hands clutch as the sheets, begging for some stability from the bed, but it doesn’t come.

instead, miguel’s hands wrap around your chest to pull you up as he straightens up.  his grip tigthens as you settle pressed against his sweating, heavily chest.  when you’re secured, his hands begin to move.  first and foremost, they grab your chin to face him and without hesitation, his lips crash against yours.  his fingers squeeze your jaw to pry it open and his tongue shoves down your throat.  you whimper against him.  he eats the sound whole.

his hands don’t stop once they leave your chin, trusting that your lips won’t leave his.  they reach down to pinch and pull your nipples, wander down to rub slow circles into your poor overstimulated clit.  the sound of his hips slapping against your raw skin is overwhelming, you can’t help but lean back into his chest for support, his tongue still craving the inside of your mouth.  he grunts in surprise when you start to suck his tongue desperately.  the sound simmers in his chest as he chuckles.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, little girl.”

you find yourself smiling, find yourself squeezing him as he moves inside, threatening to tear your insides apart.

“fuck,” he moans into your mouth.  “christ, you’re tight.”

you moan and whine into his mouth, and he devours those sounds as well.  the vibrations only spur him forward, only egg him on to continue ramming his hips into your body.  his fingers rub unceasingly against your increasingly sensitive clit.

“i’m gonna-” you manage to slur around his overpowering tongue and teeth.  “i’m gonna cum again.”

he groans, lowly and long.  it’s a lewd sound, one that sends all the heat from your body straight down between your legs.  it’s an encouragement, one that sends you over the edge within a split second.  you moan, legs shaking as you begin to collapse onto the bed again.  you can’t help the weakness, can’t help the fact that your legs turn to jelly as he rams into you with want and need that you can’t even begin to fathom.

you squeal as a fresh spurt of juices flow from your cunt, flow around his length, and down your inner thighs.

he swears again at the sensation of liquid beginning to run down his length, trickling down his own legs.  “shit… shit… i-i need that.  i need you to do that again.”

he pants and pulls out.  you gasp at the empty feeling, but he doesn’t give you much time to process it fully before he lays down on the bed and snatches your waist, pulling you over to align your hips with his face.  before you can utter a word of objection or acceptance, he yanks you into his face, burying himself in the warm grave of your cunt.

you throw your head back and moan weakly, tired and overstimulated from the last orgasms, but he doesn’t stop.  his ministrations are unyielding, even when you plant your hands against his hips to steady yourself.  his hard length stands in front of you, just barely out of reach of your mouth.  you can’t help yourself from drooling at the sight, of precum spilling from the tip and mixing with your juices that still dribble down the veins.

you try to move forward, but he pulls your hips back stubbornly, shoving his tongue into you.  you whimper, opting you reach your hand out to wrap around and pump his length until you can get your mouth on the impressive sight.  he slows as he realizes what you want to do.  he knows how much bigger he is than you.  he slides up the pillows to sit up, closing the distance between you and your prize until your lips suckle on the tip, drawing a hiss from him.  as if an attempt to silence the sound, his teeth sink into your asscheck.

“fuck,” you groan as the teethmarks in your skin join the bitemarks he left on your neck, back, and shoulders, still fresh and throbbing.  you attempt to shake off the feeling and start to bob your mouth up and down on his length, drooling over the musky taste of his precum when your tongue trails down the base, every vein drawn like a map under your tongue.

he doesn’t let you indulge yourself for long before he jerks your hips back against his face once more, drawing your mouth from his length with a soft pop.  you moan in indignation, attempting to lunge back to continue your work.  however, miguel’s grip on your hips, the nails beginning to dig in the muscles, successfully stops you.

instead, you pump down his shaft, hoping that you’re pleasing him as much as he’s pleasing you.  another wave of pleasure rolls over you, and you can’t help but whine at the vibration of miguel’s moans as he gulps down the juices that flow heartily from your center.  his dick twitches in your palm.

“please…” you whimper.  “please fuck me… please…”

“no” is the simple answer.  “you’re cumming on my face, mi conejita.” 

your cheeks heat at his unashamed lewdness, at how he so easily expresses his desire for you.  how long had he been feeling his way?  how long had he wanted to ravish you like this?  he seems so resigned to his desires that he just can’t help himself anymore.

he gets his wish soon enough, pulling you so far onto him that his nose dips into your entrance, triggering an explosion of pleasure within you.  he groans as your legs begin to shake around his face, as you give up on pumping his shaft because you can’t focus on anything else but not losing your mind at how good he makes you feel. 

miguel doesn’t give you a reprieve in his agenda, slapping your ass twice to signal a position change before you can even catch your breath.

“get up,” he growls, and you obey.  he pushes you down on the bed in his place - the pillows are still warm from where he sat, still damp from the juices running freely down his face and jawline to soak the sheets.  without hesitation, he grips your calves and throws them over his shoulders.  you’re completely powerless underneath him when he pushes into you fully, not waiting a split second to begin ramming into you, even deeper than before.

it’s nearly unbearable, especially when he grabs your wrists, crosses them with a single hand, and holds them over your head before his lips crash onto yours.  your moans pour into his mouth, and he takes them without a second thought, returning them with equal fervor.  each pound of his hips forces water droplets from his damp hair onto your shaking body.  the way he presses down into you, the way the weight of him presses your thighs against your chest, the stretch aching, the opening angle of your hips for him to ram deeper into your warmth… it’s too much.

tears bead at the corners of your eyes when you open them to find him watching your face, even as he’s shoving his tongue down your throat.  you feel the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile at the sight of you so weak with want, with desire.  he looks fucking feral.

he pulls back, watching your reaction as he turns his head to press sloppy kisses to your calves, nipping at the skin.  welting bumps appear under his mouth, like he’s decorating you in just the fashion he likes.  when he’s finished, his lips crash onto yours again.  he doesn’t stop, doesn’t show mercy, not even when you’re babbling for him to continue, to push you over the edge once more.

“i gotta…” he pants, finally drawing back from your lips to examine your whole body shaking against the rough motion of his hips bulldozing into you.  a single line of spit still joins your lips.  “i gotta taste you still… fuck.”

he thinks for a moment before his fingers dive between your folds, gathering an ample amount of essence before he raises them to your mouth, spreading the liquid across your lips.  you can barely function at the lewd sight, even when he presses his fingers into your mouth, leading your tongue to swish around them and lap up every last drop.  his face contorts when your lips close around his digits, sucking his digits dry.

his mouth crashes against yours, exploring every bud in your mouth with renewed fervor at the flavor of your cunt all throughout your mouth.  you realize he had let go of your hands and you use the freedom to latch your nails into his back, clawing it to ribbons.  he thrusts into you with refreshing vigor, spurred by the satisfaction of your taste, at your nails sinking into his skin, and the warm, pulsing feeling of your cunt around his length at the same time.  he doesn’t last long, doesn’t make it much more time before he moans and whimpers into your mouth, warm cum spilling into you.  he removes his mouth from your kiss bitten lips and opts to bite into your neck, so hard you’re afraid you’ll bleed - but it’s enough to send you tumbling over the edge with him.  but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s groaning against you, fucking the last bit of himself into you, slowing his hips more and more.

when he’s finally finished, you squeeze your arms around him, removing your nails from his skin, welcoming him an embrace for him to collapse into.  he accepts the invitation graciously, his full weight pressing upon you as your legs fall from their position on either side of his hips.

he sighs into your neck, into the satisfying feeling of his cum beginning to ooze from your warmth, down your ass, spilling onto the bed.  there’s a few moments of wordlessness, the only sound echoing the room is breathless panting.

“well, consider this payment for watching gabi tonight?”

you laugh at his offhanded comment that breaks the silence and press a kiss onto his heaving shoulders.

“no, i’m still expecting the same rate.”

“in this economy?  times are changing, sweetheart.”  he raises his head to meet your eyes as you laugh.  “i hear this is the new salary.  don’t tell me you’re that opposed.”

“i’m not… of course not.”  you laugh nervously.  he chuckles at the sight of you getting so flustered.  he swiftly rises, pulling out of you so fast that you barely have time to process it before he gets warm rags and towels from the bathroom.

he comes back and kisses your forehead gently, wiping the residue of the wild night from your body.  it’s a tender gesture, one that you didn’t expect from the rugged creature.  however, it’s not unwelcome.

“well, if you’d like to stick with me, i’m sure there will be some benefits in the future, if you’re willing to stay on.”  he pauses and grins.  “and it’ll be nice to have you here in bed in case i get called out in the middle of the night. you always sound so pissed at me when i call to wake you up.”  

he dries off your wet skin with a towel before letting all of the material fall to the ground, forgotten.  his body curls around you, the overwhelming size and warmth of him surrounding you.

you smirk, letting out a giggle at the continuation of the joke, heat pooling in your cheeks from the easy closeness he pursues with you.  “of course, mr. o’hara.  i don’t think anyone else could match such a wonderful deal.”

divider by: @/ffffffaatality

@dilftaroooo come n get it !

© all work belongs to poursomesunaonme. do not copy and repost. likes, comments & reblogs are always appreciated !

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #tw age gap #🪐beanie writes!

[cowgurrrl]

Keep the Wolves Away

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Dedicated to my real life Andies. Thank you for making me feel easy to love.

Summary: The worst decision [5.2k]

Warnings: platonic threatening, discussions of bad mental health, so much flirting that (spoiler alert) might be real, possible THE shittiest ex I ever could've written, all the southern pet names, alcohol consumption, the resurgence of an old nude of readers, gaslighty behavior, smoking cigarettes (don't smoke kids), Joel talking reader out of a spiral, two (2) kisses

"So, it's a date." Andie declares once you're done explaining everything to her over FaceTime. You pause your blush application to roll your eyes at her. 

"It's not a date!"

"I'm sorry, so I'm just supposed to believe you when you say you're going to be just friends with the hot, sweet single dad who sounds like he's head over heels for you?"

"He is not head over heels for me." You sound a little petulant, and Andie laughs like she did when you were in high school and trying to hide a crush from her. 

"Babe, he willingly went on a high school field trip just so he could see you."

"His daughter was there. I'm sure he wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm sure he did because he's a great dad, but he also wanted to see you in your element. It's sexy watching someone do the thing they love." 

"Yeah, yeah." You brush her off, and she scoffs. You toss your makeup brush back into its bag and check out your outfit in the mirror. It's nothing insane— just a plain black slip dress— but now that Joel's arrival is getting closer and closer, you're rethinking everything. "Do I look okay?"

"You look stunning!" Andie chirps. "I'm sure your not boyfriend will think the same thing."

"I'm going to get a plane ticket to Austria just so I can choke you out with my own two hands." You threaten, but she laughs so hard you can't stop smiling. Once the trans-Atlantic giggling dies down, the line goes quiet, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mascara out. 

"Are you nervous to see him?" She asks gently. Andie came home for the summer dubbed The Dark Days. She stayed over when the one-bedroom apartment felt too big and got you out of the house when you couldn't stand the four walls anymore. She took whatever he left behind to his new apartment so you wouldn't have to (and gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it). She made you believe in love again. Not sticky, frustrating, unpredictable romantic love but pure, easy, all-knowing love that can only come from long-enduring relationships such as yours. 

For a long time after he left, you thought you were hard to love. Too loud, too bright, too much. Until you were out at a bar with her one night, trying to find the remnants of your independence and self-esteem tucked under sweaty beers and cracked leather chairs, when someone pointed out how similar you and Andie were. "Like two sides of the same coin," the woman told you. Andie is one of the easiest people in the world to love with her quick wit, creativity, and smile. And you realized for the first time if you had even a shred of that, even if only by dint of knowing and being loved by her, then you must be easy to love too. You must be worth the mess and heartache and stained fingerprints. 

So, yeah, Andie was less than pleased to hear that all that hard work could be undone by seeing him again, but she was supportive. 

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've had more years without him than I did with him, but it's still scary."

"I know." 

"I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

"He'll probably be too busy with the gallery and everything. Maybe you won't even have to." She says, and you groan at the uncertainty of everything. 

"God, why did I say yes?" You ask as a knock interrupts your whining. You end your call with a quick "I love you, thank you, I'll text you" before throwing your phone down. "Come in!" You yell from the bathroom as you rapidly finish doing your makeup. There's a pause on the other side before he jiggles the knob and finally comes in. "I'm just finishing up in the bathroom. Give me a minute." 

"D'you always leave your door unlocked?" Joel asks. The sound of his unsure footsteps reaches your ears, and you smile at the thought of him looking around your apartment like a lost toddler. 

"Only when I know someone's coming over," you say. "Sorry, it's a mess."

"Oh, this is nothin'. You should see Ellie's room." He says, his feet pacing the floor. You swipe on a cute lipstick you never wear and finally step out into the living room where Joel is waiting. He's wearing a black button-up shirt with nice pants as he stands with his back to you, looking at some of the things on your wall. 

"Well, don't you look nice?" You compliment, making him turn around with a shy smile. His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail or sliver of skin he hasn't seen before. His intense gaze reminds you of how he looked at you in the bar when you were sure his eyes would melt you. He looks dumbstruck, and his Adam's apple bobs when his eyes finally settle on your face. 

"Wow… you look-"

"Choose carefully." You tease to take some of the tension out of the room. 

"Beautiful," he says, thwarting your efforts. "You always look beautiful." 

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself." 

"You like it? Ellie helped me pick it out," he anxiously fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt. "Feels weird." 

"What specifically feels weird?" You ask, stepping closer to him to examine his outfit. He smells like aftershave and the cologne he's prone to wearing. Why the fuck do you have his cologne memorized, you think to yourself. 

"I dunno. I think I just feel outta place." 

"Well, you don't look out of place," you say. "These might be what's doing it, though." You tap the top buttons of his shirt, the ones buttoned all the way up to his chin like a toddler going to Christmas mass. 

"Ellie said I should do all of 'em since it's a fancy art thing."

"Well, you should stop taking fashion advice from a fifteen-year-old," you laugh. "I promise it's not fancy enough to justify being uncomfortable." 

"I'm takin' your word for it." He says as he reaches up to undo his top two buttons, revealing freckles across his chest and collarbones and the tiniest sliver of a gold chain resting against his throat. For some reason, you can't tear your eyes away from the veins in his neck or the delicate necklace stuck to his warm skin. "What, it really looks that bad?" He thankfully breaks through your thoughts, and you try to recover by shaking your head.

"No, no. Not at all. You look really nice," you say, clearing your throat. "Let me get my purse, and we can go." You don't even wait for him to respond. You just turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom. In the security of your bedroom, you let out a long exhale and try to get your mind back on track. 

You're just nervous. He's being nice. You're being nice back. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing, you mentally chant. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost have to laugh at the fierce blush on your cheeks and the distracted look in your eyes. "You better get it together." You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror like it's gonna do anything to make tonight smoother.

The gallery is packed when you get there. Joel curses under his breath as he tries to find a parking spot, and you try to keep your anxiety at bay. All you have to do is show your face, look at the paintings, and leave. Maybe you can manage to steal a bottle of the cheap wine they're undoubtedly serving. It'll be an hour. Two tops. You can do this. 

You're so in your head that you didn't notice that Joel parked the car or that he was looking at you until he bumped your knee with his. 

"You okay?" He asks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Just need a second." You mumble. You fiddle with your earrings, your dress, anything to keep your hands busy as you psyche yourself up. 

"When's the last time you saw this asshole?"

"He wasn't always an asshole," you try to redirect, but he raises his eyebrows at you. "Since I graduated college." 

"We don't have to go in." He offers easily, and you give him a look. 

"Yes, we do. My name's on the list and everything." 

"So?" He shrugs. "The world's not gonna end just cause one person didn't show up."

"But you drove all the way here."

"And I can drive you all the way back. Besides, it's nice having a pretty girl in my truck. It wouldn't hurt to have you here next to me for a little while longer." He says, and you laugh, feeling some weight lift off your shoulders.

"You get many pretty girls sitting in your truck?"

"Just my pretty girls." 

"Right." You say, and he smiles, creating familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They look a little deeper in the moonlight, but his eyes shine differently. Your fingers itch to draw them if only to critique your work and find the answer to why he has such an effect on you. You're aware that you're staring, but you also can't find it in yourself to look away. Not when he's staring back at you so fondly. 

"What can I do to help you?" He asks. You feel like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice. You've talked to Ellie about her anxiety, so you know he has some practice in dealing with it, but he's acting like it's second nature. Like this is what he was meant to do. He bumps you again when you start messing with your purse. "Do you want this to be like at the bar? Do you want me to take you home and pretend like we were never here? Do you want me to go in there and crack some skulls? You say the word— any word— and I'll do it for you, darlin'." 

Darlin’. It's what he called you when you promised revenge for almost kissing you at the bar. Normally, you'd be against any form of pet name. Henry was not openly affectionate in that way, and you learned not to expect it from him. But here's Joel, dropping the term of endearment almost every time he's been alone with you. It could be that cowboy accent or his knee pressed against yours, but the nickname fills your chest with warmth and pushes away your anxiety. 

"Any word, huh?" You ask, and he chuckles. 

"My mama raised me not to make promises I didn't have every intention of followin' through on." He says. "What'll it be?"

"I think… I just need you to be there with me." 

"Then, that's what I'll do." 

"Okay." You mumble, and he smiles as a new wave of comfort washes over you. 

"Okay." He says.

"Okay." You take a deep breath and look at him in the driver's seat one more time. "Let's do this." Finally, you open the door and step down from his truck. He's quick to come to your side and offer you his arm before he can even finish locking the car. You smile, tuck your hand under his bicep, and let him keep you upright as you walk in. 

The gallery is full of people who look way more qualified than you— art critics, journalists, and other artists who can actually sell a piece. They barely glance at you and Joel when you breach the doorway, which you're silently grateful for. When a waiter walks by with champagne glasses, Joel quickly snatches two glasses from the tray and hands you one. 

"Here's to us." He says, and you cock an eyebrow at him. 

"Us?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not toastin' to that asshole, are we?" 

"I guess not," you laugh as you clink your glasses together. "To us." You each take a sip, and Joel tries to hide his reaction to the champagne, but you see right through it. "Not your speed?"

"Not at all." He groans as he chokes it down. 

"Don't worry, maverick, we'll get you something else later." You promise and tuck your hand back under his arm as you start walking through the gallery. 

A lot of his newer work resembles his work from college— normal portraits of things like fruits, beds, or people but with unexpected lines of colors lining them like they're vibrating. You even recognize some from your college days. You just never expected them to actually be displayed in this way, not even when you were dating and telling him what a good artist you thought he was. Some have vague titles like "$12" and "Jack," while others are untitled. You can see why it would get taken in by a gallery. There's a very clear skill in how he paints and manipulates everyday objects into something new. It would be impressive if it was interesting. 

Maybe you're just used to the way he paints. Maybe this is exactly what you expected of him. Maybe you thought he would've grown, if not in attitude than, at least, in skill. But it's clear that too many people told him good things about his work, and he saw nothing he needed to change or fix. Somehow, it makes you feel better, not worse, about your own art. 

"So, are these supposed to be good or bad?" Joel whispers to you as you get closer to the next section, and you laugh a little too loudly. The people around you give you nasty looks, but you can't find it in yourself to be sorry.

"Like I said at the museum, I can't tell you that, but…" you glance around to make sure nobody's listening to you. "As someone who saw him make a lot of art, this is definitely not his best."

"Okay, that's what I thought," he says before pointing at a specific part of the painting. "The shape is really weird right there, like he ran outta space or somethin'." You let go of his arm and step between him and the painting, smiling knowingly.

"Did you study for this?" You ask, and he nervously plays with the chain around his neck. 

"I may have… snuck a look at Ellie's notes." He admits sheepishly, and your eyes widen. 

"You were actin' like you were gonna have to rely on me this whole time! You don't need me to tell you what good art is!"

"Yeah, but I want you to." 

"Oh, whatever. C'mon, I wanna hear what else you think." You pretty much drag him to the next section of the gallery, but he's pliant and almost giddy at your hold on him. You take more time in the next part, and he ducks so his lips are near your ear to point out little things he notices. He said he was scared of being wrong in front of people "smarter than him," but all the observations he makes are valid and accurate. He lets you add your own analysis to his and watches you with a smile when you start talking with your hands excitedly. Suddenly, you're not nearly as miserable as you thought you would be, and you're even laughing together as you jump from painting to painting. 

"See, this isn't so bad!" You say as you move to the final part, but your smile and enthusiasm die when you step over the threshold. There, staring at you unashamedly is the painting Henry did of you when you were twenty and topless. He told you it was for his own artistic development, and you were more than happy to do it for him. You just never thought he would've kept it after all these years. Thank God your face isn't visible in the painting, but your rigid posture tells Joel everything he needs to know. He politely turns his back to the painting and steps between you and your likeness. 

"You wanna go?" He whispers at the same time someone calls your name. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand for support as you turn around and face Henry. His wavy blonde hair frames his face like it did in college but he's matured. His beard is a little more filled in, and he's gotten a little broader. Other than that, he's still the same person you met freshman year. 

"I'm so glad you could make it!" He says as he approaches. He doesn't try to hug you, and you don't move to let go of Joel's hand. "You look great. I mean, you always looked great, but you know what I meant," he says, looking over you. Only when Joel clears his throat does Henry even look at him. "Oh, sorry, man! We're old friends. I'm Henry." He holds his hand out for Joel to meet halfway, but he doesn't. You think it probably took fighting every single bit of southern hospitality in his veins to stop himself from shaking Henry's hand.

"'M Joel." He says, and Henry awkwardly drops his hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Joel. How are you enjoying the exhibition?" 

"'S alright." Is all Joel offers, not willing to gas up Henry's ego anymore, and you have to stifle a laugh at the expectant look on Henry's face. "Well, I think we were just goin'."

"Oh, so soon? You haven't even seen the last few pieces."

"Are those any better than the thirty identical ones I already saw?"

"Joel," you scold quietly, and his jaw flexes when you look at him.

"It's okay. Not everyone understands art enough to enjoy it." Henry says. 

"Oh, I understand everythin' just fine." You swear Joel would've punched him if he wasn't holding your hand so tight. You step in between them and raise your eyebrows at Joel. His shoulders are squared, and you can feel the molten anger rolling off him, but it softens just a bit when he meets your eyes. You squeeze him twice to let him know you're okay, and he nods. 

"Can you get me a refill on champagne? I think they're still walkin' around with some." You suggest. He gets the hint, but he obviously doesn't like it. He glances between you and Henry like he's trying to make a decision but folds when you mouth, "please," at him. 

"’Course," he says through gritted teeth. "Anythin' else I can get for you, baby?" Baby, that's a new one, you think. 

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, though." You say. Without thinking, you let your other hand rest on his jaw and kiss Joel's cheek. His jaw unclenches when your fingertips graze his stubble, and his shoulders relax when your lips make contact with his skin, but you know he's still upset because you're still upset. Joel smiles and walks away before you can get a good look at the blush creeping up his neck, and you're resigned to watching him disappear into the crowd. 

"He seems nice," Henry says the second Joel is out of earshot, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. 

"He is." 

"How'd you two meet?"

"Through work." You say, knowing that bringing up teaching will make his skin crawl. He sucks his teeth and nods, the champagne in his glass sloshing slightly.

"Ah," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," you agree. An awkward silence falls over the two of you quickly, and you're itching to find Joel in the sea of people. Henry notices your lack of attention on him.

"It's really good to see you," he says. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, that's usually what happens when you leave someone." 

"That's kinda why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way things ended," he acts brokenhearted and torn up about it, but he's years too late for the pity party he's expecting. "I should've talked to you about what was going on. We were just... becoming so different, and it felt like you were always talking to Andie or other people in the program, and there was no way to reach you."

"What are you talking about? I asked you multiple times if we were okay, and you said yes every time. I was talking to Andie so much because I needed someone who would understand me and be able to help." You say, and he waves his hand like he's swatting flies.

"Let's not do this. My therapist says it's not healthy to rehash the past like this. I just wanted to make amends and let you know I'm sorry for how you felt." It's not an apology. Not a real one, anyway. Jesus Christ, what did you ever see in him? Before you can even open your mouth to say something, he gestures to the gallery. "So, what do you think about all this? Crazy, right?"

"It's... something," you say. "Wish you would've given me a heads up about that one before I brought someone with me." You point in the direction of your half-naked body on the wall, and he gives you a confused look.

"I thought I did in the email." 

"Nope, I think I would've remembered if you said something about a half-naked painting of me from college being displayed," you shake your head. "Why do you even still have that? I thought you would've thrown it away or painted over it or something."

"Why would I do that? It's a good piece."

"I know it's good because it's my body. What's weird is you leaving me without a word one day and then keeping a naked picture of me all these years." 

"I didn't even think of it as your body. After a while, it was just a body," he says with no remorse, and you think you might hit him yourself. "Besides, you should take this as a compliment. Not many women get the opportunity to be depicted as art. It's a wonderful thing. You might even thank me one day when you're older." Finally, you see Joel walking toward you with a glass of champagne, and you take refuge in the fact that he's returning for you. "But, from what I can see, they've definitely stayed the same, so you probably don't have anything to worry about." He says like it's a secret or a compliment. You don't even wait for Joel to say or do anything. You just grab the wine from him and throw it in Henry's face. The people in the immediate vicinity gasp as you slap him and shove the empty glass into his hands. 

"Out of all the stupid things I imagined for myself when I was younger, thinking I would marry you was the stupidest," you spit. "Don't you ever try to fucking contact me again."

You feel like a fucking idiot. What did you expect? An apology? Repentance? Regret? He barely apologized when you were together. Why would he start now? God, was he always that bad? How could you have been so blind? How could you have shed so many tears over him? How could you have let yourself be so vulnerable with him and for so many years? It's a miracle he didn't call the cops and try to get the two of you arrested, even though Joel didn't do anything. You think, at least. The second you finished your sentence, you ran to the bathroom to cry and then snuck out through the back to wait outside Joel's truck. For all you know, Joel (rightfully) beat his ass and is on the run from artsy Austin hipsters. 

You put the lit cigarette back in your mouth and take a long drag, the familiar burning in your lungs a sick relief. You quit during The Dark Days because smoking was something he did, and you wanted to rid yourself of any reminder of his impact on your life. Apparently, at the same time you were scrubbing his fingerprints from your bones, he was in possession of and doing God knows what with the visual reminder of your vulnerability and love-sickness and acted like it was nothing. Like it was a compliment. Like it was just an object instead of your body. Andie would be pissed if she were here but especially if she saw you smoking after she braved all those shaky days and nights of nicotine patches and dried fruit and whatever other remedy recommended to help you quit smoking. You half-expect the same anger when you see Joel walking toward you. 

"Before you even start, I know I shouldn't, okay? It's a bad habit from when I was a kid, and I've mostly kicked it. I just... had a lapse. I'll be back on my best behavior tomorrow," you say as he stops in front of you. He doesn't look angry or upset. He just looks concerned and maybe even a little sad. Suddenly, you regret running away from him when all he probably wanted to do was help. You probably wouldn't have bummed a cigarette from a busboy if you let him. "Don't tell Ellie." You plead. His eyes flick over your face before he takes the cigarette from your fingers, puts the lipstick-stained filter in his own mouth, and inhales deeply, making the ember glow in the dark of the night. When he exhales, he blows the smoke away from you and lets the wind carry it in the opposite direction. A considerate smoker. You should've guessed.

"Don't tell Ellie," he says, handing the cigarette back to you. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head and take a long drag. It's quiet between you two for a while, the only sound being the cicadas and the distant chatter of the gallery. They're probably still talking about the psycho bitch who threw her wine in the artist's face. You don't really care. "I'm sorry for tonight. I don't know what I was expecting, and I sure as shit didn't know that painting was gonna be displayed. I swear, if I had any idea how bad this was gonna be, I wouldn't have invited you." 

"Why are you apologizin'? It's not your fault." 

"I shouldn't have roped you into this. I should've just said no, ignored the email, or came by myself. It's not fair that you got put in the middle of all this, especially when you were just trying to be nice. You're the parent of one of my students, and for you to see that side of me is just inappropriate. I just-" he stops your rambling by putting his hands on your shoulders and making you look at him, the cigarette falling to the pavement in the process. 

"Hey, hey. Stop. Take a breath." He says. Your head hurts from crying, and part of you wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until these feelings go away, but his eyes are gentle, and his hands are warm. You think he might be the only reason you're holding it together right now. "None of this is your fault, okay? Not the painting, not the conversation, none of it. We're both adults, and we can handle these things rationally. I'm not scarred for life just 'cause you lost your temper."

"But I-"

"No, buts. You told me the situation, and I didn't care. You warned me bout the art people, and I didn't care. You threw a drink in that asshole's face, and I didn't care," he says. "The only thing I care bout right now is makin' sure you're okay. Fuck everythin' else." You search his face for anything to tell you what he's telling you is going against his inner monologue but find none. He's completely and wholly concerned about you and nothing else. Not how fast he can get out of this. Not how this might look. Not what other people might think about him. Nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Fuck everything else." You agree. 

"Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He jokes, and you roll your eyes at him. He takes it in stride, his smile never fading as he looks down at you. You stop messing with the hem of your dress and let yourself relax for the first time all night.

"Thank you for being here, Joel. I really appreciate it."

"Not our best not-date, but definitely a memorable one." He says, and you laugh. You seem to realize how close you are at the same time because you both fall silent. His curls are beautifully draped over his face, and you can't stop watching his tiny expressions. An eye squint. A purse of the lips. A bite to the inside of his cheek. You want to blame your bad night or the emotions, but you can't. There's something more there. Something that's been brewing beneath the surface since he came into your classroom. Something that will kill you if you don't act on it.

You let your hands come up from your sides and tentatively brush against his waist as you stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares down at your lips, and the hands on your shoulders slowly move across your skin and up your collarbone— leaving goosebumps in his wake— until his hands are on your jaw and your pulse is thrumming against his palm. You pull him closer by his belt loops, and he doesn't hesitate to crowd your space, pushing you into the side of his truck with his body. His lips ghost over yours, just barely touching, and his nose bumps yours. 

"This is a bad idea," you breathe, tightening your hold on him. He nods and presses his forehead against yours. He's still close enough to breathe the same air as him, but the distance feels like miles. You lean forward a fraction as a test, and he doesn't move. If anything, he seems annoyed you didn't kiss him.

"D'you want to stop?" He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel. You shake your head and swallow hard when he brushes the hair off your shoulder, and you can feel his heavy hand holding you. Your hands skate over his ribs, feeling muscles and a crazed heartbeat, and his jaw clenches. "Then you better do somethin' cause you've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy for weeks." 

Finally, you catch his lips with yours. He tastes like nicotine and smoke, and you know it's going to take a lot more than patches to get you to want to stop doing this. It's gentle and sweet, all relieved sighs and shy touches until you pull away for just a second to second-guess yourself or ask him something. You don't even start to form the words before he's back on you with more fervor. Suddenly, it's like he's everywhere but not nearly close enough. He nibbles at your bottom lip and tests a hand on your sternum, long fingers grazing your throat. The metal of the truck digs into your back, but you stop caring when a little moan slips from his lips when you pull him closer.

This is a bad idea. A horrible one. A bad habit you're gonna need to kick. 

But he might just be your favorite bad idea so far.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

#hippies and cowboys #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us au #tlou au #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us fluff #joel miller fluff #i fucking love this

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc (Rhuarc) x female character - Part One (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Thank you to the two people who explicitly expressed interest in this story via my inbox. This one's for you. Here's Rhuarc the single dad orc and his girl, and how they met. I've even got some visuals in this one too!

Content: kidnapping, attempted human sacrifice, violence, some light gore, implied age gap, older male character, single father orc x small human female

Wordcount: 4344

Rhuarc tried not to resent the fact that the Jarl of Markarth’s crusty old steward had looked him up and down as he’d stood in front of the so-called Mournful Throne, and decided that the orc was either entirely expendable or utterly stupid enough to take on an entire Forsworn camp. By himself.

Apparently it was the latter though, because with his two adopted girls waiting for his return in Whiterun, Rhuarc was most certainly not expendable these days. Perhaps twenty years ago, he might have hurled himself at the nearest frothing lunatic disrupting trade routes and abducting travellers off the roads without much care for the damage he took — the fact that he’d lost the sight in his right eye before he’d turned nineteen was testament to that — but these days, his contracts required thought and planning.

Kill the leader of Hag’s End, an old Nordic tomb complex nestled away in the frozen mountains to the northeast of Markarth.

Easy.

By himself.

Less easy.

The place was huge, and crawling with more Forsworn than termites in a mound, and there was every chance he would encounter a hagraven there too. Fuck, he hated those things. Whatever unnatural magic was used to create those half-bird, half-women, he didn’t want any part of it.

His own magic was fairly rudimentary by the standards of the average mage: a few fireballs here, a few healing spells there, and he could make a pretty decent lance out of ice if he had to. After all, orcs were known primarily for how ferociously they could bludgeon something into Oblivion, but magicka did coil its way through some of them too, and his mother had been both an alchemist and a mage.

Now though, as Rhuarc crept up behind the Briarheart warrior who led this bunch of rabid lunatics, and slipped his arm around the man’s throat to hold him still while he ripped the strange replacement heart out of the half-undead creature’s chest, he wondered exactly what kind of magic these people used that let them replace an otherwise healthy man’s beating heart with the poisoned seed of a Briarheart tree. And what special kind of lunacy allowed someone to undergo it willingly. Perhaps it wasn’t willing though? What did he know about these people?

As the orc’s fingers curled around the prickly seed that was about the size of an apple, the magic of it felt at once too cold and too hot; the way white hot metal feels in that moment of pure shock if you touch it by accident before the pain kicks in. He released the disgusting ‘heart’ and it fell with a splatter of gore onto the snowy carpet covering the cosy little platform, from where the man ruled over his clan of Forsworn. Rhuarc would have to find a scrap of cloth to wrap it in so that it didn’t leak everywhere between there and the city of Markarth, but he was looking forward to depositing it directly into the stuffy old steward’s lap as proof of the kill and the contract fulfilled.

The Briarheart warrior went instantly limp in his arms and Rhuarc laid him down silently on the frozen ground, already starting to plan his next move. A shout went up a second later from somewhere to his right — his blind side — and an arrow pinged off the bastion wall beside him. With a curse, he rolled and ducked behind the hide wall of the leader’s large tent, breathing hard. Of course he’d missed one of them, and if she alerted anyone else, or that lurking hagraven, Rhuarc was fucked. He was tired. And cold. His joints weren’t quite what they had once been, and his muscles were seizing with the cold and from crouching in dark doorways and corners on the long and winding way up to reach this part of the secret redoubt.

With a careful peek around the support structure of the leader’s tent, he realised that this new Forsworn hadn’t actually spotted him properly yet, and he hefted the haft of his war axe in his hand. Throwing a weapon away was never a great idea, but he didn’t have a bow on him, and if he called magicka to his hands, a hagraven would certainly sense it. Not a chance he wanted to take, and given that the place was called Hag’s End, he thought it pretty fucking likely that there was one of the bird-legged, psychotic matriarchs of the Forsworn roosting up at the top of the complex on that balcony almost directly above him.

So, he drew back his arm and sent the blade of his war axe whirling away to bite into the breastbone of the Forsworn before she could spot him or cry out again. She fell with the clatter and rattle of bone and fur armour, her silly antlered headdress skittering away behind her, and he was off running immediately to release the weapon from her corpse and seek a new hiding place in case the commotion had drawn others.

As it was, Rhuarc crouched for a long few minutes behind the gruesomely-displayed corpse of an elk that had been partly taxidermied by the cold and stuck on a stake, with his breath billowing all around him, and the stillness of snow in the air. Had he got them all? He was spattered all up one side of his body with blood and even had a red streak in his otherwise white hair that he’d shaved close to his skull above his ears and left long enough to tie back into a ponytail on top. What a mess. Still, it would be worth the groaning bag of coin he was going to get for clearing the whole bloody encampment and making The Reach a little bit safer for travellers.

Just as he’d begun to relax, half thinking of getting the girls each a new dress with his earnings, a scream like nothing he’d ever heard before tore the silence in two and his blood went cold.

It had come from the balcony above him where a spar of stonework jutted out into the winter sky like the bowsprit of a ship, and it hadn’t been the harsh shriek of a hagraven. The scream had come from a woman in blind, abject terror, and the sound of it shocked him back to his feet before he’d even realised it.

Rhuarc thundered up the stone stairs behind him and shouldered open the carved doors of the inner sanctum of the tomb, plunging into the relative darkness without stopping to think.

Not thinking was a sure way to get himself killed, and by some miracle of the fates, he skidded to a halt just in time to avoid a pressure plate in the floor that would no doubt have unleashed some kind of magical or poisoned trap on him. Whoever lived here clearly didn’t let just anyone inside, and blundering around like a panicked mammoth wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Think, you thick-skulled orc,” he growled at himself, chest heaving and heart pounding in his ears like a war-drum. He was only a few heartbeats away from slipping into that infamous, orcish berserker rage, and he never ever wanted to find himself on the far end of a state of mind like that again. Caked in blood and viscera and surrounded by an array of corpses with no memory of how they had been felled… He shuddered and forced himself to steady his breathing before moving on.

What he confronted as he wound his way carefully and methodically through the dark, blood-stained hallways of the upper Nordic tomb proved to be as great a test of his prowess with blade and his magic as any he’d ever faced in his forty-six years.

Savage witches clad in long, magicka-laced, black robes hurled spells and curses at him that he only just dodged or warded in time to sink his axe into their skulls, but what made his skin crawl the most was the hagraven who seemed to be taunting him, letting him get one or two shots in before a swirl of purple and black magic enveloped her and she vanished to somewhere else in the complex.

Was she an illusion? Had he lost his mind or, worse, accidentally imbibed some poison from one of his victims that was making him hallucinate? He’d spotted enough deadly mushrooms growing in the dank corners of the dungeon that the suspicion remained, even as he ploughed on through the coven of crazed witches towards the woman who had let out that heart-rending scream.

Just as he sensed he was gaining the top of the tower, the hagraven disappeared amid a final storm of eerie, flickering magicka, leaving him alone in an echoing chamber at the top of a staircase lined with mortuary shelves.

Over to his left, an arcane enchanting table crackled with residual magicka from a recent use, the blueish runes on its onyx surface glowing in the dim light, and on his right, an ancient monument reared up like a tombstone, carved with a script he couldn’t read. He had no time for any of that, and paused just long enough with his hand on the last door to gather his breath and the last ragged remains of his strength, before shoving all his weight into swinging them open and stepping out onto the snowy balcony beyond.

A blast of freezing air hit him full in the face, but it wasn’t the cold that stole his breath and his senses.

There on a low, wide, stone altar, a Nord woman had been bound hand and foot, stretched out and completely naked, and she was thrashing weakly despite the wounds at her wrists and ankles from the ropes. Tears tracked pale lines through the dirt on her face and her bare chest heaved with broken, choking sobs as she arched her back in futile protest.

Over her prone figure loomed the emaciated figure of a hagraven with a glinting, black dagger raised in her taloned hands.

Rhuarc didn’t think.

He hurled a bolt of ice at the creature, and might have been surprised to find that it had actually struck her right in the stomach if he hadn’t already been concentrating on drawing the ambient moisture into his hand to freeze into another shard of ice as thick as a tree limb. The hagraven let out a shriek that should have made his ears bleed, and hurled a fireball at him for the indignity of him getting a hit in first.

Searing flames exploded all around him and he smelled singeing, though he wasn’t sure if it was his fur armour or his own skin, and he didn’t care. He leapt forwards, diving into a roll in the snow to douse any lingering flames, and as he came up he launched a second spike of ice directly at the hagraven’s weathered, distorted face. Her black, beady eyes narrowed and she bared rotten teeth with a snarl as she clenched her clawed hand and prepared to fling a second fireball at him.

Rhuarc had closed the distance between them in a few powerful strides though, and before she’d finished the spell, he grabbed her by her flimsy arm and felt the snap of it breaking in his grip as he yanked her away from the altar. Before she could even muster a screech, he lopped her head off with his axe. He didn’t stop to watch her abandoned carcass slide over the edge of the parapet, down into the void of snow and cooling corpses below, and turned instead to the woman laid out on the table.

The dagger had fallen from the hagraven’s claws to land beside her right hand and she was reaching frostbitten fingers for it.

“Easy,” Rhuarc said, holstering his messy axe at the loop on his belt and realising he probably looked as frightening as the hagraven had. Six foot six and broad as a barn door at the shoulder, Rhuarc now had blood all up his face from one of the witches, a nasty burn on his shoulder that was only just now making itself known, and a long cut on his abdomen that was oozing blood down his solid paunch. As he’d got older, he’d lost the iron definition he’d had in his youth, but he was probably the strongest now that he’d ever been in his life.

No wonder the woman was staring wild-eyed at him like he was some animal barbarian, but his heart physically hurt in his chest when he saw the welts and bruises standing out starkly on her pale, Nordic complexion. Her long, midnight black hair was loose and lank and greasy, her lip was split and swollen, and there was a vibrant, purple bruise all around her left eye socket. Those dark brown eyes glared up at him with fierce defiance though, and her fingers found the hilt of the knife.

He smiled. “I know I look a sight,” he said in a low, quiet rumble, holding both hands up, bloody palms towards her. “I’m gonna help you though. Let’s get you healed up and out of here. I’m not sure what you can wear though…”

“My… My clothes are in… were in… a chest… in there,” she croaked, twitching her head slightly towards the chamber he’d just left. The swelling in her lip clearly made talking painful, and she sounded like she hadn’t had any water for days. That, or the thick, raw, red line around her throat was responsible, flanked by distinct, finger-sized bruises the colour of a ripe plum. It made his orc blood boil to see marks like that on a person’s body, but he made himself focus on the more immediate task of helping her.

“Alright. I’ll untie you — may I use that dagger?”

She nodded and reluctantly let her fingers go loose again. With the rope lashed so tightly around her wrist, she didn’t have enough purchase to lift her hand free of the hilt, so Rhuarc carefully slid his bloody fingers underneath hers and he eased the blade out.

Concentrating, he sawed steadily through the thick rope, and she hissed as she flexed her fingers when the rope finally sheared and one arm came free. The raw chafing showed him just how hard she’d fought her captors, and he found the warmth of pride glowing in the pit of his stomach for this stranger and her resilience. Methodically, Rhuarc moved his way around the table to free her ankles next before finally cutting the ropes binding her left arm to the cold table, and all the while keeping his eyes off her naked body as best he could.

“We need to get you somewhere sheltered. Can you sit up?”

She tried valiantly when he asked, but her strength failed her in a rush and she slumped back down with a gasp.

Rhuarc dropped the knife to the stone at his feet and stuck his right hand under her head just in time to stop her cracking her skull on the stone platform of the altar, and he cradled her lolling head in the palm of his hand. His already-bruised knuckles clunked against the altar under the full weight of her head as she surrendered at last, spent.  

“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got some magic. I’m going to heal you, alright? Keep steady, then we’ll find you some clothes and get you out of here.”

Her dark eyes rolled as the golden light of healing magic washed around her, and she slumped at last into unconsciousness.

Rhuarc picked her up with detached efficiency and carried her out of the biting wind and back into the tower that formed the top part of the tomb’s inner sanctum, marvelling at the Nord’s resilience to the cold. He knew that her people were tougher than most humans in these conditions, but still, with everything she’d been through, she probably should be dead.

Her small body was soft where many Nords were made of hard muscle, and he suspected that she had not been raised to be a fighter. That the Forsworn would snatch her away from whatever battle-free life she’d led before and defile her like this made his blood sing all over again and his hands itched to sink his axe into a nice, crunchy, Forsworn skull. He let the thought go with a growl around his thick tusks and shouldered the doors open.

With her pressed against his bare chest, he felt the tingle of magic in her blood too, and he recalled the way her body had drunk his own restoration magic down like water poured onto dry sand. Perhaps the fact that she was probably a mage had been why the hagraven had been about to sacrifice her in that unholy ritual.

Inside the echoing, stone room with the enchanting table, Rhuarc found the chest she’d mentioned, and he crouched down awkwardly in front of it with her half-draped across his lap, her naked body propped up by his right arm. He really didn’t want to have to use one of the beds in the tower that the witches had clearly slept in, but if the woman needed to rest, then he would stay with her and see that she was safe.

Just as he was fiddling one-handed with the catch of the chest, which luckily wasn’t locked, she drew in a deeper breath and came-to with a mewling sob of discomfort. Her bare legs were touching the floor and the room wasn’t much warmer than the air outside because of a huge hole in the ceiling, but at least they were out of the wind.

“I know,” he said without looking at her. “I’m going to find you something to wear. Just give me a second.”

“Thank you,” she rasped, and the sound became a sob as she squirmed in his arms, trying to curl inwards on herself. Whether that was to cover her naked body better or simply because she was hurting in every way humanly possible, he wasn’t sure. “Thank you. I thought that was it, when… when she… she —”

“Shh,” he said, briefly tightening his hold around her shoulders with a slight curl of his right arm, worried that if she grew too distressed, he might drop her. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

“Thank you,” she said again, and then added with a little sniffle, “My name is Syl, by the way.”

“Rhuarc,” he grunted, finally lifting the lid of the chest. “This your stuff?”

She peered forward and nodded. An undyed linen shirt and brown trousers had been roughly stuffed into the wooden chest, along with a pair of softly-worn, fur-lined boots, a thick, fur-lined jacket, and a small alchemist’s pouch that fitted on a belt around the hips. He had something similar himself for the road, choosing to forgo the usual traveller’s pack with a bedroll and cooking pot. He hunted or foraged for what he needed and cooked it over an open fire and slept under the stars when he absolutely had to, but mostly, he actually planned his journeys to halt at an inn for the night these days, because he was too damned old now to be sleeping out of doors in the grass like a bloody wild boar. He also thought he glimpsed some linen underwear and wrappings in the chest too, but he didn’t let his gaze linger.

“You… need a hand?” he asked quietly, but she shook her head.

“I can just kneel here for a moment. I’ll be alright,” she said in a steady, if rough voice. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. “I’ll be over there,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his thumb over his left shoulder.

He helped her slide off his lap where he’d crouched beside the chest, and steadied her briefly with a hand at the small of her spine to stop her tipping backwards. Her flesh was still cold from lying out there on the table, but she couldn’t have been out there for too long before he’d found her, or she’d have died of exposure. Even a Nord couldn’t survive naked in the snow for very long.

Only then, with his rough palm pressed against the pale softness of her skin, did it strike him that it had actually been a very long time since he’d seen another naked body, and the feel of her skin beneath the calluses of his palm distantly stirred the cold embers of desire in him that had lain dormant and out of mind for longer than he cared to remember. Even for an orc, he wasn’t exactly short of people showing interest, but it just… hadn’t been something he’d wanted. Then of course, he’d found himself the adoptive father of a pair of ten and eleven year old girls, and all thoughts of romance and the so-called ‘Dibellan arts’ had evaporated completely from his life like autumn mist.

With a sigh, he banished the faint and inappropriate sensation and levered himself stiffly to his feet. As he did, he felt the cut in his lower belly pull with a sharp prick of pain and when he looked down at it, he found it already suppurating. His thick, naturally green, orcish skin had turned a nasty, angry red around the slash and something was oozing out of it that wasn’t blood. Poison. Fuck.

Glancing around the room, he wondered if there were any ingredients stashed way that the witches would have used, but he was in the wrong part of their stronghold for that and anyway, who knows what they might have been brewing in there? Thinking about what limited stocks he kept in the emergency pouch on his belt, he drew out two carefully-sealed glass bottles and tipped their contents into the cupped palm of his left hand. It was hardly ideal, but it would do for now, and he smeared it onto the open wound.

The flash of pain made him grunt, but with a soft fizzing, the powders got to work and nullified the festering poison before it could spread.

“Rhuarc?”

When he turned around at the sound of her voice, he found Syl looking at him from where she was still kneeling in front of the wooden chest.

“Are you alright?” she asked with a frown.

Her alto was still hoarse and rasping, and he wondered if she was still in pain. “I’m fine. Are you? Did I heal you enough?”

At his question, she smiled, and something in his chest slipped sideways when he saw it.

How could a woman who’d just been through the torment she had experienced still find the grace to smile like that? And at an orc of all creatures.

“Yes,” she said, and, now that she was dressed, she stood slowly; cautiously.

She wasn’t very tall for a human, perhaps five foot five at most, and her body seemed somehow even smaller in her loose-fitting, practical clothes. He could clearly see the swell of her hips though, and the definite curve of her breasts, and her dark eyes looked very large as she regarded him. In an attempt to tidy herself up, she had tied her lank, black hair back off her face in a low ponytail, but she still looked like she’d taken one hell of a battering, despite the healing magic.

And yet, there she was on her own two feet, and her resilience was suddenly as devastatingly attractive to him as were her natural good looks. Rhuarc swallowed thickly, utterly floored by what he was feeling for the first time in decades.

“You’re hurt,” she said, eyeing the wound in his stomach.

He felt her open herself up to start channelling magicka, and his own mismatching eyes went wide. “No, don’t!” he gasped, taking an involuntary step towards her and holding out both hands in a kind of warding gesture. “Please, you need to conserve your energy. I’ll heal myself in a moment. I was just waiting for the poison to work its way out first.” No point sealing up the cut with all the vileness still inside, after all.

Syl walked slowly towards him, moving like a black cat along a wall, with her gaze focused on his bare paunch.

Rhuarc’s breath caught and he froze. He couldn’t have moved so much as a muscle then, even if an army of hagravens had descended on him.

When Syl came to a halt in front of him, she brought her fingertips up to touch the fevered flesh around the wound. Very carefully, she let a tiny thread of golden magic seep into him, and he honestly did not mean to let out the noise that left his lips. He hadn’t even known he was still capable of making a sound like that.

Pleasure curled deep and visceral in his gut, both from the whisper-light contact of her fingertips against the trail of hair on his stomach, and from the way her magic coiled and twisted inside him, stitching him up from the inside out and cleansing the last of the poison’s putrefaction in the same deft stroke. She wasn’t just some hedge witch with a little magic: Syl had to be a master of the school of restoration with a healing that skilled.

“There,” she breathed. “Just looks a bit of a mess now,” she added, eyeing the blood that still covered him in a series of spatters and smears.

He couldn’t catch his breath for a moment, but he cleared his throat and stepped back. “Not much different from usual then,” he said a beat too late and painfully aware that his gruff bass sounded far more winded than when he had fought his way through the entire complex to reach her. “Thank you.”

With a long inhale, she let her hand fall back against her side and turned her big, dark eyes up to regard him. “So… what happens now?”

I hope you enjoyed this one? I'm fairly certain most people aren't going to read down to this point, so if you did, please consider reblogging it to help it find more of an audience, and give Rhuarc and Syl some love?

And if you want to learn more about how they fall in love on their journey away from Hag's End, be sure to leave me an ask or a comment! Otherwise I'll assume there's no interest and won't keep sharing it. :)

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#rhuarc the orc #orc #orc x human #male orc x female human #single dad orc #fantasy orc #exophilia #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster dad

[ijustreallylovethem]

3/17/2024 ~ baby zegras

sadiehughes

liked by quinnhughes and others

sadiehughes baby boy heard grandma was in town and made an early appearance just to meet her! march 16th may officially be my favorite day of the year. the day i got to finally meet wyatt james :)

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jackhughes NO HE WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE UNTIL THE SEASON WAS OVER

jackhughes you mean to tell me i have to wait a month to meet him

jackhughes A MONTH!?

sadiehughes take a leave 🙃

fanone that “jack hughes has taken a leave of absence” post tomorrow is gonna hit like CRACK

ellenhughes he was too excited to wait! and i was so exited to be there for you

sadiehughes and boy am i glad you were

fantwo single mother sadie? 👀 because i’m not seeing a dad

quinnhughes sadie, he’s adorable. if only we weren’t just there 😔

sadiehughes he did NOT need to come two weeks ago when you all were here. you can meet him when you come back in two weeks quinny

jackhughes NOT FAIR! I SHOULD GET TO MEET HIM FIRST! WE DON’T COME BACK OUT THERE

sadiehughes TAKE. A. LEAVE.

fanthree you know who did unexpectedly leave recently…

fanfour he didn’t leave, he just hasn’t come back

fanthree but he was supposed to come back and then he didn’t

fansix we have no clue what day he was supposed to come back. he hasn’t been out any longer than expected

alexturcotte so when can i meet him?

sadiehughes not until jack does, or he may explode

gracedrysdale SADIE! CUTE BABY ALERT! AND A MILF!

sadiehughes just wait four months and i’ll say the same 🤭😉

fanfive how is she this pretty after giving birth? what’s in the hughes genes? what water did they drink? where do i buy it?

fansix LITERALLY

lukehughes i’m not holding that thing until it’s been scrubbed

sadiehughes funny, i said the same thing about you

fanseven boy mom sadie! AH!

colecaufield so when’s he getting in some skates? ducks could use some help.

masonmctavish he’s reporting to practice tomorrow 🫡

sadiehughes maybe give him a year to catch up to the rest of you

trevorzegras hey jack, when can i meet him?

jackhughes NOT BEFORE ME

avazegras sadie you’re glowing! and baby boy is adorable!

fanfifteen i can’t imagine the fight for favorite uncle

sadiehughes it’s already started months ago. it’s been… entertaining.

njdevils congratulations sadie! future devil?

sadiehughes not if quinn has anything to do with it, sorry :(

fansixteen okay but what did you eat after?

sadiehughes SO MUCH HAM. i just really wanted ham sandwiches the whole time but wasn’t allowed to eat them. mama ellen asked what i wanted and i said a container of ham and she had to pause for a moment

fannine like… not even good baked ham? deli meat ham?

sadiehughes i love a good hot ham and cheese

njdevils

liked by sadiehughes and others

njdevils Jack and Luke Hughes will be gone by leave of absence until March 22, 2024.

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sadiehughes oh, he actually did it

faneight not luke going too 😭

fannine hope she scrubbed that baby

fanten lowkey ridiculous. the baby will still be there in a month when the season is over. which it will be because no way we get to playoffs with these two gone.

faneleven girl what 😭

fantwelve NOOOO I HAD PENS TICKETS

fanthirteen FELT! i have jets tickets.

fantwelve we can cry together

fanfourteen wait why are they leaving?

fanfive their sister had a baby!

fanfourteen oh my gosh! good for her!

fanthree with trevor zegras!

fanfourteen WHAT

fanseven that’s not confirmed. or even a working theory, really.

fanone i told you! CRACK!

fansix no i’m so excited for even the possibility of a picture of them with a baby

#social media edit #trevor zegras #baby zegras

[wastemanjohn]

unfinished boymom!mary fic

hi here are some snippets from a little something i've been working on if you like it give me a boot up the arse to finish it please thanks

Snippet 1:

Dean’s taking the scenic route home in his father's car with the windows rolled all the way down and an AC/DC album at the lowest volume in the tapedeck, chewing a piece of gum to soak up the taste-hangover of tobacco and sweet chemical jungle juice, taking deliberate breaths of liquor-sweet summer night air to help his focus. He's on high alert; trying to look as though he's not. On a night like this, there's a high probability of a bored, jobsworth cop around somewhere, looking to catch a lone kid out.

And it's not that Dean doesn't know better than this. It's definitely not that he didn't have his share of horrific nightmares after that scaremonger video Miss Osterberg made them watch in health class, the one that had kids with burn scars and missing limbs and glass eyes from catastrophic accidents telling horrific stories while a grave voiced narrator spat statistics that sounded made up. Get home alive, was the slogan, flashing up in eerie white text on a black screen. Don’t drink and drive.

And Dean wouldn't. Not usually. He's a good kid. A good kid who graduated high school today with grades well in the upper echelon of his class, a good kid with lots of friends and an abundance of invitations to the various house parties he's been milling between with the guys all night. And Dean’s friends are still at those parties, jumping into backyard pools with their clothes still on, vomiting on each other’s shoes, slurring promises to stay in touch forever, even if they’ll be at colleges eight states apart in a matter of weeks. It’s not like any of them are in a fit state to give Dean a ride home themselves. Hell, not a single friend of his even has home on their minds, not at the pitiful hour of 2am where the biggest night of their lives so far should just be getting started. But Dean doesn't mind needing to leave early. He was getting pretty tired anyway. 

And as he drives, down dead suburban streets with dark, sleeping houses, he's followed only by the shadows of gnomes and hydrangeas and mini wishing wells in tightly maintained front yards. He doesn't see a single soul, a single pair of headlights on the road other than his own. It’s rare, actually, that Dean knows such quiet. Such aloneness. And if there’s something comforting about it - well, it’s been a busy day. Lots of noise. Lots of people. 

In fact, as Dean makes it to his own street - in one tipsy piece and sans new criminal record - he finds himself slowing down. Stopping altogether just on the corner, shifting the handbrake touched thoughtlessly again and again by his father’s hands; and Dean takes a second, just a second, to lean back in the cool old-leather seat he has vague, time-faded memories of Dad occupying, listening to the music he has vague, time-faded memories of Dad playing, if a little distorted now with taperot and age - and he thinks about how driving the Impala is kind of like sitting in a time capsule. Kind of like slipping unnoticed into someone else’s shape, someone else’s imprint on the world; somewhere Dean can quietly belong, in this moment anyway, because Dean’s so entirely, incredibly alone right now, and no one can tell him that he can’t.

And Dean runs his thumbs along that steering wheel - really listens to the music. It's new to him, Dad's old classic rock stuff, but he likes it, he thinks. Stuff Mom can't have on in the house, because it's too painful; stuff that he'd never think to seek out himself anyway. Kids at his school are mostly into Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Tupac, and Dean is into them too by osmosis, because it’s all he ever really gets to listen to. But maybe he too would have liked hair metal and face-melting classic rock, if Dad had lived.

He’s only had Dad’s Impala for a few months. Had no idea Mom planned to give him the keys for his eighteenth birthday; hadn’t ever really thought about it ever coming out of its tarpaulin wrapping in the garage again, like a sheet covering the dead. And Dean had been alone then, too; alone with that moment, as he’d peeled back that sheet with a trembling hand and opened the driver door to find everything exactly as he remembered. 

Dad had been pretty messy. There was still a half-full cigarette packet on the dashboard, open so Dean could see the speckled beige tips, like Dad had been planning on coming back to them later. Cassette tapes on the passenger's seat, scattered, either stuffed into the wrong jewel cases or missing them entirely. There was a fast food wrapper under a layer of dust in the footwell. And the smell - car oil and blue collar sweat and trace cologne underneath. It kicked Dean square in the chest, that smell; flooded him with fragmented memories of this giant who’d come home in the evenings with dirty hands and pink tired eyes but still scoop Dean up in his arms with a big grin and a hey, buddy , spinning him around in the air until Dean was giddy and squealing, and Dad would be red in the face from laughing; and he’d take him out to the yard to kick a ball around before dinner even though he must’ve been exhausted, then at the weekends he’d ferry Dean down to the park and buy him an ice cream as big as his head with his finger on his grinning lips and a whispered, don’t tell your mother. And Dean had felt these memories like a freight train; climbed into the seat where Dad used to sit, and put his hands on the steering wheel Dad used to touch, and then he’d pushed his head against it too, and, alone and unseen, he broke down into the most violent, pathetic sobs of his life.

It’s hard, in the moment, not to do the same again. Hasn't been easy all day. Turns out there's nothing like graduating high school as the only kid in his grade without a father watching to bring it all back.

When he finally brings himself to stop the tape and get out of the car, he feels a little more sober; he can see a faint light still on in the living room. He breathes in a lungful of cooled but still humid night air, and thinks to himself, not for the first time, that he had absolutely no business going out tonight in the first place. If Dean’s feeling Dad’s absence today then god knows how Mom is feeling. But his friends wanted to party, and they wanted Dean to party with them, and they wanted Dean to drink and dance and hit on girls, and Dean just kind of gets swept up in things that way. He remembered wanting it strongly in the way Dean doesn’t usually want things, to do something normal, something kids his age are meant to do. Feel normal, like everyone else, when he felt anything but.

He opens the front door quietly. Sam will be asleep, or maybe awake with his headphones on and a book open under torchlight covers, but either way Dean doesn’t want to disturb him. Sam isn’t speaking to him at the moment. He’s not really speaking to Mom either, but that's just par for the course these days. He's fourteen and he’s sullen and he's angry. Mom says he's going through a phase. 

The light is coming from that gothic looking lamp on the side table. There's a near full bottle of white wine next to it, accompanied by a glass with just dregs left inside. Mom is on the couch, in her silk white night slip, sitting with her bare legs crossed underneath her. Her shoulders rise as Dean comes in,  but she doesn't look up. 

“Mom?”

She runs a hand through her hair, scraped back off her face in the remnants of that pretty updo she spent an hour on before the ceremony, now a little unravelled and wild. 

"Mom?” He tries a smile. “I'm home."

Her arms gather at her waist. She doesn't answer.

From her side profile, Dean can tell enough; her eyes are bleary, bloodshot, from the wine, sure, but Dean knows from the puffiness underneath and the mascara smears on her cheeks that she's been crying. Shit.

"I… I lost track of time. Didn't - uh, I didn't realize how late it was."

"Do you have any idea what's been going through my head, Dean?"

She still doesn't look at him. Like she can't bring herself to. The thought pierces Dean. He hovers, awkward hands by his side. “I'm -”

"I was about to pick up the phone and report you missing. Or dead, maybe. Not like I had any damn way of knowing."

That pit grows; he's never seen Mary this upset.

"Guess it would have killed you to answer your phone, huh? Guess a little courtesy call to let me know you weren't lying dead in a wreck somewhere was too much to ask."

"I - Mom, it won't happen again, I swear. I was - I was with the guys, and -"

“The guys. Sure.” Mary snatches up that wine glass. “But screw me, right? I’m only your mother.”

“Mom, don't - come on. It wasn’t like that.”

Except; it kind of was like that. It kind of was like Dean ignoring the vibrations of his phone, letting her calls go to voicemail unanswered. It was letting the texts that said things like Call me I’m worried and Baby come home its late barely read and unanswered. It took five missed calls in quick succession and a message reading Dean I really need you for Dean to get his ass in the car and drive back. To stop leaving his mother to rot. His loving, doting, widowed mother.

There are often nights like this, with Mom, where she gets all upset. Where Dean has to prise that wine bottle out of her hand and use every one of his learned tricks to get her to go to bed. But Dean doesn’t remember ever being the cause of her misery.

His mother drains the dregs in her glass in one angry gulp. Ignoring Dean. She’s never ignored Dean before. And it's like the world tilts the wrong way. Dean feels panicked, sick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snippet 2:

“Anyway,” Mary says, “I wanna hear more about the party.”

Dean isn't sure there's much to tell. He spent most of it a few stone’s throws away from the center of the action. He watched dance-offs. He returned hugs from drunk girls and listened to their stories about how Mr Clement is such an asshole and how could he only give me a B?, making consoling noises in the right places. He remembers making himself very, very scarce when a game of seven minutes in heaven broke out. 

Dean asks, “What do you want to know?”

Mary picks up the wine bottle again. “You know, I loved partying when I was your age. It’s so fun, isn’t it? You’re young. You’re excited. All you wanna do is have a good time.”

Theres a smile on her face, but Dean can't quite place it. “I didn't know you used to party.”

Again, probably not the kind of thing a mother shares with her son either. But glimpses of Mary's life before, before Dad, before him and Sammy, are scarcely given, no matter what they look like, and Dean can't help but be obsessed with them when they arise.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean watches her top up her wine; fill the glass almost to the brim. “I went through that phase, honey. Drinking, boys. Sneaking out of the house.”

“Really? You did?”

Dean's half surprised; half thinking about how that's another thing. Sneaking out of the house - from who? From Dean's grandparents? Mom never really talks about them, either. Aside from things like this, as part of something else, a vague implication of their existence; not that they exist anymore, anyway. They died years before Dean was born.

“It's an exciting time,” Mary says. “You've got your whole lives ahead of you. You're at that age where you really believe you're gonna change the world.”

“It's too late to get philosophical, Mom,” Dean says, with a laugh. An apprehensive one.

Mary isn't quite looking at him. “Who was at the party, Dean?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean says. “Everyone, I guess.”

“Everyone,” Mary repeats, with this look on her face that Dean can’t quite translate. “Who’s everyone?”

“I don't know. Just - everyone.” Dean laughs a little. Feels like he’s answering the question wrong.

That look doesn’t wane. “You're being very vague, Dean.”

“I'm - not really sure what you want from me here.”

Mary's lips irk up in something that isn't quite a smile. “Were there girls, Dean?”

“Yeah, Mom, of course there were girls. Everyone in our grade was out.” 

“Dean. What I’m getting at - is there a girl?”

A girl. Singular. And Dean guesses there was a girl. Kind of, depending on how you translate these things. He spent about five minutes in the blue part of the evening making out with Lara Stamp tonight; lovely Lara, with her pretty face and her wealthy Dad and her celebrity status popularity, her cheerleading tricks and her hair extensions and her designer perfume, her acrylic nails that kept catching on loose threads in Dean’s shirt when her hands wandered over his body, braver and more unrestrained than Dean’s. They'd been in Isaac Jones’ parents’ bedroom, the lights off, and Dean had tried to finger her a little, but she'd kept mewling and complaining he was hurting her - god, haven't you done this before? - and eventually she'd batted his hand away and she'd seemed annoyed when she'd kissed him again, and it was dry and awkward that time, the fire-fervor burned out. And Dean still doesn’t really know what he did wrong - why she muttered its like you’re somewhere else, Dean, its like youre always somewhere else - why she'd got up without a word and done her bra up again with her back to him, and then she'd said see you around and left, and Dean hadn’t seen her around at all, he hadn't seen her again all night. And Dean remembers going to look for another beer, unable to stop thinking about how strange her pussy had felt around his fingers, the first he’d ever touched, hot and squishy and somehow not like he expected; and he felt like an idiot, and a child, and a disappointment. 

Yeah - after tonight, there’s definitely no girl. 

“There’s no girl, Mom,” Dean confirms, aloud. Well aware of the pause he left before answering.

A faint smile passes Mary’s lips. “I’m not stupid, honey.”

“Mom -”

“Home so late? Didn't hear your phone?"

Mary looks towards her lap; she really thinks she's right, Dean realizes. He wonders if the tears and texts make more sense now. How strange it is that that would cross his mind at all.

"It’s only natural at your age, honey. I thought we don't keep.secrets from each other?”

Dean thinks back to those bank statements. “There’s no girl,” Dean says again. “I'd tell you, Mom, I swear.” 

“Hmm,” Mary drags it out, like she doesn’t quite believe him. That smile gets a little sharper. “Well. I’ve got my eye on you, Dean Winchester.”

“Mom,” Dean tuts. 

But Mary laughs, and takes such a long gulp of her wine that Dean feels a little sick by proxy. “Your father never strayed, Dean. Not once.”

“That's - good.” But of course Dad would never do something like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snippet 3

“This is all I always wanted, you know, To have things like this to worry about,”

She says it like she had worse to worry about once. Dean can feel those ceramic angels’ eyes staring into the back of his head from the cabinet, silent and knowing.

Mary’s lip quivers again, and when she takes Dean’s hand, the inside of her palm feels condensation cold. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head a little; a watery smile bursts through. “Nothing, honey. I just keep thinking about you up there today. How grown up and handsome you looked.”

Dean scoffs a bit. Handsome is Brad Pitt  or salt-and-pepper bearded guys, not an awkward kid graduating high school, walking across a rickety stage in ill-fitting hire robes. Fighting the urge to hide his face for his mother's ear splitting cheering, louder than anyone else's. He shouldn’t be embarrassed. He has no reason to be embarrassed.

“I looked like an idiot,” he mumbles.

Mary narrows her eyes. Makes this deep furrow in her brow. “This is what I’m talking about, Dean. You just don’t see what everyone else sees.”

Dean finds himself thinking of the time his homeroom teacher waved him over before first period and handed him a flyer for some after school programme, Self Esteem and Me, telling him quietly that he should think about attending. He’d promptly thrown it in the trash on the way to first period and tried to forget about it. 

And anyway, there’s this way Mary looks at him sometimes, when she’s had too much wine and too much to think; a look that’s unplaceable to anything Dean’s ever experienced. He thinks he knows what it is though; he thinks it’s a mother’s love. Mary says it’s the most powerful thing on the planet. And Dean knows he’s lucky to have it. There aren't many things in life that Dean feels good about, not really, overwhelmingly happy-good anyway. But that? That makes him feel amazing.

Mary touches his hair, gentle as when he was a little kid; runs her hands through it. He leans up into it like a dog, because her love really does feel so good . Like a warm blanket, or a hard drug.  “You know what your father used to say, Dean?”

The mention of Dad is kind of jarring. As felt as he’s been all day, he’s remained unspoken, like he always does on big occasions. Like he always does unless Mary brings him up first. You keep Dad to yourself; you keep him in your head, ignore the elephant, no matter how violently it swings its trunk around. You never know how Mary will react.

Mary doesn't wait for Dean to respond. “He used to watch you for hours. Couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Playing with your toys, reading your books. You used to sound out the letters. Did you know that you taught yourself to read?”

Mary tells him these things sometimes. If you listen to Mary, Dean could tell the time at the ripe old age of eighteen months as well. He scoffs; “Yeah, Mom, sure. I was one of those Hemingway toddlers.” 

“Dean. Listen.”

Dean listens.

“And do you know what he’d say?” Mary’s voice catches a little; her fingers get a bit more insistent in Dean’s hair. “He’d say, look at him. This kid is special. And I know all parents think their kid is special. But we didn’t just think it. We knew it. And - ”

Dean doesn’t hear most of those words. “Dad really used to say that?”

“Yeah,” Mary smiles, watery and weak. “He loved you so much, Dean.”

Dean can see tears crystallizing in her eyes again. He squeezes her hand, harder than he means to, but Mary doesn’t flinch.

“I  only wish he could’ve seen you today. He’d be so damn proud of you.”

“Mom,” Dean whispers. He means to add, don’t cry . Or maybe just, don’t.

Would Dad have yelled the place down too? Would Dad have clapped him on the back and brought him home for a quick illegal beer and told Dean with tears in his eyes, son, I’m so proud of you ? Would Dad remember that time Dean sat in his lap looking at a space book, astronaut, with love in his voice, you work hard, kiddo, and you can be whatever you wanna be. You’re gonna make me so proud of you some day.

“Me and your father,” Mary says, with trembling lips, “we made your bones.”

Mary always says this. Dean doesn’t know exactly what it means, but sometimes it’s just better to let her talk.

“You,” she whispers, “You - you’re all I have left of him.”

“Don’t say that, Mom.” But Dean can see how it’s true. What else is there?

“It’s not fair,” Mary whispers. “It’s just - it’s so damn unfair .”

It is. Unfairness has been a curse on this house, their lives, and as Mary’s voice cracks on the word, Dean feels that like a knife, this blunt, breath-snatching agony in the center of his chest; he hides it from Mom though, because seeing Dean sad only ever upsets her even more. She doesn’t need that tonight; so Dean shoves it down, as Mary lays her head against his, one of her ways of seeking comfort. On his shoulder.

Dean gives it by laying a steadying arm around her. the way he envisioned Dad might do if he were to comfort her, if he had to be strong for her. He feels that delicate warmth under his palm, the way her chest is heaving a little, and he wishes with everything inside him that he knew how to take her pain away. But he can’t.

Dean isn't good at many things in life. But he's good at giving comfort.

He listens to Mary draw a breath. Feels it himself, like the wind. “But hey, Dean. It’s our lot in life, right?”

She calls it that a lot, our lot in life. And Dean thinks about it often; sounds like something you were given, something you can’t help, something you cant change even if you wanted to. That lack of control is terrifying, but there’s something oddly comforting about it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Snippet 4:

They sit there like that for a while. Close, quiet. Dean thumbing away the tears on his mother’s cheeks. Her forehead sticky against his. Her hand gripping his so tight that it smarts, but Dean can handle it. There’s not a sound from upstairs, from outside. Suburban quiet, peaceful and dead still, enough that Dean can hear his breaths, hear Mary’s, out of sync with each other. Dean can feel Dad alright. Billowing around the room like smoke. Multiple sets of his eyes looking out at them from the photographs lining sideboards, cabinets, staring out into this beautiful suburban living room that should’ve been his home forever.

Sometimes it niggles at Dean, that he doesn’t know entirely what happened. When he got a little older, old enough to understand things a little better, he was told Dad died in an accident at work, with the kind of sparse details that hinted he really didn’t want to know them. But Dean has this vague memory, before that, maybe not long after it happened; he was small enough to sit in his mother’s lap still, and he wasn’t speaking, he remembers that; he didn’t speak for a whole year after it happened. But he remembered Mom holding onto him a little bit like now, crying a lot like now, and holding Dean so close his little ribs felt like they’d snap, and she kept whispering over and over, it got him, baby. The demon got him.

And as he’s gotten older Dean has thought back to that moment and how he must be misremembering. How Mom must have said demons plural. As in Dad’s demons got him; that maybe Dad made the accident happen, on purpose, to pulverize those demons along with his body.  He wonders though; what those demons were. He knows Dad was a veteran. Mary keeps his dog tags on the shelf with his photos. Could be something to do with that, maybe. 

Or something different entirely. Dean remembers Mom and Dad fighting sometimes. He remembers it getting worse after Sammy was born. He remembers being woken up by the sound of Sammy’s fitful newborn cries, underpinned by stage whispers, clearly not for his ears, but Dean could hear them, harsh and venomous, and then the whispers would stop altogether and there’d be yelling, there’d be words that Dean knew were curse words, then a door would slam and Dean would hear the Impala starting up in the driveway, and then he’d hear a rattle, like Mom was kicking or punching something, and he’d clutch his tatty blue teddybear close to his chest and not be able to sleep until he heard Dad come back again. He remembers this fear, this loud, cold fear, that Dad might not come back at all. 

It happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snippet 5:

“Please, Dean?” A wan, slightly pleading smile. “I don’t wanna be alone right now. Can we just stay up and talk or something?”

Her voice cracks, and Dean can’t bear it. And besides; he knows his mother is incredibly, desperately lonely. The air in the room is warm, musky, balmy air filtering in through the open window. Smells fresh, intertwines with the Fresh Linen and Orange Blossom reed diffusers Mary has on her shelves. The traces of Diorella perfume on Mary’s body, all she’ll ever wear, because Dad loved the smell. It’s so - it’s all so comforting to Dean. All he’s ever known.

He smooths her hair out of her face; “Alright, Mom. I’ll - we can talk. Sure.”

There’s a new flush of life on her face, like she’s reanimated. “Lay down with me, Dean?”

Dean can’t explain his hesitation to himself. The words hitting him wrong again. It won’t be the first time he’s had to sleep next to her. Making sure she doesn’t aspirate on her own vomit, if she’s been throwing up for reasons she attributes to anything but alcohol or medication, or when he hears her having one of her nightmares, the really bad kind where she cries out in her sleep. And as Mary hoists herself up on the bed, shifts over clumsily to make room for Dean, he thinks about Sam - it’s weird, the two of you are weird, and no, we’re not , he snaps back at him in his mind. Sam just doesn’t understand, doesn’t even know he’s fucking born.

And with that in mind, Dean shrugs it off and carries on taking care of his mother. Climbs up onto the bed, with its Febreze locked into the fibres, the smell of Mary’s citrus shampoo on the pillows; and Mary’s facing him and leaning on an elbow, and she shifts a little closer on the mattress, until her bare calves are brushing against Dean’s.

Everything is very, very quiet. So quiet that Dean can hear the blood go solid in his veins. Dad’s blood. Dad’s bones. We made your bones.

So quiet that he can hear the elevation in Mary’s breath. Hear the whisper of his shirt under Mary’s fingers as she runs them down his chest. There’s a different quality to her wine-spaced eyes, a quality Dean recognizes; the way Lara Stamp looked at him earlier before he let her down. Adjacent to the feeling stirring the hairs on the back of his neck when he’d sense his gym coach staring at him sometimes. Maybe not the first time Mary has looked at him that way, if Dean is really honest with himself, especially not on nights like this; there’s an amnesia block on that look , whenever it isnt happening.

But this is different. This is the first time Dean can really see the shiver rolling through his mother’s body.

Mom’s lips part. “Promise that no matter what - you’d never leave me?”

“I’m - Mom, are you with me? You know I’m -”

Not Dad dies on his tongue. Mary is with him alright.

There’s a strangeness to it that makes the world feel off kilter, upside down, and entirely changed in just a second; and he watches Mary’s lips flutter. “Can I show you something, Dean?”

She cups Dean’s face in her hand and leans in close, so close; and she doesn’t wait for an answer. Mary’s lips taste like ethanol and sugar, and her little gasp snags on the corner of Dean’s mouth; and her tongue is - god - Mary’s tongue is on his, plush wet and insistent; and there’s this heat-rush in Dean’s blood, this sense of the body he feels indifferent to and disconnected from most of the time switching on in a way it never has before.

He makes a choked sound. He might actually be choking. It’s panic; it’s something more complicated. And Mary draws back immediately, and her face is burst capillary flushed and her breaths are rough and she looks so pretty and fragile and she’s everything, she’s everything to Dean, and he’d do anything for her, and he’s mixed up and sick with it, and maybe that’s why he’s shaking, an earthquake in his bones -

“It’s okay,” Mary whispers, hands running manically through his hair. “Don’t be scared, baby. It’s okay.”

She whispers it over and over, like a prayer, like a mantra; hooks a leg over his waist, presses her chest up to his, and Dean can feel the press of her tits, her crotch. Her - her cunt .

His head is spinning. It’s moving fast, fast . Mary rolls her hips, slow, shudders through her lips; insistent press into Dean’s dick, rush of cotton-denim friction -

“Dean,” Mary sighs, eyes devil dark, both hands on his face, “Have you ever fucked a girl before, Dean?”

“N-no,” Dean stutters out. 

It’s the first time he’s admitted it out loud; and he’s sure the shame of that shows on his face, but Mary would never judge him, never think less of him for anything; and Mary just lets out this long breath and says, “Okay. That’s okay. I’ll show you.”

It occurs to Dean that maybe Mary seems more sober than she did just now; and he lets her take his hand, he lets her, Dean lets her; he watches her parted lips brush over his fingers like they aren’t his.

“I’ll show you,” Mary says again, breathless. “Just relax. Let Mommy show you, okay?”

“O-okay,” Dean chokes again as Mary’s lips close around his fingertips, and she holds his gaze as she suckles around them gently; her mouth feels soft and hot, and the sensation is new to Dean, alien, and he can’t decide what he feels for it. Mary gasps; and Dean watches, watches the glisten of saliva that isn’t his on his fingers, watches Mary move his hand between her legs. Beneath her white slip, she’s been wearing white all day; she's not wearing panties.

Mary’s eyes roll. “You feel that?” 

Dean does. Silk heat, wiry hair. Wet. She feels different to Lara. 

A sound catches in his throat.

“Touch me,” she breathes out, millimetres from his lips. “It’s okay. I want you to.”

“Mom,” Dean stutters back, and no, and don't just won’t quite follow; and Mary catches it on her mouth, and her kiss is so rough this time that Dean’s blood hums and his hips jerk; and he can feel Mary’s hands, on his shoulders, on his chest, hear her moan dragging against his teeth, and then heat-air hits his chest, she’s getting his shirt open; and Dean’s supposed to be touching , so that’s what he does. Blindly drags his saliva-wet fingers across Mary’s folds, her gasp like an electric shock; lips going slack against his as he cautiously pushes one inside. Silk soft clutch, and Dean isn’t sure what to do, whether he’s supposed to move it or what; but then Mary growls, fists his half-open shirt, and Dean’s breath catches for the drag of teeth against his lower lip.

“God, now,” she mutters. “Dean, I need you now.”

And it happens fast, it happens so so fucking fast ; Dean’s body is stiff and puppet-like all at once, and the light in the room is too bright, those laundry-perfume scents in his throat, and he’s staring up at Mary, straddling his hips, her eyes closed as she tugs at his belt buckle, the zipper on his jeans; the hiss of it hits Dean’s back teeth. And something washes over him, then; like a feverish waking dream. Looming vivid images of himself loading up the Impala at the quiet crack of dawn, filling the trunk, backseats, with labelled cardboard boxes, a college acceptance letter in the glove compartment on top of the photograph of his family and his enrolment paperwork. Parties, people from different states and countries, coffee shops and lecture halls; and Dean would change, he’d grow, he’d find himself , that’s what his teachers kept saying about college, that you find yourself there; and maybe Dean would meet a beautiful girl who was studying law or medicine or something, and on graduation day he’d propose to her and give a spiel about her being the love of his life, down on one knee outside the lecture hall where they first met, and she’d cry and jump and say yes, yes , and there’d be a beautiful wedding and Dean would get onto a graduate scheme and go to work in a suit and they’d go for fancy dinners and they’d travel, they’d live the kind of life his friends want. Although it wouldn’t even need to be that fancy; Dean could stay in Lawrence, he could move out now, he could get a job as a bartender or a bricklayer and rent a shitty apartment, he could run into Lara Stamp at the mall or the gas station one day on accident and end up reconnecting, and she’d give him another chance, and he’d blink and he’d be married, and her rich Daddy would buy them a beautiful house in an upmarket neighbourhood, and they’d have three beautiful babies who’d go to private school and go on to do great things, and Dean would be stable, life would be stable, and Lara would age beautifully and he’d be the kind and steady glue man-of-the-house holding it all together, and it would be a damn fucking good apple pie life.

But that’s not Dean’s life, because his father is dead, and his home is sad and broken, and his baby brother’s got the devil in him these days, and his mother needs him louder than the oxygen in her blood. And Dean thinks back to that drink-drive video Miss Osterberg showed, the deaths, the injuries, the statistics. Thinks about what it would be like if Dean became one of them, if he’d given into careless driving and veered off the road and if his car had rolled over three times and caught fire, and it’d be gruesome and bloody, and god, what would happen if Dean never made it home at all -

But he did, and now this is happening. His dick is bare, it’s hard and his mother’s hand is on it, her other hand on his chest, and she’s bared over him, bracing herself, and her hair is in his face, and this is fucking happening ; and Dean’s panting and still, and Mary’s face is close to his, and she’s panting too; and if Dean is crying a little, no one seems willing to point it out, least of all himself.

“I love you,” she whispers, tender like a promise, gut-suck horrifying; “I love you so much, my sweet baby boy.”

And Dean clings to that. Clings to Mary, to her hips, unsure what to do with his hands, as she sinks down onto his cock, silk-hot-clutch, god, brand new sensation, scrambles Dean’s head, he’s never felt anything like it; and Mary’s eyes flutter closed, she moans, pitchy-loud, a sound Dean should never know. But it can’t hurt when you’re nothing, and you don’t know what you want.

“Love you,” she gasps again, head tilting back, “fuck, love you so much.”

Dean can feel himself getting harder. Feel his body taking over, pushing him deeper inside himself, building a wall between him and how fucking good his mother feels inside. Her head tilting back like an exorcism, her mouth open, as she rocks on top of him, her hands grabbing, up in his shirt, his hair, her mouth open; and those cries are words sometimes, they’re cries of fuck and Dean and sometimes they’re cries of John , they blur up, and Dean feels heavy and far away; and it doesn’t matter who Mary’s calling for anyway, because Dean is both blank canvas and magic mirror, he’s made of fragments that don’t make a whole, and it just doesn’t matter. It’s his lot in life.

#deanmary #mary live john dies au #unedited #preseries #butterfly effect #tw non con

[phoenixyfriend]

desktop site is cooperating, at least? anyway: 25. What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Get to know your fic writer!

lmao plenty, but recently... as worried as I was about backlash, I'm actually a bit "Okay, but what did you think?" about Possessive Love. It's got the kind of comment:kudos:bookmark ratio that's typical of smutfic, so I'm not surprised, but alas.

Also, maybe, Alert! Hot Young Single Dads in YOUR Area!, which I half-think people deleted from their emails on sight because the title screamed "spam" to them so immediately that they didn't check the sender email at all.

(The last one would be Amicable Anidala Divorce, which I think is missing out on attention because I frame it as "an Anidala divorce as written by someone who really likes Anidala," so I don't vilify Anakin or head into The Fandom Dreadnought, so instead it's just Padme's POV being very sad and trying to keep her friendship with her ex-husband and I haven't gotten to the funny parts yet.)

#phoenix answers memes #star wars

[maladaptive-day-dreams]

why good day and hello!

lovely to be acquainted with the talented writer behind some of the lovely examples I've read! I do hope you're starting the day swell ♡

as we jump into the spooky season, i was kinda curious of the concept of vampire!eddie forming a sweet bond with a shy!hunter reader; perhaps in due time it opens the both up more and blossom into some special?

I am SO sorry this took so long😅life got hella busy and this got 3k words longer than intended🫣

Unlikely Friends

vamp!eddie x gn!shy!vamp hunter!reader, angst & fluff, 4.7k words

CW: blood/mention of blood, new vampire hunter reader, talk of duty, verbal teasing, sweet moments, parental disowning, Steve being a bit of a dick, worried Dustin

You’re new to the whole “vampire hunter” thing. Your dad sprung it on you last month on your 20th birthday and you started training the next day.

You still don’t know how you got here though—wandering through the dark forest of Hawkins Indiana with only a stake gun and some vervain shots.

“You got this kid, you’ll do great,” your dad had said as he gave you the weapons and gently pushed you towards the woods.

That seemed far fetched considering you could barely deal with the sight of blood in anatomy class when you dissected frogs or at the doctors office after you fainted that day when they had to take blood to check you out.

But here you are, stake gun in hand, eyes wide open and searching, ears alert, heart racing. Each of your steps are calculated. Remembering that your dad mentioned there was a sighting at a bonfire by the Harrington’s place that was the first place you headed. As you closed in on the Harrington house, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you spun around to catch a flash…of a leather jacket?

Without thinking you aimed and fired a stake at the blur that ran in front of you, sharpened wood barreling through the air only to splinter into pieces as it made contact with a tree ten feet in front of you.

“Not even gonna buy me dinner before you try and kill me?”

The voice was soft but powerful, not menacing like your father made vampires out to be. “Ruthless, fucking blood suckers. Monsters,” he’d say.

You hesitantly step back, your back meeting a tree trunk after a few steps. You close your eyes and breathe deeply trying to still your racing heart.

“Sweetheart, your heartbeat is racing. Are you excited to see me?” The voice teased again.

You didn’t respond, squeezing your eyes shut tighter in the hopes that when you opened them you’d be at home and not still in the woods. A shiver ran up your spine and your eyes shot open to see a man before you.

His eyes are a deep, chocolate brown with specks of amber. His dark hair falls in loose and frizzy waves just past his shoulders. A breeze picks up his scent of cigarettes, dewy moss and something salty but sweet. And as your eyes search his face, his plump lips curl up into a toothy smile that bares his fangs for you to see.

Your breath catches and you squeeze your eyes shut again, turning your head to the side. His hot breath hits your now exposed neck and you hear him inhale deeply.

“Fuck, darling. You smell good.”

You whimper, “please let me go home. I just want to go home.”

At that, you feel the vampire’s presence leave you. Opening your eyes to empty woods again you run all the way home, doing your best not to trip on any tree roots. ____

It’s been three days since your encounter in the woods. You try and acclimate into your new environment by walking the new mall in town—apparently the last one caught fire. You pop into a few stores and soon find yourself at the ice cream shop in the food court.

“Hello! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get a sweet newcomer like you?” A kind-eyed brown haired man asks. You look between him and his female coworker before checking what flavors they have.

“Can I get a single scoop of Buttered Pecan in a cup please?”

“Anything for you darling,” he says with a smile.

You watch him work, his name tag catching the light, Steve. Looking to his coworker you see her name tag reads Robin. According to your dad’s notes a guy named Steve and girl named Robin were at the Harrington house when the vampire was last seen. As Steve finishes getting your scoop and brings it to the register you catch a flash of skin on his wrist where his sweatband rose. He pushed it back down quickly but you swore you saw fang marks.

“How much?” You ask.

“On the house today for the newbie in town,” Steve smiles.

“Oh,” you will your cheeks not to heat but alas, they do and now you’re blushing at a stranger. “Thank you.”

You take your ice cream and make your way to a table to finish it, staying close enough to hear Robin and Steve’s conversation.

“Ah another loss for King Steve.”

“Shut it Robin. What are we going to do about Eddie? He took from me last time—a lot honestly, I almost passed out—and none of the kids are free to help us. He can’t hunt animals for shit and there’s no way for us to like steal any, so what do we do? He’s gonna starve if we don’t do something.”

“I don’t know Steve. We’ll figure something out, we always do.”

Eddie. The name rolls around in your head. Could that be the name of the vampire that spared you? Could he be different? No, he took blood from his friend. But Steve said kids? He has to be different for there to be kids involved right? But with everything Dad has taught me, he can’t be different. Can he? ______

Dad had the radio scanner going last night and he caught a walkie talkie transmission between Steve a kid named Dustin—probably one of the ones Steve said was out of town a few days ago. So here you are getting dropped off at the same trailhead Dad let you out at last Saturday. Stake gun in hand plus something else in your satchel that your dad doesn’t need to know about.

You walk slowly into the tree line, heart beating rapidly like usual. Once you’ve made it into the thick of the woods your eyes move from your surroundings to your feet so you don’t trip on anything.

“Are you nervous, darling?” A familiar voice asks.

Your breath hitches and you stop dead in your tracks.

“Is that why you’re looking down?”

You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing.

“Awe, c’mon sweetheart, I hate one-sided conversations.”

You still didn’t move, eyes still closed, heart hammering in your chest. But when you hear his footsteps circle you and feel a hand run across your stomach and around your back, you drop your head and plead. “Please, I’m sorry, my father is making me do this, look for you. I don’t want to, Eddie.”

His steps stop when you utter his name.

“Eddie?” You slowly lift your head and open your eyes to find another empty forest before you. You breathe slowly and unpack your satchel. You put out your two water bottles, one filled with the rabbits blood from the three rabbits you trapped early last week for Dad’s rabbit stew and the other with deers blood from the buck your dad shot two days ago that’s currently curing for venison jerky. You had labeled the bottles crudely with a sharpie—trying your best not to pass out from the sight of blood—before shoving them into your satchel and covering them with a jacket. You also left the note, settled between the two bottles on the fallen tree a few feet away from you.

Hi Eddie , (I hope you’re who Steve was talking about on Wednesday, if not sorry for misnaming you).

I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). My father is a vampire hunter from Louisiana and he brought us up here when he first heard about the “animal attacks” that happened after the “earthquake.” He kinda sprung it on me. I didn’t even know vampires were a thing until my 20th birthday a week and a half ago when he forced me to start training.

I promise I don’t want to do this. I don’t even want to be here, but he’s all I’ve got left and it’s my “duty” as a (Y/L/N). There’s deer and rabbit blood in the bottles for you, so you can give Steve a break until Dustin and the other kids come back in to town. 

I’m sorry, (Y/N)

______

It’s become a Saturday night tradition for Dad to drop you at the edge of the woods. So as you make your way past the trailhead and into the trees, hearing the car drive off behind you, you close your eyes and breathe. Your satchel is heavier this time so the walk to the fallen tree takes a bit more out of you. By the time you get to the tree and sit down, your breathing heavy and your heartbeat is high.

“Comfortable enough to sit down now huh?” Eddie says.

You don’t respond, still nervous in the presence of a vampire. This time he walks slowly to you, instead of running like a flash of wind.

“You gonna actually talk to me this time, (Y/N)?”

You swallow, “you read the letter?”

“Yeah and the blood actually lasted me a little while,” he says coming to sit on the rock across from you. “Thanks for that.”

You smile at him.

“You don’t talk much do you?” He laughs.

A blush rises to your cheeks, “sorry.”

“It’s alright sweetheart, I don’t mind doing all the talking.”

You unpack your satchel in front of him. This time pulling out three bottles of blood for him, on top of a new shirt and a fresh pair of socks.

“Damn, you really know how to take care of a guy.”

You laugh as you toss him the shirt and socks. “I got you a hair tie too,” this time you get up and walk over to him to give it to him.

He looks up at you from where he sits on the rock and smiles. Eyes glinting in the moonlight and fangs bared. You’re not afraid this time, instead you look at him with curiosity.

“Might wanna take a picture darling, it’ll last longer,” he smirks as he takes the scrunchie from you and ties back his hair.

You shyly lower your eyes and step back, turning your back towards him as you retreat to your perch on the fallen tree. You don’t hear him move but you feel his body beside you moments after you reach the tree.

“Fuck, Jesus,” you say, hand over your heart.

“Sorry,” he laughs, hand reaching up to rub at his neck. “Still trying to get used to the speed.”

“It’s okay,” reaching towards the bottles you hand them to him one-by-one. “There’s rabbit in this one but it might be a bit old, dad made stew again earlier this week. And these two are wild turkey, they have a lot more blood than you’d think.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). Really. Steve was thankful too when I saw him last.”

“You’re welcome,” you sit back down on the tree and pull out a sandwich from your pack. “Do you mind if I-?”

“If you eat? So long as you don’t mind if I drink,” he laughs lightly.

You shake your head no, “I don’t mind.”

So you sit in silence, having your meals in the woods together. Both of you thankful for the company. ______

You look forward to Saturdays now. Dad thinks it’s because you’re enjoying the hunt but really it’s because you’re enjoying your weekly midnight dinners with Eddie. You’re going on four months of knowing Eddie and helping him. Two Saturdays ago you let Eddie tell Steve who was getting him blood, and this Saturday Steve, Robin and Dustin have come to meet you.

You get to the fallen tree first, perching criss-cross applesauce atop it. And shortly before you finish unpacking your and Eddie’s dinners, someone closes their hands around your eyes.

“Hmm, I wonder who that could be,” you laugh. “Eddie, quit teasing!”

Eddie’s laugh bellows behind you as he takes his hands off your eyes and hugs you around the waist from behind. You lean your head up to look at him and match the smile on his face with one of your own.

“Well I’ll be damned, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eddie hug someone other than the kids or Uncle Wayne,” a familiar feminine voice comes from behind Eddie. Robin, Steve and Dustin were trailing behind Eddie who probably sprinted to get to you before they could ruin the surprise.

Eddie lets go of your waist and hops onto the tree beside you, sitting down and going for a bottle of blood.

“Eddie hold on I didn’t tell you what it is this week,” you laugh trying to grab the bottle from him. Steve leans agains a tree across from the log you and Eddie are sitting on while Robin and Dustin sit on the rock beside him.

“What if I wanted to guess this week?”

“There’s not much for us to hunt in Indiana so it would be an easy guess,” you laugh.

“Well, your dad makes rabbit stew like every week so I know one of these is rabbit.” He looks to you and you nod in confirmation.

“It won’t be stale this week, we went hunting on Thursday so everything is only two days old.”

“I’m sorry did you just say blood can go stale?” Dustin asks.

“I mean, not necessarily ‘stale’ but it gets more clotted the longer it sits out and I don’t want my dad asking questions so I can’t keep these in the fridge at home.”

“Oh right, yeah, your vampire hunter dad,” Steve scoffs. “Can we really trust them Eddie?”

You look down at your hands at Steve’s comment and Eddie notices. His hand comes to rest on your shaking knee.“Shut it, Harrington,” he bites.

“I’m just saying. Their dad is a vampire hunter, they’re literally only here to kill you. Why are we blindly trusting them? Just because they decided not to kill him yet and to feed him instead?”

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

“Don’t, Robin, you know I’m right.”

“C’mon man,” Dustin breathes.

“They could just be trying to get on Eddie’s good side so it’s easier for them to stab him in the back. They could be slowly poisoning him with the blood they bring! You guys know I’m right. We can’t trust a hunter,” Steve spits that last part at you with so much venom in his voice. 

Your breathing grows heavier with Steve’s verbal assault and you feel tears prick at your eyes. Eddie can hear your heartbeat and he starts to get angry.

“Really, Steve? You decide to do this now? A week after they trusted me enough to let me tell you it was them keeping me alive? A week after they agreed to meet you guys? Right now?” Eddie doesn’t yell it but you can feel the anger radiating off of him as he sits beside you.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t fight about me being here. I-I’ll just go.” You pack up your satchel with your uneaten sandwich and get off the tree you sat on. “I brought you an extra blanket since it’s getting colder earlier. I know you probably have some already, but-“

“(Y/N), you don’t have to go,” Eddie says, his voice laced with sadness and…something else?

You shake your head and grab your bag, “it’s okay, Eds.”

You give him a soft smile and start the trek back to your house. ______

Next Saturday evening, you find Dad in the kitchen.

“I’m not feeling too well, can we skip this week?”

“Sure thing, everything alright?”

“Yeah I think I went too hard in training this week,” you give him a weak smile. “A day or two of rest should be fine. I should be good to go back out next week.”

You didn’t tell Eddie you wouldn’t be there.

He waited until sunrise for you.

The next Saturday was the same.

Eddie still waited.

The next Tuesday your dad left to get some supplies so you were home alone. Around lunch time there was a knock on the door. Hesitantly, you looked through the peep hole only to find Dustin nervously shifting from foot to foot outside your door.

“(Y/N),” he says drawing out the last part of your name. “Please open up, please. It’s Eddie, he’s not doing well.”

Your heart breaks, and so does your resolve. You open the door and silently welcome Dustin in.

“Fuck, okay okay (Y/N) this is Code Red. Eddie hasn’t eaten in two weeks. He can’t hunt to save his life and he won’t take from me, Steve, or Robin. He’s not doing well. He’s weak and slow and you can tell the lack of blood is really really bad for him, you have to do something.”

“Vampires will start to decay after 3 weeks of no blood. After 4 they’ll be petrified, after 6 they turn to ash.”

“Not helping, (Y/N), please, please talk to him.”

You finally look at the boy standing in your living room. His eyes are tired, he looks worried, and helpless. “I don’t know what this has to do with me.”

“Are you serious? You have got to be joking. Eddie is in love with you. That night we met you I could see it, Robin could see it, Steve could see it—which is why he was a serious asshole to you,” Dustin pauses and looks at your confused face. “He misses you. That’s why he won’t eat. He thinks you hate him. He doesn’t want to be someone you hate.”

“I-“

“Just, promise me you’ll meet him this Saturday. Please?” He pleads, hands outstretched, eyes wide and begging.

You nod, “okay. But you have to go now, my dad will be home soon.”

The same afternoon, in the woods:

Dad made a pit stop at the trailhead to see if he could catch sight of the vampire. What he didn’t think he’d find was a folded piece of paper with his kids name on it on a fallen tree. He was confused, so he opened it.

Hey (Y/N), I’m sorry about all that shit Steve said. Really, truly, so sorry. You and our midnight dinners mean a lot to me. Your company (and the blood you bring me) are honestly the only things keeping me around right now.

I’ve waited here, for you, for the last two Saturdays. I even waited on both Sundays just in case it was a mistake that you didn’t show.

I don’t know if you’ll ever meet up with me again, but I hope you do. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.

I miss you With love,

I’m sorry, Eddie

Dad stuffed the letter in his coat pocket and headed back to the car. A plan forming in his mind. He knows how to catch the disgusting vampire that convinced his precious child to turn their back on their duty as a (Y/L/N). ______

The following Saturday, you're dropped at the start of the trailhead and wave to your dad as he started the drive home. You start the trek to your spot slowly, trying to give yourself time to work up any courage you might need today.

But then something happened, and you hear a familiar voice but this time it screams.

Your body moves before you can tell it to, running as fast as you can to Eddie. You get to your spot and find him leaning against the tree you usually sit on, a stake in his left side and one in the side of his knee.

“(Y/N),” he smiled through tears as you fall to your knees beside him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, stop Eddie. It’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” Your hands hover over his wounds.

“(Y/N),” another familiar voice beckons. “Get away from the vampire, (Y/N).”

You turn and meet your dad’s gaze. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Dad, no. He’s different. He-“

“(Y/N)!” He yells. “Don’t dishonor us like this. You have a duty to your family. To your history.”

Eddie places his hand on yours on the ground beside him. You tear your eyes from your dad to find Eddie’s.

“It’s okay, (Y/N). You’re okay.”

“Eds,” you say tears in your eyes.

“Step away, (Y/N).”

You squeeze Eddie’s hand. “This is gonna hurt Eds okay? But I need to take these out so you can start healing.”

“Okay,” Eddie winces as your hands find the stake in his knee.

“(Y/N), stop,” Dad orders. You remove the stake in Eddie's knee and look back to Dad, stake gun raised to Eddie’s chest. You stand and place yourself between Eddie and Dad.

“Get out of the way.”

“No.”

“Your going to throw away your history for a monster? That’s not how I raised you!” “No, Dad, it’s not. You raised me to be kind. Innocent until proven guilty. Eddie is not guilty. Eddie is innocent. He’s pure, and kind, and funny, and cares for those he loves. He’s not like the vampires you learned about in your childhood. He didn’t ask to become this, he wasn’t turned. He went to hell and came back. He went into the Upside Down, died in a parallel universe and he was resurrected by a supernatural being to destroy Hawkins. But he didn’t. He came back to his friends, he found his way back to the light. He. Is. Good.”

You hoped the story Dustin and Robin told you in at Scoops Ahoy on Thursday was true. Hoped that Dad would see that Eddie wasn’t inherently evil. That vampires could be good. You thought you had reached him when he lowered his stake gun.

“Are you really that far gone?” He asks, exasperated. “Did he compel you that well? Convince you so easily?”

“Dad, no-“

“Quiet,” he bites.

“Excuse me,” Dustin says from the left of you. “Hi, sorry.”

Dustin, Steve and Robin had their hands up as they walked closer to you all. You looked over and met Dustin’s eyes, mouthing I’m sorry to him.

“Everything they said is true,” Steve speaks next. “Eddie wasn’t turned by another vampire, we didn’t even know there were other vampires until you and (Y/N) came to town.”

“Yeah,” Robin chimed in. “Eddie was possessed by this evil guy named Vecna who killed like four of our friends. Vecna pulled a Frankenstein and changed Eddie before using him to try and get to us. But he was able to fight it. He’s good, we promise he’s good.”

“(Y/N)?” Eddie whispered behind you. You turned around and dropped to your knees between his legs.

“Hey, hey, look at me Eds,” you put both hands on his cheeks to lift his head. “You’re gonna be okay, are you healing?”

You look beside you to the wound on his knee that should be healed, only for it not to be. “Dustin, Dustin, were you able to get rabbit blood?” You ask frantically, looking over to him.

He nods no, hands still raised towards Dad.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath. “Hold on, Eds. Hold on. You don’t get to leave me just yet.”

You stand and face Dad. “You, you are going to leave.”

He stares at you. “How dare you.”

“How dare you. Holding a weapon at a three people you don’t know over a man you don’t know. I know Eddie. I know he’s good. What happened to trust, huh? You wanted me to trust you when you told me we came from a line of vampire hunters. To trust you to train me. To trust you to keep me safe. Where is your trust in me? Do you not think I’m skilled enough to know when an enemy is lying? When an enemy is an enemy? Eddie isn’t the enemy, Dad. Eddie is good. Please listen to me. Trust me."

Dad points his stake gun back at Eddie.

“DAD,” you yell, hot tears falling down your cheeks. “You can’t. I love him.”

That has the stake gun pointing to the ground. “You can’t.”

“I can. I do.”

Dad spits at the ground by your feet and you flinch. “You,” he pauses to look in your eyes. “Are no child of mine. You leave Hawkins, he dies.” He states pointing to Eddie.

“Dad,” you cry. “Pleas-“

“I have no children,” he states, turning and leaving you to tend to Eddie.

You choke back sobs as you kneel between Eddie’s legs again. “Eddie, Eddie look at me please.”

He doesn’t move. “Eddie?” You say frantically. “Eddie please, please don’t do this.”

You yank the second stake from his side and put your hands on either side of his neck to hold his head up.

“Eddie,” you cry. Blinking back tears you reach into your boot and pull out a small knife.

“Whoa, whoa whoa, (Y/N), what are you doing?” Steve asks as he, Robin and Dustin rush over to you and Eddie.

“He needs blood,” you say, steeling your nerves as you drag the blade across your palm. You bite your lip at the pain and lift your hand to rest on Eddie’s lips. “Please,” you beg in a low voice. “Please, Eddie. Please.”

“It’s working,” Dustin whispers. “His knee, his side, they’re healing.”

You breathe out a sad laugh, hand still resting on Eddie’s lips. His hands move, one coming to rest on your hip, the other on your wrist to push your bloodied hand away from him.

“No, no, no, Eddie. You need blood,” you say, pushing your hand closer to him.

“(Y/N), hold on,” he croaks from a dry throat. He looks to the other three, “can you guys give us a few minutes?”

“Oh, uh yeah,” Robin says nudging Steve and Dustin as they get up to walk towards Harrington’s house. “We’ll be at Harrington’s when you’re done!” She calls behind them.

“Eddie, please, drink.”

“Alright sweetheart, alright,” he chuckles, then winces. “I just wanted some privacy, sharing blood is a bit on the intimate side for me.”

“But Steve?”

“Yeah I never drank from his wrist, I would just bite him and then he would let it go into a cup or a bowl or something and then I’d give him my blood the same way to heal him up.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he smiles. “You didn’t know and I don’t think I’d be here if you hadn’t thought fast like that.” The hand that was on your waist, reaches up to your neck. “Thank you, darling. Thank you.”

You smile and offer him your palm again. This time he takes it willingly, lapping at the gash and drinking until you tap on his cheek that you need a break. Your head was fuzzy and your hand throbbed. As was something in your chest—a feeling, a warmth.

Eddie wiped his lips with the back of his hand before biting his wrist and reaching it towards you. You hesitantly take it and lift it to your lips, drinking a small amount, you both watch as your bleeding hand stitches back together after a few moments.

You look at each other, both of you feeling a bit more for the other than when you started these midnight dinners.

Eddie’s hand finds your waist again, and the other finds your neck. “Can I kiss you, (Y/N)?”

“Yes,” you breathe. Eddie drags you closer to him, his lips gently pressing against yours in a chaste kiss. He pulls back and nuzzles into your neck, inhaling. “Fuck, the first day we met I thought you'd taste as good as you smell. Didn't think I'd ever learn if I was right, but Jesus H. Christ you do. ”

You tense slightly at the comment. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll shut up,” he murmurs into your neck, dropping a kiss to your pulse point. “So,” Eddie pulls himself from your neck and smirks. “You love me, huh?”

You laugh and stand up, holding out your healed hand to him. “You’re not going to let me forget that will you?”

“I don’t want you to forget that, ever, because I love you. And it would be weird if it was one sided after everything,” he says accepting your hand to help him stand.

“That would be a bit awkward," you laugh. "Good thing it’s not one sided.”

“Good thing, indeed,” he smiles back at you.

"Have you noticed I'm a lot better around blood now?" You ask as you head towards the Harrington house.

"I did," Eddie laughs.

"That's all because of you Eds, all because of you," you smile.

#ceebs' asks #vamp!eddie #vamp eddie #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie x reader #vampire hunter reader #vampire hunter x vampire #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #stranger things fandom #st4 #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things oneshot #stranger things one shot #stranger things au

[buckysimp101]

Love at First Grade (18+) - 15

Single Dad!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader; Teacher!Bucky x CEO Reader

chapter warnings: idk sadness?? fluff. not a whole lot of like angst-angst

a/n: sorry about the atypical break in posting (but posting daily for 2 weeks straight and having a busy couple days at work will do that to ya) but I’m back! hope you enjoy this chapter! 

Series Masterlist

Wild eyes stared into Bucky’s. They felt like they were piercing his soul. Bucky has started to come to during your monologue but chose to keep quiet until the last possible minute. But one thing about Bucky? He couldn’t stand to see you cry. And hearing you say you loved him? The icing on the damn cake. He knew he had to speak even though it hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. But damn was it worth it to see your face when he said those three words. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish and he could see new tears beginning to form in your eyes so he slowly lifted his right hand to cup your face, straining all the way due to a sharp pain in his ribs but treating it more like an inconvenience. One of the machines hooked up to him made sure to alert everyone of his pain as loud beeps started going off throughout the room. Doctors and nurses rushed in as you took Bucky’s hand into your own and brought it up to cup your cheek gently. 

Bucky could feel the tears pricking hot and heavy in his own eyes but he didn’t care. You loved him. You really loved him. And he loved you. Bucky wanted to caress your face, he didn’t care that the doctors and nurses were waiting expectantly and so he reached for you with both hands. Well. He tried to. That’s when Bucky’s attention was drawn to the surgical gauze covering his shoulder, and blank space where his left arm should be. He took in a deep, shocked breath at the realization. He turned to look at you, you had a sad look on your face as you realized what he’d just learned. A throat cleared from the horde of medical professionals and a woman in a doctor’s coat stepped forward to talk, you busied yourself on your phone as the doctor spoke.

“Welcome back, Mr. Barnes. I’m Doctor Summers. It’s so good to see you awake,” her soft tone didn’t seem to match up with her serious expression that may as well have been glued to her face. She seemed to want to continue with the niceties so Bucky cut her off, the rasp in his voice having disappeared slightly.

“Give it to me straight, doc. What happened?” Bucky tried to steel his voice, keep it from wobbling as he awaited the answer to a question that he already knew. 

Dr. Summers took a breath and spoke, “Mr. Barnes, when the paramedics arrived on the scene your left arm was completely pinned between two large pieces of metal. When we brought you into surgery we did the best we could to try and save your arm but sadly it was beyond repair. We had to perform a shoulder level amputation of the left arm. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky just sat there. Contemplating the words the doctor had spoken as he felt your hand slip into his right, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. He’d never be able to hold you in both his arms again. He’d never be able to hold Becca like he used. Would never get to hold all his girls in his arms at the same time. And that thought? That’s what broke him. But Bucky held out. He didn’t want to cry in front of the horde of medical professionals. He’d wait it out. Dr. Summers seemed to be allowing him time to process her work before she continued.

“You do have the option to receive and be fitted for a prosthetic arm if that is what you wish. We have multiple models and companies to choose from, each with their own unique features. But that’s a conversation we can have in a little bit. We’ll leave you two alone, and if you’d like the rest of your visitors are also allowed in now that you’re awake,” and with that, Dr. Summers was rushing the rest of the team out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. 

The tears that Bucky had fought so hard to keep back slipped through his defenses and fell down his cheek, the motion catching your attention.

“Bucky,” you whispered and squeezed his hand.

That’s all he needed to hear. He was done. He’d heard you say you loved him when he was just waking up but hearing you say his name for what felt like the first time in forever? And after the news he’d just received? Bucky knew he’d receive the care he needed and so he did what he needed to do. Bucky cried. He cried for his arm, he cried for your love, he cried for the uncertainty of his future. And you scooted up next to him and just…held him. You held him and you let him cry. You wrapped him in your arms as gingerly and tenderly as you could. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried in front of anyone other than his mom or Steve. But this felt right. He knew you weren’t acting out of pity, you were acting out of love. Love for him. And Bucky felt thee warmth of your love wrap around him in ways he’d never felt before. When Bucky finally caught his breath and was able to breathe without hyperventilating he chanced a look at you.

Your face was red from your own tears and your eyes were puffy. Bucky was certain you hadn’t slept much last night and he would bet if your last week was anything like his, you’d barely slept since Monday. Bucky needed to talk to you. And he needed to do it before his family decided they were ready to visit.

“Y/N, honey. I need you to know that I am so incredibly sorry about how I acted on Monday, and the rest of the week honestly,” you started to interrupt him but Bucky fixed you with a look that said ‘let me continue’, “it was stupid of me to run away. I want you to know that I don’t blame you. God. I could never blame you. I actually appreciate you telling me when you found out instead of keeping it a secret. I guess…I just never suspected that Dot may have had some ulterior motives when she came to me talking about a baby. Fuck, I was so blind I never noticed she was fucking cheating on me,” Bucky spat, a look of anger and resentment crossing his features. 

But you squeezed his hand and so he finished, “I needed a little time to process the information you gave me. I realize that I could have gone about it in a better way, or just have fucking communicated. But instead I shut down. And I shut you out. And that was so incredibly idiotic of me because you were hurting too. And for some reason at that time I didn’t stop to think about how that same information may have affected you. And honey, my baby, my absolute love I will never be able to forgive myself for running away when you needed me. But I’m done with that. If you’ll have me, I hope you know I will never run again. I love you, Y/N. You and Avery. I’m so lucky the two of you came into my life, and Becca’s, and I’ll spend the rest of my days making sure you know it.”

Bucky finally finished his monologue and looked into your eyes. Eyes that were swimming with tears. Eyes that seemed to show Bucky just how much you loved him. And then you spoke, “Bucky Barnes. You’re an idiot if you think I could stop loving you because you were scared. I should have known that your fear response was to run after our first night together,” you hinted with a pointed look causing Bucky to blush at the memory but you recovered quickly, “but I knew you needed time. I just wish we could’ve talked about it earlier this week instead of nesting in the shit and having it hang about like a rain cloud every day. But, I also acknowledge that you needed to process it on your own time and in your own way. All I ask, Bucky. All I ask is that you please don’t shut me out. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart was floating. He swore it wasn’t connected to his body anymore. And so he did the smartest thing he could think of, he leaned as close as he could to you and whispered, “kiss me please?”

You happily obliged, being a little more gentle with his scrapes and bruises you leaned in and kissed Bucky softly, one of those kisses that’s made sweeter with the knowledge that the two participants are hopelessly head-over-heels in love with each other.

When you broke apart, a wide grin on your lips and a small smirk on Bucky’s you had the nerve to ask, “when did you know?”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at your question, knowing you wanted to know when he realized he loved you. “When you called Becca ‘your girl’…and again when you called Becca and Avery ‘our girls’, just the thought of you loving her so much and seeing her as your own? As part of your family? Baby I knew then and there,” he spoke softly, watching your face light up at his admission. Then he saw a look cross your face he didn’t usually encounter, a look of bashfulness. 

Bucky looked at you questioningly before you spilled what was weighing on your mind. “Becca called me mama!” You blurted as you averted eye contact with Bucky. He merely chuckled, remembering when the feisty six year old had called you ‘mama’ the night before.

“Yeah, she did that last night before I called you. In fact, the kid is part of the reason I kicked myself into gear and had to talk to you. She kinda talked some sense into me…without really saying much,” Bucky admitted with a sheepish grin. Now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow questioningly. Bucky merely shrugged, where a grin was going to cover his face a grimace took its place at the pain from bruised ribs and a recent amputation became evident. Your questioning gaze turned to one of concern but Bucky just brushed it off and continued, “Becca can be real persuasive for a six year old.” 

Your whole body shook with laughter and his admission and Bucky tried to join in with breathy laughs as he fought through the pain. You must have noticed his discomfort because you stopped laughing and looked at him pointedly. 

“Bucky, if you’re in pain you need to let someone know.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and playfully whispered, “yes mom.”

Your eyes flashed in realization and you were scrambling from the bed as fast as you could without jostling him too much.

“Sweetheart if I knew calling you mom would make you jump away I wouldn’t have done it, come baaaaack,” Bucky whined but you just shook your head and grabbed your phone.

“No Buck! Your mom’s here! In the waiting room! With Bex, Steve and Becca!”

Bucky’s eyes widened, not fully understanding that his whole family was waiting on him. He couldn’t help thinking about how he was he going to explain this situation to Becca. You must have seen the tentative look on his face because your softened from one of surprise to one of comfort. 

“Bucky…do you want to see them?” you asked, obviously unsure if he was up for seeing his family. Bucky merely nodded his head in response as he began to mentally prepare for the group that would surely rush him momentarily. 

To his surprise, they were all relatively calm. Becca was excited to see him awake. You had helped her up onto his bed and had told her to be very careful and he could tell that she was treating him the same way she would a stray kitten. So Bucky used his right arm and tugged her close to him, her little arms wrapping around his neck as she hugged him tight. Bucky then realized that he wouldn’t have to explain to her what happened because his mother had done that already. His mom explained through choked breaths that when she and Becca had come to visit him earlier while he was unconscious the six year old had asked where his arm was. His mom had told her that he had been very hurt and that the doctor had to take it in order for him to get better. For some reason, the six year old didn’t have any questions other than “when does he get it back?” That statement? Coupled with the idea of never fully holding you or his girls in his arms again is what pushed him to consider a prosthetic. After discussing it with his family, he was ready to call in Dr. Summers for a conversation.

“Alright, Mr. Barnes. There are a couple of different prosthetics you have to choose from. There’s one company that is pretty new in the game, they’re called HYDR-“ Dr. Summer’s started before Bucky cut her off with an immediate “no!” The confused look on the doctor’s face mixed with the immediate reaction from Bucky at the mere mention of HYDRA Corp brought a smirk to your face. Bucky looked at you and he could tell you wanted to say something and so he nodded his head for you to talk.

“Dr. Summers, if you so much as try to put a single piece of HYDRA Corp’s tech on Mr. Barnes’ body you will be hearing from my lawyers,” you stated coolly as Dr. Summers’ usually fierce facade let in a tiny look of fear before you continued, “I believe earlier you mentioned a company who used a metal alloy constructed prosthesis that connects neurologically. There’s only one company who does that, Udaku Tech. Either Mr. Barnes gets Udaku Tech here, or we go to another hospital that will gladly fill that request.”

Bucky loved when you used your CEO voice and couldn’t help but think…God. I’m so fucking turned on right now.

Dr. Summers looked at Bucky for confirmation, as if making sure that you did speak for him. Bucky nodded his head and finished where you left off, “I’ve done more than enough research about Udaku Tech even before I found out that I would need their help. I trust Udaku Tech and know that I’d be lucky to receive a prosthetic from their company.” 

Dr. Summers nodded at Bucky’s statement and let him know that he would need to go back into surgery following a consultation with Shuri of Udaku in order for the connectors and receptors for the arm to be put in place and she gave Bucky some paperwork to sign acknowledging his consent for the consultation and the subsequent procedure. When Dr. Summers left, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The atmosphere in his hospital room seemed to lighten as if he’d been holding all the oxygen available in the room in his very lungs.

Becca reached out to him, her small hand holding a piece of construction paper. “What’s this Becca-bug?” Bucky wondered aloud as he took the folded piece of paper from his daughter.

She looked at him with a big toothy grin before announcing happily, “it’s your birthday card, daddy!” It was like in that moment everyone, Bucky included, realized what today was.

“What a hell of a birthday,” Steve muttered from the corner of the room causing you to nudge him in the ribs and Bucky to snort. Steve always was the one to provide a little comedic relief. The whole room started laughing and Bucky was about to comment when a knock sounded at his room door. You went over to see who it was and you were greeted by two uniformed police officers.

“Good afternoon, folks. We’re here to speak with a Mr. James Barnes?” The officer in the front took the lead as Bucky nodded for them to come in. The officer spoke again as his partner shut the door to the room. “Mr. Barnes, I’m Officer Williams and this is Officer Roberts, we were the first officers on the scene after last night’s incident and we need you to recount whatever you can remember from last night.”

Bucky nodded, understanding that this would be a part of the process and so he told the story. Of how he left Steve’s place after dropping Becca off. How he was driving to your place, it was dark. He was waiting at a stoplight when his light turned green, as he rolled through the stop light another car came from the opposite direction, speeding like a bat out of hell with little control, and rammed right into the driver’s side. Bucky knew he was lucky to be alive. Lucky that all he was missing was his arm when he could be missing his life. The officers took his statement and as they stood to leave, Winnie asked them about the person driving the other car.

“It was a drunk driver. He and his car were in way better shape than Mr. Barnes. We have his information in case you wish to press charges.”

Bucky nodded his consent, there was no way he wasn’t going to take the person that had changed his life to court. Officer Roberts looked through his notes and gave the information of the other man involved.

“His name is Brock Rumlow.”

a/n: how about that ending huh?......

taglist:

@youlightmeupfinn​

@la-undercover-latina​

@jackiehollanderr​

@fab-notfat​

@galaxy-dusk​

@asoftie4bucky​

@fangirlvoice​

@queenbeecandi*

@babyevansblog​

@stevihj​​

@sherlockstrangewolf​

@notavintagecliche​

@justsomebodyweird*

@katiecg​

@wintasssoldier​

@snufflet​

@buckrecs​

@missvelvetsstuff​

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#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #single dad bucky x single mom reader #teacher!bucky x ceo!reader #love at first grade fic #BuckySimp101

[seehowsupplethespineis]

I missed creating random headcanons, so here’s everyone’s favorite drinks! Feel free to suggest more!

Favorite Beverages:

Optimus- He’s particularly fond of jasmine and green tea, though really any herbal tea suffices. We all know the man needs to relax and herbal tea soothes him to a certain degree. If he’s in need of a dose of caffeine, he’ll switch to black tea. He never resorts to coffee; he can’t stand the taste.

Ratchet: Unlike Optimus, coffee is his friend. He downs at least three cups a day while typing away at his station. Some of it is to keep alert, though largely he just finds it comforting.

Arcee- She prefers iced coffee, namely oliang, or Thai iced coffee as it's often called. She could drink it all day and would if her companions didn’t cut her off.

Bumblebee- Lemonade! He enjoys the sweet and sour flavor and subsequent sugar rush. Sometimes he’ll even bounce up and down while drinking it (Ratchet is concerned about this).

Bulkhead- Strangely, he hates all sodas except for root beer, which is his favorite beverage. Root beer floats are even better!

Megatron- He’ll settle for plain black coffee, though in his heart of hearts he is a material girl who wants a cappuccino or latte served on a saucer.

Starscream- Earl Grey or English breakfast tea. He’ll even add a spot of milk and stir it condescendingly in front of the other Cons. He likes to think it an act of superiority even though he boils the water in the same dented teapot as everyone else.

Knock Out- You know he has the most obnoxious coffee order imaginable; he will not settle for anything less than what he asked for. So far, Breakdown’s been the only one not to crack under the pressure of fulfilling his order (mainly because Knock Out is much more forgiving towards him). Oh, and he also enjoys wine simply so he can swirl it about in a wine glass while lounging seductively.

Breakdown- Hot cocoa! All he’s ever tasted is the cheap powdery kind, but he does not care. He loves it. His secret sweet tooth must be satisfied (when no one’s looking, he adds lots of cream and sugar to his coffee in the morning).

Soundwave- Espresso. One shot and he’s good to go.

Shockwave- Water, of course; it’s the healthiest option. That being said, he’s not averse to coffee. It also has health benefits, so long as one doesn’t consume too much.

Bonus:

Skyfire- Vanilla steamer. It’s sweet and warm and soothing. He can only drink it at night, though, because it will immediately make him sleepy.

Rumble and Frenzy- Did anyone else mix together every single drink at the soda fountain as a kid? No? Well, I did and I think Rumble and Frenzy would, too. Doesn’t matter how disgusting it turns out in the end; they’ll drink every last drop and even offer some to Soundwave, who will sip it to appease them even though it nearly makes him break his impassive exterior.

Wildbreak- Bubble tea. It’s a special treat Knock Out gets him every once in a while. Somehow, his dad knows exactly what flavors he’ll enjoy.

#Transformers #TFP #Optimus Prime #Ratchet #Arcee #Bumblebee #Bulkhead #Megatron #Starscream #Knock Out #Breakdown #Soundwave #Shockwave #Skyfire #Jetfire #Rumble #Frenzy #Wildbreak #Random Headcanons #Writing Entity #TW Food Mention

[catty-words]

i’ve made no secret of the fact that nhie season two nearly single-handedly demolished my deep, abiding love for - or, less dramatically, my minute-by-minute gleeful enjoyment of - the show, but i’m in an ongoing struggle to articulate to myself why exactly that’s the case.

i mean, there is, of course, the way the season handles devi’s agency, with her largely being a victim of circumstance rather than a character making terrible-if-sympathetic choices. the ‘devi abandons her friends when they need her most the second she’s acknowledged by paxton’ vs. ‘devi running her mouth and revealing a secret about aneesa that she didn’t even know was true in the first place’ dichotomy. even the act of dating ben and paxton at the same time is written with such incidental, ‘oh no, this is all so fast’ energy where devi’s concerned, that the storyline is nearly robbed of all characterization intrigue it held because the writing manages to make it feel more like an accident than a choice.

given how important devi’s agency is to the themes of the show, the fact that season two mishandles it so monumentally is honestly a satisfactory enough explanation for why season two irks me the way it does, yet my brain continues to puzzle. and, so long as you’re already indulging me this rant, i think i unlocked something tonight that’s essential to both my discontent with season two and my developing thesis that season three is the rightful continuation of season one: season two messes with paxton and ben’s roles in the triangle in a way that confuses the emotional gravity of devi’s grief.

at this point, it’s well-covered ground here on catty-words dot tumblr dot com, but for the sake of thoroughness, let’s establish what those roles are. paxton is devi’s escapism, ben is devi’s accountability. paxton’s attention offers devi the chance to be the normal girl who’s so hot and cool, it doesn’t even matter that she ever found herself wheelchair-bound in devastation. ben’s attention forces devi to reckon with hard, unflattering truths about herself that she cannot simply rebrand away, to the point where he plays a major role in devi overcoming her denial of her dad’s death.

and this should not be read as a value-judgement on who’s the better romantic interest for her. once again, if you’ve been following me for any length of time, you know i have my preference, but also that i find both relationships narratively rich, swoon-worthy, and important to devi’s development. she needs both the escapism and the accountability to process her grief; there’s a time and place for each.

season three honors these roles by interrogating how it makes devi feel to date a paragon of her own creation (spoiler alert: it makes her feel the need to escape into a different relationship even further removed from the grieving freak she feels herself to be) and by restoring ben as a constant source of tender advice dressed up in snide remarks.

season two, on the other hand, tries casting ben as the unattainable dream, with all his ‘one that got away’ energy and his placement off in the background giggling with aneesa, and paxton as the snide remarker, with all his anger over devi messing up his swimming career (another incidental circumstance, not one that devi manufactured in any meaningful way).

which is not to say the boys absolutely have to be married to their roles - they can and should grow and change as the story requires - but abandoning them entirely when season one had such a strong sense of their purpose does necessarily give season two tonal dissonance.

and, more importantly, the triangle becomes a less useful, far murkier mirror in which devi’s grief can be reflected back to her. mohan’s voicemail becomes the centerfold of devi’s identity (i.e. casting devi as mohan’s ‘perfect girl’ and forcing her to reckon with all the ways she’s failing to live up to that) as well as the escape from her messy life when she gets too stressed. and frankly, having the one manifestation of devi’s grief for the season filling ben and paxton’s season one roles while season two ben and paxton create bland, teen-romance-driven problems in devi’s life is the shittiest possible iteration of both the otherwise complex, well-balanced love triangle and the story of devi’s grief.

the season takes the beating heart of the whole freaking show - devi having to process the death of her father - and makes it feel very one-note. it also robs the love triangle of its profundity; the boys aren’t there to represent the paths devi can take to heal and grow, the three of them are just being kinda shitty to each other for the sake of drama.

#never have i ever #nhie meta #devi vishwakumar #mohan vishwakumar #devi x paxton #devi x ben #season two my belothed

[needcake]

Day 1: surprise/gift

Engport | G | 1.3k

@engportevents

.

.

Small socked feet padding softly across the wooden flooring woke him up on Sunday morning.

Their room was still dark, a faint sound of light rain coming from behind the closed blinds, Gabriel’s steady breaths coming from his side of the bed. Arthur reached blindly for the alarm clock behind him and opened his bleary eyes to stare at the red numbers marking over half an hour before seven. Gabriel grumbled sleepily and he agreed, putting the clock back down and returning his arm around his warm waist.

He was almost, almost, falling asleep again when he heard it once more: small feet trampling the floor going up and down the corridor, scurrying away like mice on a ship.

“I think the boys are up,” he whispered into the collar of Gabriel’s pajamas and his husband groaned tiredly, pulling the sheets tighter around himself and excluding Arthur from his cocoon.

“And why do I have to be?” came Gabriel’s sleepy response, to which Arthur couldn’t think of something equally smart to answer back so he just grunted at him, peeling back the warm covers and blinking at the floor to find his slippers.

He yawned out into the corridor and noticed a single raisin on the floor. Half a meter away he saw another one, and then another one half a meter away from that, trailing all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he found the two scurrying culprit mice.

“What are you two doing up?”

A pair of Asian boys ages 8 and 5 looked over their shoulders at him, frozen and caught. It took one too many seconds for Arthur’s brain to connect the dots and fully understand what the hell was going on. There was spilled milk in the counter dripping down the kitchen tiles, an empty bag of raisins on the floor, eggshells on the counter, orange peels hanging from the kitchen sink faucet. His oldest was holding a pan on top of an open flame on the stove and his youngest stood on a precarious three-legged stool perched beside him, holding scissors.

There was also something burning.

“What the f—”

“You’re not supposed to see!” Leon yelled loudly, jumping from his stool and dashing towards him with the scissors and Arthur barely had time to dodge him and take a step back before the door was slammed on his nose.

He gaped at the door.

Then he huffed.

And then he went back for reinforcements.

“Gabe, wake up,” he said, turning on the lights and the human cocoon on the bed squirmed away, hiding his head under the pillow. “The kids are in the kitchen.”

More squirming. “So what?” came a tired response, muffled from under the pillow. “Come back to bed. They’re probably just making cereal.”

A plate crashed downstairs and Gabriel jolted upright, eyes wide open and alert.

“They are in the kitchen,” he repeated, with emphasis.

A multitude of expressions flashed through Gabriel’s expression, from horror to surprise to bewilderment, back to horror.

“And you just left them there? Arthur!” Gabriel whispered-screamed, untangling himself from his twist of sheets and emerging from the bed an angry butterfly, pulling on the first pair of pants he saw – Arthur’s – and stealing a robe from the rack – also Arthur’s –, spitting hair out of his face as he stood in front of him with his hands on his hips and clothes a size too small for his body. “There are knives in the kitchen! Open flames!”

He stepped aside and Gabriel passed by him, nostrils flared, pulling the sleeves of his robe up to his forearms and puffing like a dragon coming out of its lair ready to breathe fire over an unsuspecting village with Arthur hot on his heels.

As they reached the kitchen, Gabriel raised his fist ready to pound the wood into submission, but just as was about to the door opened a small gap and Leon stuck his head out.

“Vicente said Dad can come in, but only Dad,” he said, and Gabriel’s fist slowly uncurled, still held confusedly suspended in the air.

He looked behind his shoulder at Arthur and they pointed their fingers to one another in a silent argument over who ‘Dad’ was, both of them slowly turning their fingers back towards themselves.

Leon’s little hand darted out from the open crack in the door and grabbed the ends of Gabriel’s stolen robe, dragging him inside and shutting the door on Arthur’s nose again.

Arthur stood there, his mouth still trying to articulate his confusion, when a few seconds later Gabriel was pushed out of the kitchen and stumbled into him, hands catching on Arthur’s arms to steady himself and the two of them barely securing their footing before the door to the kitchen closed again.

He didn’t seem any less confused than Arthur though, which was something of a feat.

“I think…” he started, looking genuinely startled. “I think our sons might be evil geniuses.”

Arthur held his husband by the elbows and remembered to close his gaping mouth.

“Huh.”

-

Gabriel relayed the instructions he had received: they were supposed to stay in bed and wait for the surprise. So back to bed they went, sitting stiffly side by side, staring at the open door waiting for something to happen.

“Still think having kids was the right decision?”

Gabriel turned his head to blink slowly at him, not quite getting it.

“We could be sipping margaritas at a beach somewhere right now,” he continued, and Gabriel’s confusion dissipated, but it was replaced with a warm, humorous something he didn’t have time to articulate into words, because right as Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, a pair of tiny feet sounded on the corridor and the conversation was stalled in favor of both of them turning towards the door.

A pair of flour, butter, sugar-coated boys came in holding a tray of oatmeal-raisin muffins, burnt scrambled eggs, raggedly sliced oranges and tea, which was deposited at the foot of their bed.

“We wanted to surprise you,” Vicente said, and Leon shrugged slightly beside him, supporting a disgruntled little pout on his lips (much too similar to some of Arthur’s to go unnoticed).

And so he was the first one to break out of their stupefied stupor, internally shaking himself and sliding the tray towards them over the duvet. “Well, I’m very surprised,” Arthur said, putting on what Gabriel called his dad-voice, looking at the slightly under-baked muffins and the odd-chopped orange slices and the watery tea. “And you did this all by yourselves?”

Small heads nodded, and Gabriel huffed out a little defeated chuckle through his nose.

“Come here,” Gabriel said, opening his arms to welcome Leon and pull him up into the bed, setting about cleaning his flour-dusted cheeks with Arthur’s robe sleeve. “Whose idea was this?”

“Mine!” Leon piped from his lap, and Arthur saw the small honest smile on Vicente’s face.

He beaconed the child closer and silently asked for his glasses, giving them a good wipe with the hem of his sleeve before handing them back. “Was it?” he asked privately, and Vicente shook his head. He smiled at him and ruffled his hair, making space for the boy to climb on the bed with them.

Arthur winced at the taste of the tea, and Gabriel gagged around a bite of a gooey muffin. But their eyes met over their children’s heads and they held back their laughter.

“You know what?” he said, holding a moment of suspense, looking at his children’s expectant expressions and his husband’s amused raised eyebrows, a mess of sheets and crumbs and droplets of tea on the duvet, Gabriel in his robe and sugar on the kids’ noses and chins. He smiled at it all. “This is actually perfect.”

#engportweekevent #engportweek #engport #hws england #hws portugal #hws macau #hws hong kong #hetalia #a wild fic appears