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kiwisbell · 3 months

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Gloves Off [joel miller]

You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. He builds ‘em up just to knock ‘em down. He’s The Contractor, and he’s your reigning king of the ring.

my masterlist!

pairing: boxer!joel miller x f!reader

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), no outbreak!joel, blood and violence (by virtue of joel’s career), boxing, joel’s got that dawg in him, established relationship, oral fixation, weightlifting, cleaning wounds, protective!joel, soft!joel, joel is a munch, cockblocking, fingering, squirting, riding, unprotected piv (let's not follow this example), creampie, cum eating, dirty talk, light choking, mirror sex, “she” pronoun used — switches to “you” a little ways in & stays that way, some light playful smacking, some light playful blasphemy, a hint of exhibitionism, they're a bedroom-ceiling-mirror couple™️, no i do not know the intricacies of boxing, it's violent and i'm just a girl

word count: ~ 9k

read on ao3!

a/n: this is mostly porn and some very light plot. we're mostly just establishing these two for now – but more will come in the future as i build on this universe! thank you so much mya @cavillscurls for beta reading this mess, for giving joel's girl her fightin' name, and for generally holding my hand. ilysm honey

dividers by the lovely @saradika

follow @kiwisbellupdates and turn on notifications if you'd like to be notified when i post a fic!

It’s loud. Loud enough to bruise. Monstrous pulses of bass resonate from the ground into veins and lungs and muscles. No choice but to swallow.

In those rare moments when the music recedes, it's the swell of the audience, the cloying aroma of beer and the crunch of peanut shells underfoot. It’s the rapacious jeers and whoops from a crowd who refuses to let silence infest. Chest-deep belching and beer-guzzling and bet-placing. Illicit handshakes that become permissible for the next hour.

The lights of the arena dazzle—rhythmic hues of flashing yellowblueorange strobing brilliantly above to the throbbing bass. He always gets uproarious applause, makes an indelible impression: the stoic, humble shake of his wide shoulders as he bounces impatiently on the balls of his feet, the royal blue robe embroidered with gold, the eager kiss he gives his girlfriend as she gently slips the fabric off and gives him a brilliant smile.

He isn't shy about the way he takes his girl into his arms, one big callused hand pulling her in at the small of her back. The audience roars. Cameras flash. Some sort of pre-fight ritual, some unfamiliars presume. Presses go wild for shit like this. Maybe he’s doing it for the cameras.

Then he cups her face, her ear comfortably situated between his thumb and forefinger, briefly bunching her hair in his fist before he lets her go. And—no, this isn't for show. She says something nobody but he can hear, slipping his robe over her own shoulders, too-big and draping off her body, and he grins crookedly, half-listening to his coach rattle off the game plan.

She kisses him chastely on the cheek, but it lingers, some whispers—promises, maybe—softly exchanged. Then she saunters off, hips swaying, tying his robe around her waist.

“And now—”

The drawl of the announcer heralds a cheer.

“Your heavyweight champion, your boy in blue, your reigning king of the K.O.—”

Another piercing uproar. There are few here in Austin who favour the opponent. They toast their cups of foamy beer to the man approaching the ring, still bouncing and shaking out his limbs and popping in a mouthguard.

“You know him. You love him. You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. The Contractor—”

It’s his girl who screams this time, banging the flat of her palms on the floor of the ring, her eyes alight with excitement. Under the robe wrapped around her body is a tight black dress. She's a picture of paradox. Elegance rubs up against the ravenous spirit of the arena. The lights dance in her eyes. Hunger thrives in those irises. Her eyes don't waver from the man entering the ring.

“Joel Miller!”

He slips under the ropes and raises his fists, now adorned in bright red gloves, high in the air. He’s dressed in blue shorts that reflect the strobing colours, torso bare, greying hair tousled. Tousled, no doubt, from her fingers. He stands like a Grecian statue before the crowd, made to be admired, and yet they feel distinctly as if they have intruded on an obscene, private moment.

The judge, dressed in an old polo and a pair of dress slacks, exuding the illusion of propriety, enters next. Joel doesn't smile or wave at the crowd. Fans know his shtick—the cold, calculated killer with the K.O. record last season, disinterested in reputation, a man of focus. But he glances down at the girl just outside the ring and winks. Her answering grin tells a story. But it is not one for the cameras and the press and the beer-guzzlers. It’s just another length of the thread spooling between them.

The opponent arrives—some up-and-coming challenger who goes by Ricky The Great and wears a plastic gold crown as he emerges from the darkness; yawn—and the audience promptly begins their jeers. It’s Texas. Here, Joel Miller owns the scene. That's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Ricky The Great, all glamorous smiles and brush-offs in the face of so much heckling, shrugs off his fire truck-red robe and climbs into the arena. He bumps gloves with Joel, who kneels down and bumps gloves with his girl’s bare fists. The judge speaks to both of them—something about a clean fight, nothin’ dirty now—and the crowd draws a collective breath. The music peters. For a moment, there's silence.

The bell rings and the roar of the crowd crescendos.

Joel makes the first hit. He doesn't bother circling his opponent for long; he strikes precise and true and knocks Ricky’s head back. The rippling of his muscles as he throws his first punch is taut, intricate. A delicate transfer of energy. There's none of the same finesse in the way Ricky strikes: he’s flighty, uncertain, too stiff in his attacks. But he’s got strength, and his blows land.

The first strikes Joel on the left side of his face, a low thud of impact that makes the audience recoil.

She’s lurching forward, spitting venom, hurling fire at the challenger: Oh, fuck that! Is that all you can do? My mother’s dog hits harder than that!

The Contractor shakes it off, back on the defensive, and look at the boy in blue carry the fight, he’s got his arms up to block the next, and he’s returning each punch like he’s making conversation, and folks—folks!—the first round is over, the Contractor is fired up, and he’s not going to let another hit get past him, don't mess with Miller, folks, don't mess with Miller!

With a thick forearm, he swipes his sweat-matted curls away from his sticky forehead and lowers himself into the opposite corner from Ricky The Great.

“You gotta keep your guard up, Texas,” says a sweet, sultry voice—she’s hopping up into the ring, handing him a water bottle. “Don’t get cocky.”

He squirts the water into his mouth and all over his face while his coach Fred takes a knee beside him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your lady’s right. Don’t gotta be on the offensive the whole damn time. Hit him, but hit him smart. He’s a rookie.” Fred claps him hard on the shoulder. “Yeah?”

Joel nods, his brow lowered, his face set in a firm scowl. The Texas Hold ‘Em, she calls that look. Means he's done playin’.

Fred smacks him twice on the cheek. “You gonna fight like you mean it?”

“Goddamn right.”

“You gonna hit the kid like he owes you money?”

“Goddamn fuckin’ right.”

Fred grunts, satisfied. “Good. Then get your ass up and fight like a man, so you can take your girlfriend to dinner. Eh, asshole?”

She bites her bottom lip. “You gonna take me out?”

Joel inhales sharply through his bruised nose as she toys with the tie of the robe around her waist. “Tomorrow night,” he says. “White Rose.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes are doe-like. “Better win this fight, then, Texas. Maybe I’ll treat you.”

She slips under the ropes and winks, settling in for round two. Joel knocks his gloves together and stands up, shaking himself out.

Ricky The Great is giving him a great, bloodied smile, rolling his head around his shoulders. “Hell of a fight you put up,” he says good-naturedly as they meet in the centre of the ring to bump gloves again. “Hell of a pretty girl, too.”

A minute narrowing of brown eyes gone beetle-black. A careful and measured silence as he awaits the next words he knows will decide the course of the night.

“You’ll let me have a go with her after, right?”

The bell chimes. The crowd roars.

Headlines stamped bold-faced on front pages by morning will only beckon a bigger crowd by the next fight.

RICKY THE GREAT K.O.’d IN SECOND ROUND: THE CONTRACTOR REIGNS

You listen to the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of his fists hitting the bag as your teeth absently chew the end of your pen to plastic mulch.

His back is facing you, huge and muscled and rippling with every blow he lands on the bag. Gruff exhales are punched out of him, the deep purple hue of the bruises on his chest pulling taut over tanned skin. He's quiet, typical after a fight, the adrenaline of the ring accumulating in the weight of each punch.

“Joel, honey, a couple venues are asking for you by name. Say they want you in… let’s see, Wyoming, New York, and Las Vegas. Should I tell them you're local only?”

He doesn't answer, the rhythm of his punches never faltering, the cascading path of his spine flexing, dripping beads of sweat. There are dimples in his lower back.

“Joel?”

He isn't just letting off steam.

He’s mad.

You sigh, peeling yourself away from your desk and placing your hand between his shoulder blades. He shows his blows, grasping the bag to keep it still, his head briefly lolling low as you rub his sweat-slick back.

“Come with me,” you say softly, pressing a soft kiss to one of the bruises on his shoulder. He takes a moment to shuck off his gloves, dropping them to the floor and following you to the desk. His hands are still wrapped, knuckles bruised beneath. You guide him gently to sit in your chair while you shuffle through items in the drawers to produce a cloth. You wet it with your water bottle, now lukewarm, and gesture for his hands as you sit on the desk. You begin to unwrap the gauze on his left, letting it rest in your lap.

You make quick work of the wraps and his split knuckles, gently cleaning away the dried blood and making sure no dirt has accumulated. He flexes his fingers when you're finished and seems to relish the twinge of pain that accompanies it.

“You should take it easy on your hands after a fight, honey. Rest up before the next.”

It's lost on him, of course. He hardly sleeps. But he nods, one hand on your thigh, rubbing circles over your hip bone. “I know.”

You smile faintly, touched by his attempt to placate you despite the distant glaze over his eyes, and begin to clean the cuts on his face: one on his lip, his chin, and just below his swollen eye. To his credit, he doesn't flinch much. You've been patching him up long enough.

“Wanna tell me what happened, Texas?”

His eyes shutter, head ducked to evade the tender press of the washcloth to his chin. You frown. “Joel.”

He just shakes his head. You shouldn't have to hear shit like that. And he knows that you know, but you don't say a word, humming softly, the melody of letting it go. Joel grasps your free hand and threads his fingers through yours, his mouth meeting your unmarred knuckles.

“Baby,” you coo, “I need to get you cleaned up. Look at me.”

He lifts his eyes as best he can with one sealed a quarter shut, and you click your tongue softly. “Nobody gets a hit in on my man. Fucking asshole.”

“‘s okay, baby.” He kisses the inside of your wrist and you bite down on a laugh when his moustache tickles your sensitive skin. “I’m okay. Had my coach there with me.”

“Fred’s a pretty good guy,” you say coyly.

Joel hauls you abruptly onto his lap. You yelp, winding your arms around his neck to steady yourself. His lips find your jaw, ghosting along the line of it. “You know I ain't talkin’ about Fred.”

“Take it easy,” you implore him. “You’ve got a split lip and a swollen eye, killer. Can’t go getting all sweet on me.”

He harrumphs, your grumpy old dog, and continues to kiss you anyway, nosing at your cheek so you’ll turn your head to the side. He places his lips on your pulse point and lets them linger there awhile.

At last, he tells you the truth. “He asked if I’d share you.”

You scratch your nails at his scalp, tousling his sweaty curls. “Hmm. Wouldn't be the first time. Remember Galveston?”

His grip instinctively tightens around your waist. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“You got him good, though.”

“Goddamn right.”

“And I got a real nice night out of it. Fuck, that hotel room. The continental breakfast. The bath.”

“That fuckin’ dress,” he adds, nipping your jaw. “Could've eaten you alive.”

“You did.”

Joel chuckles, kissing his way back to your mouth. “Never goin’ back to that bar again, though.”

He’d started a good-and-proper fight in the dive bar that night a few years back over some piece of shit who pinched your ass in front of Joel. Your killer had made quite the reputation for himself… after you and Fred bailed him out of the county jail with a decent rap sheet to take back home as a souvenir. From the proud gleam in his eye that night, you guessed he'd happily paste that record to the refrigerator if he had his say.

“I don’t know, honey. Folks in that town know not to mess with Texas.”

He gives you a hard look. Goddamn right.

“You had me going there for a minute during that first round,” you tell him, cupping the good side of his face. “You feel okay?”

He studies you, fingers idly tracing your vertebrae. “Yeah, baby. I’m good.”

“You still feel like that dinner at the White Rose?”

He grins crookedly. “If you let me pick your dress.”

You smile, brushing some wet curls away from his forehead. “Anything you need.”

Kissing him deeply, you lick your way into his mouth, your thighs hugging his hips. Joel groans, pulling you snug to him by the small of your back, and you feel him begin to fill out his shorts, his length warm and heavy against his leg. You roll your hips, desire tingling at your fingertips and spreading inward.

It’s warm and sticky, this love he has. It’s the way the sunlight glues a gold shine to his skin when he first wakes and it’s the boundless crooning melody of “Purple Rain” in your ear as he's winding down from a fight. He’s the muggy fingers of dusk, languid and lazy on your body, gold darkening to black as you become a thing he seeks to cover, conceal, make only his.

He suffocates. It’s how he best knows to show you his love.

Joel tugs your hair so you’ll tip your head back and leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up your throat, stern in his nibbles and bites, teeth scraping along the cut of your jaw.

“Joel…”

“You know what I need.” Joel jerks his chin in the direction of the bench. “Go and spread ‘em, nice and wide for me.”

Oh, you think, noting the tension that still coils in his shoulders. Oh.

Your heart thunders as you obey, crossing the room and lowering yourself onto the adjustable bench, thighs straddling the cushion. Joel’s eyes are catlike, pupils puffy, predatory. He prowls toward you, dropping to one knee, near-clinical in his assessment of your posture, your heaving chest, the slight quiver of your thighs as he lifts his hands to squeeze your soft flesh.

“Wanna see you,” he says plainly. “Show me.”

You’re giddy with excitement as you lift the hem of your top and toss it aside, giving him a good view of the white lace cupping your breasts. Joel hums, shifting closer, easing your thighs open to fit his broad shoulders.

One of his hands migrates from your hip to your ribcage, his thumb brushing over the soft swell of your breast. You shudder, letting him explore you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Take this off,” he says. You reach for the clasp of your bra and let it join your discarded shirt. The rough pad of his thumb rolls gently over your nipple as your skin puckers and you begin to stiffen.

“Joel,” you whisper. He tuts you into silence and warms your sternum under his palm.

“Relax, baby. Let me see you play for a little while.”

Leaning back on the bench, your hand trails down your body, fingers dancing on your soft, sweet skin, and Joel’s licking his lips before you can even reach the apex of your thighs—lifting your skirt and showing him the simple cotton panties covering his meal. You’ve darkened the fabric with your arousal.

“Goddamn vision,” says Joel. “So fuckin’ pretty. You need someone to pay her some attention?”

“Please,” you mewl, your fingers swiping lightly over your clit. “Please, baby, I need you so bad.”

Joel lowers himself beneath your skirt and presses a soft kiss to your pussy over your panties. Your hips buck instinctively, seeking his mouth, but Joel presses his palm flat against your lower belly.

“Joel…”

“Lie still, sweetheart. I need a taste.”

You whine, a bit petulant, but let him take his time, his tongue darting out to lick you over your underwear. The muffled pleasure makes you choke on air, your head falling back against the bench. You lose sight of his head under your skirt, unable to grasp his hair or guide him closer, unable to do anything except let him take what he wants.

Back when he used to smoke, Joel found a replacement drug between your legs. He’d lick and suck at your clit until he no longer craved the sweet stick of nicotine to his lungs; sometimes, on fight nights like this one, he’ll spend hours with his mouth on your body to quell the buzz of adrenaline that beat his heart against his ribs. He needs his hit in the shape of you.

His new habits had carried over in the years since he quit. Now, he’s dimpling your thighs with his fingers, keeping you spread open as he teases you with his mouth, making out with your pussy. He swallows your sweet little moans and inhales your scent and loses himself entirely in the pleasure of being between your thighs.

“Fuck, baby—” Your voice breaks into a whimper as he at last shifts your ruined panties aside and slides his hot tongue through your weeping slit. “Ahhhh, fuck. Yeah, right there.”

He groans at the first real taste of you, drenched and puffy and practically crying for him, your hips grinding in time with the swirling motions of his tongue. The sting of the cut on his lip, soaked in your wetness, does little to deter him. He delves into you, the slope of his nose pressed against your sensitive little clit as he glides the tip of his tongue around your hole. Your hands find your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples between your fingers, head lolling against the cushion of his bench.

Joel slides the flat of his tongue through your slit repeatedly, lavishing attention on your folds with his lips, kissing you deeply and fervently, the consistent pressure pooling in your core. Your stomach tightens when he sucks your clit between his lips, moustache prickling your thighs as he hugs your thighs around his shoulders. They rest on his back, your toes curling with the mounting pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your slick pearl and takes it into his mouth.

“Ohhhh, yes. Yesyesyes, just like that. Fuck, baby, that feels soooooh!”

Joel growls, crushed into your pussy, deafening himself as he holds your thighs firm around his ears, split knuckles stinging. He needs this. He’ll die if he doesn't have this. Your gooey-sweet body cups him in a soft, glowing light, warmth wiggling out from the core of you and splitting him down the middle. He eats you until you're sobbing his name, begging to come, jerking your hips around under the weight of his tongue against your clit.

“Joel, I’m…”

He knows. He can feel it. You pulse slowly, rhythmically, your stomach tight and your hips grinding up into his face. With one finalistic twitch of your thighs, your leg kicks out, and you come, your head thrown back against the bench, your entire body seizing with Joel’s head fixed between your legs.

He doesn't stop when you begin to shiver on your way back down, licking up the release from your tight little hole and slathering it over your folds just to drink it back up again. You give him a gurgling moan, reaching down to shuck your skirt up and reveal his face: pupils wide, fingers dimpling your thighs, he looks intoxicated. Gently licking your puffy clit, he swirls his tongue over it, and you gasp, your fingers curling in his sweaty locks.

“Joel, up,” you plead, tugging on his hair. He groans, absconding from your oversensitive pussy, his mouth leaving messy kisses up your belly.

He rests his chin there, looking dazedly up at you. He slowly drags his tongue over his bottom lip, his moustache slick with you. Your thighs suffer a phantom twitch as you watch him idly clean himself up. “Kiss me,” you croak, hauling yourself upright and cupping the back of his neck in your hand.

He does, licking at your kiss-bruised lip, begging for entry. You grant it, tasting your own release on his tongue, a little dazed yourself by the heady tang. Joel’s big arms wrap around your hips, pulling you closer by the small of your back. He breaks the kiss just to tilt your chin up with his nose and nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m all yours, Texas,” you whisper, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Always have been.”

And the smug bastard grins, the shape of it burned into your throat. “Yeah, I know.”

“Miller, your girlfriend's here.”

Ben doesn't even bother to look up from the books as you breeze past his desk with a paper bag in your hands.

“Hi, Ben,” you chirp.

“Hi, honey. He’s in the ring.”

“Thanks!”

Joel, meanwhile, unstraps his gloves, clapping Hank on the shoulder. “Good fightin’, man,” he says.

The younger guy wheezes out a cough as he sheds his own gear. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get the shit kicked outta me by you anytime, Miller.”

You appear around the corner, all smiles, carrying his lunch. Joel hops down from the ring and scoops you up in his arms, setting you down on the edge of the platform. You playfully dig your heels into his ass to pull him closer.

“Smells so good, baby,” he says, grinning against your mouth, the kiss turning into a mess of lips and teeth.

“Me or the food?”

He gives your ass a swat. “What'd you bring me?”

“BLT on rye from Nico’s. Because you didn’t eat breakfast,” you say pointedly.

Joel drops his forehead to your shoulder. “Shit. Sorry, coach.”

“You can apologise later,” you purr, tilting his chin up with your fingers, “the way you do best. For now, just eat.”

“Get a fuckin’ room, Miller,” booms Willie from the opposite side of the gym, barrel-chested and big-headed, wailing on the pads his much smaller trainer holds at arm’s length. You roll your eyes, handing the sandwich to Joel.

But he puts his hands right on your ass and yanks you closer, his teeth gnashing out to catch a nipple through your dress. “Don’t you dare go all male,” you chide. “You're just hungry.”

“Fred won't let me fight him,” grumbles Joel, unwrapping the sandwich and diving in, one hand still kneading your ass. His second nature is touching you. His fingers drum along your vertebrae in the back-and-forth rhythm of a fight.

“That’s because Fred wants you fighting strangers only,” you remind him, plucking his towel from the rope and tousling his sweaty curls. “And so do I.”

You dry him off, sweat and a little blood soaking into the pile, as Joel buries his face between your tits. You smack him upside the head.

“Miller,” calls Fred, hurrying toward the pair of you, “I need a syllable.”

Joel huffs, dropping into a chair and pulling you with him. You toss the damp towel aside and brush his curls away from his forehead. He continues to devour his sandwich like it's his last fucking meal despite your slow downs and don’t chokes, one strong arm banding around your waist.

Fred tucks a cigarette behind his ear, his eyes a little wired. “I’ve got Danny Cain on the phone in my office, and he's asking' for you.”

You frown. “He reps The Preacher.”

“Yeah. He fuckin’ does.” Fred sounds damn near breathless. “And The Preacher wants to fight you, Miller, so you'd better get into my office and answer that fuckin’ line.”

Joel pats your ass and stands with you. “Jesus, Fred, all right. C’mon, baby.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the coach plucks the cigarette from his ear. “I’m going for a smoke. Don't fucking fuck each other in my office, or I swear to God—”

“Keep your whistle on, Freddie,” you call over your shoulder. You can feel the backdraft of the steam billowing from his ears when Joel gives your ass another firm swat.

“Baby, this is huge,” you tell him, locking yourselves inside Fred’s office. His line blinks red. “If you can win against the Preacher…”

“I get to rub it in that God-fearin’ asshole’s face forever.”

“And you’ll steal his record.” You playfully gnash at the tip of his nose, and he grabs a handful of your ass, pulling you with him.

“You're goddamn right I will.” Joel grins, lounging in Fred’s chair and picking up the receiver. “Miller.”

His hand beckons you as he tucks the phone between his chin and shoulder. You slide back into his lap and put the phone on Speaker.

“It’s good to finally talk with you, Joel.” It's the gruff drawl of Danny Cain, extremely-former heavyweight champ. “My guys and I have been sniffin’ after you for a while now.”

Joel draws little rings over your spine with his fingers, connecting them like links on a chain. “Y’know, I used to watch your fights as Genesis all the time with my pops before he went.”

You nip his ear over the subtle dig. “Listen, man, after the ratings you drew in for the fight against that idiot kid the other night, it’d be idiotic not to put you up against David.”

Your brows lift suggestively, and Joel’s teeth gleam in the relative darkness as the corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile. “That so?”

A brief pause. You picture Cain’s chest deflating in a cold sigh, frost creeping over all that he breathes on. “That's so. Ratings gold, and we’re willing to split the difference on travel if you're willing to meet in the middle. Crowd’ll go crazy to see the biggest names in heavyweight knock skulls. If you agree, I’ll be calling your agent.”

Joel’s grin widens, calluses playing upon the soft flesh of your inner thigh, inching his way under your dress. “My agent will be mighty pleased to hear from you,” he says, punctuated by a firm press of his palm to your warm core. “Better be nice to her. She can be a real biter if you ain't careful.”

You grasp his wrist and use his hand to pull your panties aside, bringing two of his fingers to swipe through your slit. Joel watches them emerge glistening, eyes slits beneath his lashes, as Cain says, “Gonna need a yes or no from you, Miller.”

Joel’s gaze is hawklike as you bring his fingers to your mouth and slide your tongue along their length. “Yeah.” His voice is coarse as the white scarring over his knuckles. “Yeah, you got yourself a deal.”

Cain grunts his approval, and you both clock the gentle scratching of pen on paper. “Is your agent around to talk now, or should I wait ‘til later?”

You lift your brows, sealing your lips over his fingers, letting them slide, hot and wet, down your throat. You taste the tang of your arousal, blooming outward from your core as Joel’s free hand greedily bunches the fabric of your dress. You’re pressed flush to his chest, your tongue licking sweat and slick from his fingertips.

“Sorry, Danny, my agent’s got her mouth full at the moment. Can’t quite talk.”

Joel’s pupils are puffy in the darkness. Your body is illuminated by the small window in Fred’s office. He likes it when he's swallowed by black. You're the one who looks best in the light, anyway. “Later’s good. Lookin’ forward to takin’ down your Preacher.”

“Careful, Miller. Ego like that will get you in trouble,” says Cain.

“Ego’s got me this far,” says Joel. He’s stopped listening. “See you in confessional.”

And he hangs up the phone, yanking you around the waist so you're straddling his hips, sitting nice and pretty on his lap, his fattening length sitting heavy against his thigh.

Your smile is a wicked, crawling shiver that begins at his tailbone and creeps upward. “You Godless bastard.”

“Tell me all about it,” he says, reaching around your body and shucking your skirt up around your hips. “C’mere.”

You bite down on your grin, cupping his cheek in your palm and kissing him. Joel capitalises on his chance to swallow you whole, prying your mouth open, sliding his tongue along yours, his palms sliding up your arms, conjuring goosebumps.

“My beautiful girl,” he groans, nipping hungrily at your bottom lip. “My perfect, sweet, mean fuckin’ girl. Gonna take down that goddamn Preacher. Gonna take you to Italy.”

“Mmm, Italy.” You sigh happily against him, tasting memory. Gelato and baked ziti. Suntanning on white sand. Rolling around beneath fresh linens and lounging, catlike, on beach chairs, a drink always in hand. The cloying coconut notes of sunscreen and the supple flesh of your ass as he took his time rubbing it all in. “I miss Italy.”

Joel preens at the sound of you practically purring, your body flowering for him, nuances hidden in the slight swirling of your hips, the greedy fistfuls you take of the hair at the nape of his neck. He tilts his chin up, drinking down the proximity of you, your skin silk and perfume and memories of years he’s given you. Your lust-soaked pupils expand, wet and rimmed red near your waterline, desperation you will not vocalise. He watches you teeter on the precipice of your pride and pulls you closer, priming your body to tip sweetly over the edge.

You gasp into his mouth as he hooks his fingers beneath the straps on your shoulders and abruptly yanks down the top of your dress. The fabric pools at the flare of your waist, your nipples stiffening as your tits confront cool air. Joel’s eyes droop, black as pitch, watching the light shift over your heaving chest.

Your breath catches when he touches you. And his hands are there, because they must be, because there is no other choice, curling around your ribs, thumbs brushing the supple swell of your breasts. The shiver wrecks you, coiled tight around your spine, your underwear dampening. You sit right atop his thick, persistent length, grinding absentmindedly to relieve the pressure winding around your stomach, and the fact that you’re in Fred’s office becomes a microcosm of you-and-Joel. There is nothing but.

Joel studies you like he’ll be tested: eyes following the path of his hands, he does not once blink, that suffocating black gaze cupping hot wax over your belly, letting the makeshift bowl tip out in increments. He knows how to keep you alight just long enough to turn needy, desperate, close to inhuman.

“Baby,” you croak, watching the callused tips of his fingers meet your nipples, pinching softly, not quite enough to hurt, just enough to feel it in the steady dripdripdrip of your arousal. You’re pooling in your panties, heady and warm and too-big for this small, small room. Need pushes outward against the walls, boxing you in tight, locking you in gravity with his body.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Be nice ‘n’ quiet, now. Fred’ll have a bird.”

“Oh, please.” Fred doesn’t know half the things you’ve done in his office. You grind down on Joel’s erection and watch his bared teeth glimmer. You need him now.

Head swimming, honeyed and slow, Joel languidly nuzzles his face between your breasts, alternating between soft licks and playful bites. Your sternum is electrified, your bare skin humming for his touch. Joel cups the scruff of your neck in his rough hand and leaves open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your jaw. You moan, your head lolling backward, cradled safely in his palm, pushing out your breasts to give him better access. He grins, chest puffing up, leaving a deeper-than-usual imprint of his teeth in your pulse point. Your answering shudder, your throaty little groan, your tug on his hair, bordering on painful, please him to no end. His cock twitches underneath you, aching to be freed.

“Actually, baby, go ahead and be as loud as you like. I sign his checks.”

Your reproach is halfhearted, muffled in his throat, the echo of the fightin’ bell vibrating low in your body. “I sign his checks,” you point out, nibbling his earlobe, your fingers tugging his too-long curls. He needs a cut before his next fight.

Joel chuckles, pressing his fingers to your clit over your ruined panties. “You need me in here? Need me nice ‘n’ deep?”

You moan like a whore at the friction, hips bucking. You pulse uselessly, emptily, the slow grind of your clit along his length not enough. “Joel, please… fuck, I need… need you inside. Please fuck me, honey, please. I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he says mockingly, shifting your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your soaked slit. “So fuckin’ wet. Poor baby girl needs a mean old man to show her a good time.”

Your eyes are frenzied, wild, sweat glistening at your temples. You nod frantically, your hand dipping between your bodies to squeeze his cock over his shorts. Joel grunts, fisting your hair. “I need it,” you mewl. “Fuck, I need it. Need your big fucking cock. You’re so big.”

The harsh rapping of knuckles on Fred’s office door deters neither of you. Still grinding, still palming at him, you don’t stop, arousal clouding your judgement. “Dirty fuckin’ girl,” Joel grits out. “He’s right outside. You wanna make him mad?”

You whine. You don’t want to piss off Fred—not really.

But you’re nodding anyway, rocking yourself against him, puffing out incomplete wisps of his name that dissipate as smoke on the air.

The knocking escalates, now desperate.

“I swear to God,” shouts Fred, pounding hard on his door, “if you two don’t stop right now, I’m banning the both of you for fucking life.”

Joel groans, letting Fred hear it, his forehead resting against yours. “Goddammit.”

You pout, hips slowing to a crawl on his lap. Your core is still tightly-wound, his erection no less firm against your inner thigh, but the moment has passed. For now.

“Later,” you whisper.

He gives your tits a fond squeeze before he helps you secure your straps back over your shoulders.

Later.

“Just like that, baby. Good. That’s a good girl.”

“It doesn’t feel right, Joel.”

“That’s because you’ve never done it before. It’ll take time. Now, c’mon, arms up.”

You huff, raising your fists the way he’s taught you, letting him adjust your stance as he circles you. “Higher,” he says plainly. You obey, your left hand obscuring your face; Joel curls his own fist around it and untucks your thumb. “Thought I taught you how to throw a good punch. What’s this?” He wiggles your thumb.

Your Joel is all business when it comes to self-defence. Your face warms as he puts his hands on your waist to shift your feet, but he’s clinical. He doesn’t let you steal a kiss or flirt your way out of a lesson.

Plenty of time for that once I know you’re safe, he says. Bastard.

“That’s good, baby. Much better.” And fuck it all, his praises make you a little more pliant to his commands, buzzing with the prospect of finally getting him into bed tonight. If you listen, you’ll get out sooner, and you’ll get his dick. You cycle your mantra in your head as Joel lifts his naked palms to you.

“Now,” he says, “you ready to fight?”

You glare. “Not before you announce me.”

The grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. He may be stern about your teachings, but he’s a sucker, and he’s always been.

Joel raises his voice to a rare boom, alerting those few stragglers still packing up their gear around the pair of you. “You know her. You love her. If you don’t, you better check your goddamn priorities. You wanna see her kick some ass.” He’s cupping his hands over his mouth and mimicking the roar of the crowd. “She’s The Agent, and she’ll sign your contract… for termination.”

A few stray whoops and whistles erupt from the meagre crowd. You take an extravagant, swooping bow and bring your fists back up at the ready.

“C’mon, now. Show me what you've got,” says Joel, clapping his palms together and presenting them for you to punch. “Keep your guard up.”

You only waver for a moment, and you’re certain he sees the frown that ticks across your brow. “I don't wanna—”

Joel shakes his head, beckoning you with a flick of his fingers. “You can't hurt me, baby. C’mon. Be mean. Be a killer.”

Your face screws up in concentration as you aim a blow at his palm. You’re thrown off balance more than he, who barely budges. He steadies you with a hand at your waist and merely repositions you to hit him again. The only satisfaction you find is in the demarcated circle of tender pink that’s begun to grow where your punch landed.

“Not bad, if you could stay upright,” says Joel.

“Do you want to get your dick inside me tonight, Miller, or would you prefer to sleep on the couch?”

His crooked smile ignites your competitive side. “Hit me again.”

“I was put on this earth to be pretty and shout at people, Joel. I was not meant to fight. That’s why you’re here.”

“And you do a beautiful job, baby. Now, hit me.”

Throwing less of your body and more of your arm into the second blow, you manage to strike at his hand hard enough to rock it backward. He grunts his approval and nods for you to go again. “Don’t overextend your arm. You’ll pull somethin’ that way. Keep it tight to your body, block your precious organs, and hit me nice ‘n’ controlled.”

You’re alarmed by the low pitch of his voice as he instructs you, the timbre pulling taut at your core. It’s the same tone he uses when he wants to direct your body, mould you the way he likes, make you bend to the shape that pleases him best. Your fist tightens and you hit him again.

For making me wet at the gym, you asshole.

You throw another punch, remembering to keep your arm tucked in, your gut protected, and a satisfying groan rumbles in his chest.

“That’s it, baby.”

You’ve backed him into the corner of the ring, his spine on the ropes, your knuckles stinging from impact after impact until—

“All right, killer,” he says, closing his hand around your fist when you land your final punch. “That’s enough. Your knuckles are gonna split, and it’s my job to be the bloody one. Right?”

Your chest glistens with a thin smattering of sweat, your noses mere inches apart as he sweeps his gaze over your weary body and licks his bottom lip. Your mouth opens as if to catch the breath he lets go.

He brings your sore hand to his mouth. “Home?” he says gruffly.

His moustache bristles around the crest of your knuckle, mouth pursed to slot perfectly in place. There are few spaces he could occupy that don’t feel as right as this.

His mouth is on you before you’ve turned the key to the front door of your home. He stumbles with you in his grasp, his hard chest flush to your back, walking you toward the bedroom with little ceremony. He’s feverish in the way he mouths wetly at your throat from behind, his fingers splayed over your belly to maintain his own balance. Still, his desire is clumsy, staggering, his other hand kneading your ass despite the fact that it’s wedged between your bodies.

“Easy, Texas,” you laugh. It turns breathless as he sucks on your pulse, his hot mouth drawing blood to the surface just beneath your jaw, the hairs of his moustache tickling your sensitive skin. Your hand flies back, burying your fingers in his locks, as Joel’s grabby hands fiddle with the straps of your dress.

“Want it off,” he grumbles.

You coax him with a couple slow downs while he fumbles with the fabric, and he just shakes his head. “No. Want it off. Lift.”

“Caveman.” You roll your eyes, raising your arms above your head to placate him. He tugs your dress up and over your head, tousling your hair in the process, reaching around your body to squeeze your tits in his hands.

Another laugh bubbles up. “No taking it slow tonight?”

He lands a smack on your ass. “Fuck that. Bend over.”

Your shared bedroom boasts a California King, a smattering of houseplants (your idea—for fresh air), and a mirror on the ceiling, directly above the bed. That was Joel’s idea.

Giggling, you lower yourself over the mattress as he drops to his knees behind you, kissing all the way down your spine, mouthing at the small of your back, hands roving and groping. He squeezes your hips, pinning you against the mattress, his hot breath lifting the hairs on your skin. His lips are wet, warm, pliant against your core—and you choke when he slathers his tongue over your panty-covered asshole, his huge arms hugging your thighs around his ears.

“Joel, holy fuck. Oh my God—”

He bites into the flesh of your ass, his fingers sliding achingly slow up your inner thigh. Your mouth hangs open, cheek pressed to the mattress, as he slides your panties aside and licks a hungry stripe between your folds.

“Ohhhh, God, baby, yeah. Yeah, keep going. Please keep going.”

And he may be a complete asshole, but he’s nothing if not indulgent—so he yanks down your panties, grabs you by the hips, and roughly turns you on your back.

“Keep goin’?” he says gruffly, pressing his middle and ring fingers to your tight hole. “Then look up and watch yourself come in that mirror, baby.”

You shudder, tilting your chin up to catch your own eye in the mirror on the ceiling. It’s fucking obscene to see yourself spread out on the bed, Joel lying between your thighs, your chest rising and falling in the dim light of your twin orange lamps. You watch his hand creep up your belly, pressing gently on your sternum as if to anchor you in place, and a whimper leaves your mouth when he dips his head to taste you.

His fingers slide through your wetness and stretch open your cunt as he laps lazily at your clit, keeping you malleable and relaxed and soaking-fucking-wet. Your back arches into his rough palm, a crescendo of Joel oozing from the corners of your mouth. He hums, adding to the chorus, his fingers’ percussive rhythm (in-out, in-out, punctuated by a tortuous curl against your sweetest spot) dragging out the song of your pleasure. He’s an expert by now. A fucking maestro.

“Ahh, yes, right there,” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair, “rightthererightthererightthere! Yes, yes!”

You squeeze him as he fucks you with his fingers, relentless in the pursuit of his victory, your high. His lips, briefly mesmerised by the crease where your thigh meets your hip, now migrate to your pussy, flattening between your folds and flicking at your pearly wet clit. In the mirror above your head, you see the flutter of your thighs, the intake of breath, the greedy curl of your hand in his locks.

He’s going to fucking kill you.

You taste iron and realise you’ve bit your lip. Joel, of course, occupied by your pretty clit but spying to make sure you’re still watching your reflection, spots it, and slides his hand to your throat, squeezing gently at the pulse points on both sides before he slips the pad of his thumb past your bottom lip.

You moan around him, your jaw forced open, blood smearing around the tip of his thumb, mingled with saliva. It blinds you, the fucking filth of it, as he removes his thumb only to hook his hand around your chin and flatten two fingers to your tongue.

He likes to open you up this way. Your body takes him in so readily, happily sucking on the fingers in your mouth and squeezing down on those in your pussy like a goddamn bear trap. His healing knuckles sting from the sensation of being trapped deep inside you, where he fucking belongs. Tongue lapping at your clit, a cat to milk, Joel watches as your body begins to writhe underneath him, your eyes still dutifully fixed on the mirror, and he knows.

He knows exactly the tells you begin to display for him: the hitch of your breath halfway up your throat, the way it hollows in a little pool, the perpetual grinding of your hips against his face. Your stomach is tightening, your cunt slick with the relentless push-pull of his fingers.

He removes his mouth briefly from your clit, using the heel of his palm instead, letting you roll your hips up against him. “Gonna come, baby?” he asks, a little breathless, eyes wild and black.

You nod, whining, your fingers tugging at his scalp until tears prickle in his ducts. He groans, biting into your thigh, and watches as your pussy convulses, a drop of your own wetness splashing onto his forearm.

A minute tick of his brow.

Oh, yeah. He knows.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, the frothy slick of your arousal webbing between his fingers. “Yeah, you’re gonna fuckin’ come. You’re gonna get me all fuckin’ wet with this creamy pussy, baby.” He grins at the sight of the tears slipping from your eyes, your eager sucking as you take his fingers down your throat. “You’re gonna watch yourself squirt. You hear me?”

Your thighs twitch, your hips bucking in his hand, and he feels fucking strong. He feels like the goddamn winner.

He takes his fingers from your mouth so he can hear your cries, your bruised lips spilling over with molten gold pleas and chants. It’s garbled, it’s nonsense, you’re coming—

And Joel, the fucking asshole, gets you there with a smile on his face, his palm rubbing hard against your needy clit, his fingers curling into the spot that forces the pressure up, up, out…

“Thaaat’s it, baby. Soak me, c’mon. Get me all wet.”

“Joel, Joel, Joel, ffffffffffuck—”

It’s the intermittent hiss of a pressure-release valve, your juices splattering onto Joel’s chin, glistening obscenely in the hairs on his chest, your hips bucking wildly against his face. He growls into you, his hand pressing down on your belly as he fucks his fingers in and out, in and out, the filthy shlick of your wet cunt warming your cheeks. Joel’s mouth is latched to your hypersensitive clit as you writhe beneath him, lengthening the torture just enough to make you scream, your thighs suffocating him.

More wetness spurts from your cunt as Joel retracts his fingers. Crawling back up your body with gentle kisses to your soft, sweat-slick skin, he pulls you slowly back into yourself, no longer staring absently at yourself in the mirror but blinking up at him, a sleepy smile crinkling the corners of your eyes.

“Knew you could do it,” he says with a crooked grin.

You smack his shoulder. “You're such a dick,” you croak.

“That any way to say thank you, baby girl?” Joel takes your nipple between his teeth and playfully swats your other breast.

You tug his hair. “Joel!”

“Not quite.” He presses his lips to your sternum, his hands kneading your tits.

Your moan is soft and sighing, your hips wiggling underneath him with what little room you have. “Mmm, yeah. Like that, baby. Touch me.”

“All I ever wanna do”—his mouth moves, carving a path to your jaw, the strong curve of his nose tilting your chin up so you’re forced to watch yourself in the mirror once more—“is touch you.”

His dick is a heavy, throbbing weight in his shorts, which he shucks down with little ceremony, tossing aside his shirt and socks so he can hover, skin-to-skin, above your body.

Briefly, he studies you, swiping your tears away with his thumb, his arm flexing next to your head. You smile through your daze, cupping his cheek in your palm. The prickling of his beard makes an imprint on your skin as he nuzzles your hand.

“Your turn to watch,” you whisper, brushing the pad of your thumb across his chin. “Lie on your back.”

Joel rolls you on top of him, sitting atop his length, hot and pulsing beneath your messy cunt. You place your hands on his chest, gently rolling your hips. Joel groans, his hands flying to your hips.

“Jesus, baby.”

“You need someone to take care of you, Texas.” Your hands caress his chest, the rippling muscles of his biceps, the taper of his waist. “You worked hard today. You signed a deal.”

“You signed a deal. Shit—” His voice breaks as you take a playful bite of his throat, smacking your flank in feeble retribution. “Shit, baby. Sit on my dick.”

“You wanna come?” You grind down on him, coaxing precum out of his tip and cleaning it off his belly with your finger. Joel watches with lidded eyes as you spread it around your used clit. “Watch the mirror, baby.”

With your guidance, your nose tilting his chin skyward, Joel obeys, admiring the curve of your naked spine in the mirror, the way your body undulates on top of him. You're a fucking vision. He’s void of a reason you’d pick him, but your reverent hands are trailing up and down his muscled torso, and Joel doesn't give a fuck why as long as you keep choosing him.

You finally reach between your bodies and sink down to the hilt. He bares his teeth, fingers ironclad around your hips. You’re careful in your study of him as you lift yourself up and drop back down, admiring the cut of his jaw as he keeps his head angled toward the mirror.

And fuck, he stretches you—wrenched open around him, you’re consumed, filled to the throat, ruined, and Joel’s pleading with you to move, baby, but you don't know if you can. Your thighs tremble with the effort, your body weak from your orgasm, and you feel you’ve all but failed him until his hands begin to slide up your spine and pull you down, flush to his chest.

“Just like this,” he says into your ear, wrapping his fist around your hair. “C’mon, baby. Ride me just like this.”

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder as you bob up and down on his dick, eliciting precisely the strained groans you want to hear from him. “That's it,” he huffs, his mouth perpetually open, sliding against your temple.

He's still watching you writhe in the foggy mirror, the delicious dips and planes of your figure haloed by the fuzzy light pooling in the room. His cock twitches inside you, hot and wet and so fucking tight, your chests sliding together with the rhythmic dance of your joined bodies.

It's a tangle of limbs and extremities and it smells like the musk of sweat, sex, perfume still lingering. It's the dizzying scent of your shampoo. It's your mewling cries of his name as you ride him like a spoiled fucking princess. His balls pull tight, his head swimming, spiralling with the feel of you so warm and soft in his arms.

Joel’s tongue loosens, his high a foregone conclusion. “You wanted to ride me in that chair today. Ain't that right, baby girl? You wanted to get fucked all loose right out in the open. I’d do it. I’d sit you right on my dick in front of everyone else and let ‘em see how fuckin’ pretty you are when you come. None of ‘em could touch. All of ‘em wanna fuck you. They think you’re so goddamn pretty, so tight and soft. You wanna show ‘em?”

You suddenly seize, your hands grasping his hair, face buried in his throat, and you're gushing. You're fucking squirting again, and it’s everywhere: beading in the trail of hair on his belly, dripping down his balls, smearing between your bodies as you continue to ride him in the haze of your climax.

“Oh, Jesus. Goddamn—shit—”

Joel groans, his eyes at last shuttering as his arms wind around your body to clutch you tight. Teeth bared against your cheek, he pumps you full. It's hot, sticky, messy. It’ll need a change of bedsheets. It wrings every ounce of energy from his bones and fogs up the mirror until you're both smudges of skin and hair.

You begin to giggle, your face hidden in the crook of his neck, your entire body trembling. Joel isn't sure what's funny, but he starts to laugh in tandem.

“Gotta clean you up,” he mumbles, absently pressing kisses along your jaw. “Made a fuckin’ mess, baby.”

“Hmph. I’ll think about it.” You’re settling in for a winter’s nap, it seems, tucking yourself into his side. Joel caresses your back, delighted by the thrilling little shivers that visibly travel up your spine.

His ears stop ringing after a minute or two. He stares up at the mirror for twice as long as that as clarity begins to seep back into the glass from the corners. Your lashes flutter against his bare skin every time you blink.

“Do you really think I can beat him?”

The question lingers long after it's asked, the way smoke from a candle still swirls after it's burned out.

You make a soft sound of acknowledgement. “What makes you think you can’t?”

“He’s a good fighter. Don’t matter that he’s an asshole.”

Your soft, melodic hum tells him you're falling asleep. “Funny. I say the same thing about you all the time.”

“Just…” He swallows. “Just promise me somethin’.”

You lift your head, eyes alert and blinking. “Promise me that we’ll be good,” he says tightly. “That we could lose it all right now, right this second, and we’d still be okay. You’d still be here.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow. He wants to wipe away the gash between your brows. “I must not have done a very good job of lovin’ you if you really think I’d leave,” you say sweetly, your fingers trailing up and down his arm. “I’m in your corner, Texas. And it’s not just because you need me. We don’t need a big house and a pool and a home gym. We never used to have any of that.”

You’re smiling now, eyes glittering in the relative darkness. Joel exhales, and his entire body shudders as if plucking out his lungs and lending them to you.

“I’ll love you when you win, and I’ll love you if you lose,” you tell him. “You’re my guy.”

Joel nods: a simple tip of his head. He doesn't need much more than that.

He may not need to win, but for you, for this, he will.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fluff #boxer!joel #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic

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mayearies · 8 months

Text

☆.

QUEENS TREAT

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒

˚ʚ property of ©hiimayee ɞ˚

genre: fluff (angst if you really squint) | warnings: spanish request: “a miles morales x reader, with the reader spoiling miles because a bunch of fanfics have him spoiling us, like reader has a job, and when she gets her paycheck; she decides to spend it on her man, because he’s always spending whatever he can on her; so to make up for it she brings him to one of his favorite stores and is like ‘get what you want’.” requester tag: @gw3ndyswonderland a/n: I POSTED THE DRAFT ON ACCIDENT AND LOST THE REQUEST IM SO SORRY but here you go hope i did it justice 😞

summary: miles’ girlfriend spoils her man after her shift translations: mi corazón / my heart . no te preocupes / don’t worry . amor / love . déjalo, por favor / drop it, please . no tenías que / you didn’t have to . gracias / thank you . mi teroso / my treasure

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

e42 miles and you were laying on his bed, you watching tv while he was scrolling through his phone laying on your lap. you would peek at it from the corner of your eye once in a while to see what he was looking at but it didn’t peak your interest that much. that is, until he came across an ad on his homepage.

“mi corazón, you like those?”

miles turned his head to you and flipped his phone upside down on your lap, “yeah, but i can buy them myself. no te preocupes.”

you felt a little guilty with the same answer you would get every time. yoou offered to buy something for him. after overhearing a conversation about his mom struggling, you wanted to start making it up to him—buying him the things he would buy you.

“that’s not what i asked.” “c’mon amor, i can’t have you spending money on me.” “nuh uh. do you want the shoes or no?” “… no.”

and that happened every time too. he would switch his answer last minute. but you could tell he didn’t mean it and he did want those shoes. but also knowing him, he wouldn’t let you buy them for him.

thats when you had the idea. “wait, sit up for a second.” you grabbed two jackets of his—one for you and one for him. he was skeptical until he heard your keys jingling and some rustling.

“are you leavin’, ma?” “no, but we are.”

☆ you took him to an outlet down a couple of exits, encouraging him to pick whatever he wanted and you would pay for. you didn’t want anything, and you didn’t want your paycheck to just be lying around or else you might get the temptation to buy something you don’t need.

☆ after some back and forth, he loosened up and confied to your offer. he didn’t want to be too greedy with his choices , so he intentionally stayed where the cheaper shoes were (even if they were ugly as fuck) until you caught on and had to push him further out of his comort zone when shopping with his lady.

“mami, i mean-” “you don’t want sketchers, miles. they aren’t even in your size. déjalo, por favor.”

☆ he left with two pairs of new jordans that night, and in return he gave you a bunch of kisses all round your face.

“gracias, mami. no tenías que.” “it’s no big deal, only the best for mi teroso.”

after he kissed you delicately on the lips, you saw a crocs store only a few stores down and your face lit up. he smiled when he saw it. “you want matchin’ crocs?”

“do i??” “haha, only on one condition—i pay for ‘em.”

©hiimayee

#miles morales #miles g morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales blurbs #e!42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales earth 42 #miles 42 #42 miles morales #earth 42 #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader

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ladykailitha · 3 months

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Love is Kind

All of the stories I was reading today were sad Steve and it made me cry so I wrote happy Steve to make me feel better.

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Jeana looked down at the purple water lilies in Steve's hand in distaste.

"Water lilies?" she asked, frowning. "Not red roses?"

Steve looked at her in confusion. "Yeah, your favorite flower in your favorite color."

"Yeah," she agreed, reluctantly taking the flowers. "But red roses are more romantic for Valentine's Day."

Steve went from wilting in disappointment to her reaction, to standing up straight with a spine of steel. "Oh I get it now." He took bouquet back from her forcefully. "Yeah, we're done."

Jeana's eyes went wide. "You're breaking up with me on Valentine's Day over a bunch of flowers?"

"No, Jeana," he said coldly. "We're done because you didn't tell me you wanted red roses. I assumed that the cheaper more personal water lilies would be the perfect thing for Valentine's Day."

Jeana winced.

"Ohhh..." Steve said, "I get it now. You wanted the Harrington money." He rubbed his fingers together. "Despite the fact that I work at a book store. That I told you when we first started going out that I had been kicked out."

Jeana rolled her eyes. "You still wore nice clothes and had fancy hair products in your bathroom, like I was supposed to believe that obvious lie?"

"I save for those!" Steve hissed. "I can't use anything else for my hair, I've tried. And yeah, so sue me for buying something nice once in a while."

She peeked around him to see the table was set with romantic candles and another bouquet of water lilies. "You weren't even going to take me out to eat?"

Steve tossed the flowers on the counter behind him. "Why else would I have you come here instead of picking you up?"

Jeana threw her arms in the air. "I thought you were supposed to be this Romeo, this Casanova."

Steve's nostrils flared. "Out!"

She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. "I'm not going anywhere until we talk this through!"

"There is nothing to talk about," Steve said, spinning her around and pushing her toward the door. "You were expecting me to shell out a shit ton of money on you, money you thought I was hiding from you. It's clear you were never interested in me, only the money and prestige the Harrington name brought you."

He opened the door and shoved her through it. "Goodbye."

He slammed the door behind her and gripped his hair tightly. Not enough to pull but just enough to feel pain at pressure of his tugging.

Now he had dinner that was about to be ready in ten minutes, no girlfriend, and a dessert he had slaved over all day.

He needed to call someone to share this with. Robin was doing Valentine's with Vickie so she was out.

Then his eyes lit up. He knew exactly who to call.

He walked over to the phone and dialed.

"Hello, Munson's Funeral Parlor, you tag 'em, we bag 'em," the warm baritone came through the line.

"Eddie!" Steve said with a giggle.

"Stevie!" Eddie greeted back. "To what to I owe this pleasure?"

"How goes your anti-consumerism night in?" Steve asked, avoiding Eddie's question.

"Eh..." Eddie said. "Could be better. I'm watching violent movies to make myself feel less lonely."

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. "I have a warm lasagna, fresh breadsticks, and a nice bottle of wine and suddenly sans a girlfriend if you wanted to have some company."

"What happened with Jeana?" Eddie asked.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "She didn't want me, she wanted the Harrington money, the King Steve charm, and a Casanova, not Steve Harrington who works at a queer little book shop in the middle of town."

"Well, fuck her," Eddie said. "Her loss. You bet I'll be there, sweetheart. Just give me time to put on my shoes and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Eds."

Steve opened the door a few minutes later to find that Eddie somehow had found sunflowers in the middle of fucking winter.

“Where are on earth did you find these, Eds?” Steve asked, breathing in the scent of his favorite flower.

Eddie tapped his nose knowingly. He spotted the water lilies in the vase on the table and dumped them in the trash. He replaced them with Steve’s sunflowers.

“There, that livens up the place better,” he said, turning to Steve, “don’cha think?”

Steve smiled back at him. “Yeah it really does.”

He went and made up their plates as Eddie opened the wine. He set them down on the table while Eddie filled their glasses. Steve trotted back to the kitchen and pulled out the breadsticks that were warming in the oven. He put them in a nice basket a covered them with a towel. He set them on the table between Eddie and him.

“This looks fantastic, Stevie,” Eddie murmured and dug into the lasagna. “Ooh. This is better than fantastic. This is divine.”

Steve hurried to take a sip of his wine to hide the flush of pleasure at the compliment that dusted his cheeks. And judging from the smirk on Eddie’s face, he hadn’t been successful at all.

“So what were you watching before I interrupted you?” he asked, blush still staining his cheeks.

“Chinatown.”

Steve grimaces. “That is pretty violent. A little depressing too.”

Eddie shrugged, stabbing another bite of lasagna. “Was kind of the point. Didn’t want anything happy or romantic today.”

Steve picked up his glass and held up to Eddie. “I’ll drink to that.”

Eddie laughed, but clinked their glasses together and drank when Steve did.

They polished off all of the breadsticks, all of the wine, and about half of the lasagna. Steve put the leftovers in the fridge.

“You want a soda or something?” he called from the door of the fridge.

“I’ll take a beer if you have one,” Eddie called back from the sofa.

Steve grabbed two beers and handed one of the cans to Eddie.

“I thought you preferred bottles, babe,” Eddie said, popping open the can.

“I do,” Steve muttered darkly. “They were Jeana’s.”

Eddie cackled. “Here’s to stealing your ex’s shitty beer!”

Steve laughed too. “Cheers!”

Eddie went over to Steve’s record player and put on some Metallica he’d left over here and then flopped back on the sofa next to Steve.

“Thanks for coming over,” Steve murmured over the screaming riffs of Master of Puppets. “Rob is over at Vickie’s tonight and didn’t want to ruin her Valentine’s day, too.”

Eddie smiled softly. “And since I refuse to participate in the rampant consumerism of the day, there would be nothing for you to ruin.”

Steve chuckled. “That and you’re my best friend. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend it with.”

This time it was Eddie’s turn to blush and he shoved a lock of hair in front of his face to hide the redness of his cheeks. He pushed playfully at Steve’s shoulder. “Fuck off. I’m sure there are lots of people you could have called that would have come running.”

“Rob was first pick,” Steve said, “you were second. I mean it, Eds. I wanted to share everything I’d done for her with you instead.”

Eddie’s blush reached his ears and stained the column of his throat. “You keep that shit up and this boy is going to start thinking impure thoughts.”

Steve blinked for a moment before he laughed. It wasn’t a harsh or hurtful laugh. It was bright and cheerful. “You put out on the first date, Eds?”

Eddie who was starting to think he’d taken it a step too far, stared up at Steve in amazement. He got his wits back fast enough to quip, “Only if they’re pretty enough.”

Steve ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck trying to hide his embarrassment. Well maybe that was the wrong word. Charmed. He was fucking charmed.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie raised Steve’s chin with his finger. “The prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, Stevie.”

Steve gulped. “And if I told you that I’ve had the biggest crush on you for so long?”

“Then I would ask why we aren’t dating, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, leaning in close.

Steve let out a shuddering sigh. “Because I didn’t think I was an option for you.”

Eddie half knelt on the sofa, cupping his face in his hands. “You are my number one option, honey. Just say the word and I’m yours.”

“Mine.”

Eddie grinned and then kissed Steve gently on the lips. He pulled back after a moment. “This isn’t just because you’re lonely on Valentine’s Day, right?”

Steve pulled Eddie onto his lap and brushed their noses together. “No, baby. She was only ever a placeholder for you. And a piss poor one at that. She never loved me for me. Not like you.”

Eddie chuckled. “And what makes you think I love you, pretty boy?”

“Because you knew I would be sad and brought me sunflowers.”

Eddie kissed Steve fiercely. “You are too clever for your own good, honey. Yes, that is exactly why I brought them. Because I didn’t want you to be sad. Because I wanted you to feel loved.”

“And I do,” Steve murmured. “I love you, too. So so much.”

“Good.”

They resumed kissing. It was darker. Deeper. More potent. Eddie could write songs and poems and books filled with the love he felt for this man and finding out that he felt the same.

All the bookstores and libraries in all the world couldn’t begin to fill the amount of pages Eddie would need to even try and convey how he felt in that moment.

But it could be summed up in one word.

Ecstasy.

Just pure ecstasy.

Robin wasn’t sure if it could be called a walk of shame when she had told Steve that she would be spending the night at Vickie’s, but walking into their shared apartment after the wild sex they had had last night she did feel a little silly.

She stopped short when she saw who was in her kitchen making breakfast in Steve’s track pants.

“Eddie?” she squeaked.

Eddie looked up at her with a grin. “Welcome home, Bucksters! If you haven’t eaten yet, pull up a chair and grab a stack of pancakes. I’ve made plenty.”

“You’re not Jeana,” Robin said stupidly.

“Nope.”

“Steve would never cheat,” she said, again trying to figure this out.

“Nope.”

“You two are a couple now?” Robin asked, her brain still in first gear.

“Yup!”

Just then a very sleep rumpled Steve came wandering out of his bedroom and latched on to Eddie. “I missed you.” He kissed Eddie’s neck.

Eddie kissed his temple. “Sorry, sweetness. I got hungry.”

“Mhmm..” he muttered. “Does smell good.”

“Morning, dingus.” Robin crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You want to tell what this is about?”

Steve looked over at her and gave her a dopey smile. “Jeana sucked. Only wanted the Harrington money and not me. Called Eddie over to make me less sad. He brought me sunflowers and made me very happy.”

Robin looked over at Eddie who half shrugged around a clingy Steve. “That’s the gist of it.”

“Got it,” she said. “I’m happy for you both.”

She grabbed a plate and pilled on the pancakes, with Steve releasing Eddie to do the same.

As the three of them sat down and ate Eddie’s pancakes, Steve smiled happily to himself.

He was with the two people he loved most in all the world and he wouldn’t change a thing.

***

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #valentine's fic #fluff #minor steve/female oc #breakup

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fadingdaggerr · 2 months

Note

hey! I just wanted to see if I could request a Melissa x Reader fic where basically r is a teacher at the school and her best friend is ava, and r has the fattest crush on melissa ever but the only ones who know are ava, barbra, and mr johnson (bc dude knows everything)

and ava and barbra are trying to be wingman because melissa likes r. so just a bunch of mutual pining and fluff. and when they confess it’s snowing.

if you can’t do that that’s totally fine! but if you do thanks in advance and take your time

as you ever were

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above | 8k

includes: mutual pining, ava and barb meddling, kinda dialogue heavy oops, these bitches Oblivious, author is a classics nerd

warnings: (minimal) they/them pronoun use for R, sexual innuendos, (brief) alcohol consumption, kissing/light making out

note: sorry i took so long getting to this req. school started up and work is genuinely insane. plus i got a little too into writing this so editing too a little while. i actually really like how this turned out :)

Unforecasted frozen rain forced recess to be inside, everyone was to just stick to their classroom since there was no time to prepare the gymnasium for indoor recess on such short notice. The kids spent the first five minutes of recess begging you to go outside, to which you open the window, to which Sean says oh, hell no, resulting in a scolding from you.

Within five more minutes, your teacher-senses begin to tingle. Something is wrong. Looking up from your record book, you glance around the classroom until your eyes land on Karam. The seven year old had just moved to Philly with his parents a few weeks ago, and with this being his first week at a new school, he has been understandably frazzled. The boy is facing towards your desk, away from his classmates, sitting on a beanbag chair and crying to himself.

Immediately, you rise out of your chair and approach him gently, lowering yourself to sit criss-cross in front of him. “Hey, Karam. What’s going on?” you ask calmly, not trying to draw attention to his state nor baby him. The only response you get is a shake of the head, so you ask, “would you like some alone time right here?” Another shake of the head, another question, “do you want to talk alone, just you and me? You can bring Pickle.”

This offer seems to appease him, he instantly stands and goes to his backpack to grab his beloved stuffed sea lion. You get to the doorway and keep your hand on his shoulder where he stands just out of sight of the other kids, hoping no one will see him and decide to get nosy.

“Okay, chickens. I’m going to run across the hall very quickly, keep doing what you’re doing. Ashante, honey, you’re in charge,” you say with a little grin, it becomes a full smile when the girl salutes you.

Once you’re in the hall, Karam grabs your hand tightly with big tears ready to fall, and stays close as you cross diagonally to some of your students' previous second grade classroom. You lean into the doorway, still keeping Karam out of sight of others, and knock to gain a certain redhead’s attention. She’s quick to get to you, seeing a sort of urgency on your face.

“What’s up?”

“Can you watch my class, please? I’ve got a situation here,” you tip your head to the side to gesture to Karam, still gripping your hand and sniffling. “I promise I’ll pay you back somehow, lunch, lunch duty, recess duty, whatever. Just, please?”

Melissa takes one look at you pleading eyes and knows she can’t say no to you, especially not with a sad little friend by your side. “You owe me nothing. I’ll bring the kids to my room and you can come get ‘em after,” she says with a tone she hopes shows she’s being genuine.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you rush out, immediately your attention falling back to the tears rolling down Karam’s cheeks. Melissa scoots over to your room, corralling the kids across the hall with an excited tone to keep their eyes on her and not you and their classmate.

With the extra bodies in the room, Melissa finds that the doorway was a good place to observe all the kids in her room. Though she tries to keep her eagle eyes on the students, they slowly slide to your form in the hall, crouched down below the boy’s eye level with his hand in yours. Her ears feel like a radio, tuning into the hushed volume you keep.

“It’s okay to be sad, buddy. Everything and everyone is so new, you’re allowed to be scared,” you say as you wipe his cheeks with a tissue, “and you and I both know that baba and daddy would never bring you somewhere that wasn’t safe. And Pickle, he’s here for you, and so am I.”

The boy leans into you for a hug, and your arms wrap tightly around him. Melissa tries not to stare, but she’s unable to take her eyes off the interaction. The way you rock him gently side to side, it was clear you weren’t letting go until he did. She vaguely remembers you mentioning that being a rule of yours when you first started at Abbott, when you took over her third grade class and her entire field of vision.

Melissa averts her eyes back to the kids as the hug ends, but she still listens discreetly. You wipe Karam’s face as you speak, “let’s go get you some water, okay? And maybe, if you use those puppy eyes, nurse Makiah will let you pick out a lollipop. Does that sound like a deal?”

“Do we have to come back to recess?” The shyness in his voice makes you pout.

“Yes, because Miss Schemmenti was super nice to watch all our friends for me while we’re talking, and I’m sure she’d like her room back,” you peek up to Melissa quickly, “and when we get back, we’re gonna say a big ‘thank you,’ alright?”

“Yeah,” Karam answers quietly, but his next words are so quiet you barely hear them, “thank you.”

“Of course, chicken. Let’s go.” Melissa pretends she’s not watching you walk down the hall with a hand still in Karam’s, her eyes switch back to her class when you disappear around the corner.

When you return to get the kids from Melissa, she instead insists that you just sit out the rest of recess in her room since the students were already playing together. That’s the only reason, nothing else. You keep a cautious eye on Karam as he sits down to draw with one of Melissa’s students, and once you see him start to arrange his colors, you drift your attention to the woman next to you.

“Thank you, seriously. And I will be paying you back for this,” you say, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“I said you ain’t gotta do anyth-”

You cut her off, “I said. I’m. Paying. You. Back. Just accept it, I’m not budging.”

All she gives as an answer is a huff through her nose, but the smile that stretches her lips makes you feel fluttery. Her smile is not a rare sight, but it’s rare that you get to see it this close. When she faces away for only a couple seconds, you take the time to just take her in. Beautiful.

In the hall, a conversation between Barbara and Ava about clearing an extra bulletin board for the kindergarteners art projects was halted when they caught Melissa watching you with Karam. Both women looked at her, unseen even by Melissa’s typically sensitive attention, and all they saw was a soft putty of a woman. When you returned to the classroom, they slowly got closer to see what was going on, curiosity drawing them in.

All they could see were gentle, shy smiles and hidden glances of adoration for each other. It clicked in their minds at the same moment. Their best friends had it bad for each other.

Their plan was formed in a single glance.

—☽—

“So… What are you gonna do about Red?” Ava asks as she reaches the midpoint of her braid.

You’re sitting behind her on a cushion, parting a section in the back of her head to start on a braid yourself. Your focus makes your response time slower and quieter than usual, “what d’ya mean?”

Ava’s chuckles, “how you’ve got the hots for Schemmenti.”

Her obvious tone makes you stall, too long, but you try to deflect anyway, “I’ve got no clue what you mean.”

She laughs. Ava laughs and it would be in your face if she weren’t so busy with her hair. She doesn’t need to turn to know you’ve got that shocked expression on your face, the one where your eyes are wide and blank, face otherwise neutral, but she knows the expression well. The first time she’d seen it was the day she met you in seventh grade, and she proclaimed you her best friend to everyone in the cafeteria, just a mere three hours after meeting each other.

“Don’t lie to me, Gremlin,” she jokes, using her nickname for you she adopted from your favorite movie as a kid, “I know when you like someone, and you want that Italian sub to Italian dom you.”

“I hate you,” you groan, “if you mention even a single thing to her Ava, I will buy out all the caramel hair from the beauty supply and you’ll never see it again.” She gasps, as if it were a real threat you could carry out on your budget, but she knows how serious you are. With a roll of her eyes, Ava decides to hold off until you’re not braiding her hair to annoy you more.

Much later into the night and all there is really left to do is trim, seal, and add products to her roots, Ava knows she can’t let the topic of the previous conversation go. She decides to speak up while she trims the last few front pieces and you pick up the hair packaging and combs from around the room.

“Just saying though, if you stopped making ‘I wanna have your babies’ eyes, you could ask her out,” Ava tries to explain. She almost adds a what’s the worst that could happen? but she knows exactly where your mind will go.

“I don’t wanna ‘have her babies,’ you freak,” you sigh as you get some hot water, “I just… I dunno. I don’t want to ruin the friendship I have with her when she inevitably rejects me.”

She’s obsessed with you, she won’t reject you, Ava wants to say. Even if others, and even herself, would label her selfish, the one thing she doesn’t ever let slide is you letting your insecurity get the best of you. She likes her extra job as your personal hype-woman when you get in your head. Ava weighs her option, “well… you could put out some feelers. Invite her somewhere or, I don’t know, look her in the eye when you talk to her.”

“You’re right,” you say with a gruffness that she knows is defeat. If she can just get you and Melissa talking, interacting more, then maybe she and Barb can figure out a way to worm you two together.

“You do like her, don’t you?” She knows the answer, she wants you to say it though.

There’s a deep inhale before you answer, “of course I do. She- she’s so- I do like her, so much. Like, I want to bite a chunk out of the table when she looks at me.”

“Yeah, don’t do that, we don’t know where they’ve been,” Ava says with a touch of disgust, “and she’ll think you’re more of a freak than you already are.” She rightfully earns a smack on the shoulder at that one.

Dipping the ends of her hair into the hot water, you think silently. Ava has a point, if you spent even a tenth of the time you spend thinking about Melissa, when she was right in front of you, talking to her instead, you’d probably not be so nervous at the thought of making eye contact with her. Sometimes it was nice though, just getting to look at her, seeing her easy smile when she speaks to Barbara and the playful glint in her eye when she lovingly picks on Jacob. Whenever her attention falls on you, you shy away. Maybe Ava has a point.

At Barbara and Melissa’s weekly brunch that same Saturday morning, their conversation falls down a similar path.

Ever the professional deterrer, Melissa manages to push the conversation away from the topic of you, trying to keep Barb on Gerald or bible club. Usually her friend catches the hint to stay away from the topic, but there’s no way she was getting out of this one.

“So… are we gonna keep beating around the bush or are we going to talk about it?”

Melissa just sips her mimosa, suddenly interested in the painting across the room.

“Melissa.”

What… interesting brush strokes.

“Melissa Ann, so help me.”

She turns back, “yes, Barb?”

“Don’t ‘yes, Barb’ me. Spill,” there is no room for argument.

“There’s nothing to spill, Barb,” Melissa says, and she means it. It’s clear Barbara had picked up on her feelings for you, but nothing had been done to go past acknowledging she cared for you.

Barb tilts her head to the side, “oh, really? So, we’re just going to pretend that you’re not utterly infatuated with everyone’s new favorite third grade teacher?” Melissa stares at Barbara with wide eyes, thrown off by the blunt nature of her inquiry. Her friend only shakes her head, “for the good Lord’s sake, Melissa. Anyone with eyes can see you’ve got feelings for them, and I know you know that too.”

Green eyes shift away from brown, and they instead stare at the drink in front of her, nervous hands coming up to play with the umbrella to keep them busy instead of shaking in her lap. What Barb said wasn’t untrue, she knows it. Barbara Howard is always right in the end. But that isn’t where the apprehension in her gut stems from.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Melissa mumbles, insecurity from her mind reaching her throat.

Barbara can sense it and tries a softer approach, “I think I can say on good authority that the feelings are probably mutual. You could give it a shot, they’d be lucky to have you.”

“And what’s that good authority?”

“My eyes,” Barbara deadpans, her face reading are you serious?

The conversation stops there, more of a self preservation move for the kindergarten teacher. Underneath the silence from Melissa, it’s obvious her mind is going in circles trying to weigh her options. Did she have feelings for you? Yes. But would she do anything if she wasn’t one hundred percent certain you’d return her feelings? No. She was almost certain you didn’t, you rarely ever looked her in the eye and you got all quiet and mumbly when she spoke.

Conclusion: Barb’s nuts.

—☽—

When Monday comes back around, you feel like the air in the lounge, or at least around your table, is different. Barbara’s eyes keep shifting between you and Melissa in what she thinks are subtle glances, but the constant eyes on you start making you nervous. Shifting uncomfortably for a moment, you rise from your chair to go to the coffee pot to get away from the prying. While your back is to them, a different form of attention falls on you. Olive eyes scan over you with a soft glint, taking the opportunity to admire you when you’re not looking. Her attention feels different from Barb’s, you can feel it without seeing it. It’s warm, all consuming.

When you turn back around, you can see a section of Melissa’s hair swinging slightly from motion. She was looking at you, and she was hiding it horribly. Instead of mentioning it, you just sit and check your school email. In the weekly scheduling, you see that the recess duty that you typically had with Mrs. Benning from sixth grade, was now with Melissa for the entire week.

Your eyebrows jump slightly at the find, before you have to fight an eye roll at Ava’s obvious meddling. Seeing this, Melissa speaks up, “something interesting?”

“No, no,” you barely get out at a normal cadence, “just switches in the schedule, wasn’t expecting it.”

She nods slowly, “are you… not okay with that?” You try not to pout at the insecurity that bleeds just the smallest amount in her question.

“Of course I’m okay with it, no reason not to be,” you hope your genuineness was showing, “just different is all.” A muted smirk crosses her lips before she takes a sip of her coffee to cover her face, you pretend not to notice the move, as well as the butterflies swarming in your stomach. You turn your attention to your phone in your lap.

To AVA ♔ : you’re not slick

From AVA ♔ : good thing i wasn’t trying to be

From AVA ♔ : get up in that cannoli

To AVA ♔ : speaking privileges revoked until further notice

You try to not think about the prospect of an extra half hour with Melissa today, and for the rest of the week, but the thought of her crosses your mind and brings a smile to your face. When you are walking your kids back from music, you selfishly take the extra second you’re in the hall to glance towards Melissa’s classroom. Cursive letters on the board in her loopy handwriting being narrated by her expressive face and fast-moving hands. Another grin crosses your lips before you spin on your heel back to your room.

As lunch rolls around, there’s a giddy feeling in your chest that grows with every passing second. Was she even going to talk to you? Maybe not, but time with Melissa is time with Melissa. Just when you’re sliding your gloves on, there’s a tap at your door. Red hair tucked under an Eagles hat and thick black jacket, she’s never been more beautiful.

Winter at Abbott meant beautifully crafted snowmen that had just a touch of dirt on it, but the kids just decided it was freckles. Most of them were working together on their snowmen, while others were trying to see how long they could hang upside down on the monkey bars in their snow clothes. Melissa, after five minutes of churning the idea over in her mind, moves closer to you, the nylon of your jackets making a fssh sound as they brush together gently. The red on her cheeks was likely from the cold, but the darker shade that blossoms at you smiling and turning to her, that’s all you.

The silence between you is easy, for once it doesn’t make Melissa skeptical. It’s comforting, no nervous rambling or awkward attempts to fill the silence, just peaceful silence as your shoulder moves closer to hers.

Tuesday is just the same, with Melissa coming to your classroom to pick you up for recess duty. Wednesday you meet her in your doorway. The peaceful silence is broken when you check your phone to see copious texts in the teacher group chat, most of which are Janine and Jacob and only two are Gregory. All you let out is a little hum.

“What’s going on?” Melissa asks from beside you, her eyes staying on Marcus attempting to climb on top of the monkey bars.

“Groupchat’s going crazy. Janine and Jacob want a ‘teacher’s night out plus Ava,’ and they’re asking if everyone’s good to go next Friday at seven,” your tone suggests a bit of disinterest, but if Melissa goes, you could be easily persuaded.

Her brows scrunch for only a half second before asking, “what bar?”

“The Penman’s Alcove? Guess Jacob suggested it,” you say after scrolling through the nearly forty messages.

“Sounds like Jacob suggested it,” she says with a sputtered laugh. To her delight, you chuckle from beside her, and she brings her full attention to you, “you going?”

You bite your inner lip and flick your eyes to the side, “maybe. Are you?”

“Maybe.”

—☽—

Ava, who always demands you pick her up when you go out, insists on driving to the bar. When she gets to your apartment and does a once over of your jeans and loose-fitting sweater, she gives you a face of disapproval.

“That is not club attire. What ladies are you going to pick up if you’re dressed like a grandma?”

You roll your eyes as you move to let her in, “it’s not a club, it’s a bar. That Jacob picked out. And I’m not trying to ‘pick up’ ladies?”

“Aw, you’re already committed to Schemmenti. Cute,” her laugh at her own comment is cut off by the pillow you whip at her head, another ready if she pipes up again, “no need to get violent, I’ll stop.”

Her only reply is a huff as you grab your boots and shove in your fluffy-socked feet. Ava rises off the couch, leaving the pillow-turned-missile behind. When she’d asked you earlier in the day if ‘your woman’ was coming to the bar, you’d only shrugged, but with a quick text to Barbara, Ava knew the redhead would be there.

Barbara and Ava had made a pact, that despite their differing reasons for not wanting to go, would only attend the outing to insure that you and Melissa would both go as well. It had taken some convincing on Melissa’s end, but the moment her best friend said your name, her tune changed. She agreed to go as long as she drove herself there, so that when she wanted to inevitably leave early, she could.

As Ava pulls into the parking lot of the bar, neither of you hold back the rolling of your eyes. It was very Jacob. You share a look with your best friend, silently asking what did we agree to?

The Penman’s Alcove is tiny, shoved into one of the smallest brick buildings either of you had ever seen. One window was completely blocked off by a decorative book display, the other gave view to the wooden bar top and wooden support beam that was turned into a cylindrical bookcase with lights weaving around it. What is lacking in space, it clearly made up for in atmosphere.

“You both came!” Jacob’s voice echoes from the door to where you and Ava stand as you evaluate the building. You immediately elbow Ava to stop the joke that you could feel on the tip of her tongue.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” you asked as you got closer, appreciating how Jacob switched his arms from the instinctive hug he wanted to give to giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Anyone else here yet?”

“Well, Janine, Gregory, me, duh, Barbara, and Melissa just got here, so,” his voice becomes a little sheepish, “you’re the last ones here.”

“Fashionably late,” you and Ava say at the same time, though your tone is more flat since you only said it because you knew she would.

Walking into the bar, the small space didn’t feel bigger, just smaller as you realized just how many shelves of countless books there were. The twenty person capacity limit was starting to make sense as you quickly side stepped around other people to keep up with Jacob. Everyone comes into view, but as green eyes meet yours, cameo light surrounds her and she’s all you can see. The stutter in your step is noticed by no one but Ava, who subtly grabs your arm to pull you closer to everyone, closer to Melissa.

Greetings and small talk fill the space, but all of it is background noise. When Janine finally releases you from her energetic retelling of the four hours it’s been since she last saw you, your attention is finally able to rest on the woman who it had been dying to be on. Melissa sees your eyes flick around until they find her, and she curses how her heart flutters at the way you move towards her in an instant.

Leaning your arms on the bartop, you lean over slightly to order a rum and coke before turning entirely towards the redhead. Even though it had been barely four hours since you’d seen her, you felt yourself missing her. Her eyes, her hair, her laugh, especially the one she barks out when she can’t control herself and laughs suddenly. Something in the navy shirt she wore instead of her bright greens and pinks told you she wanted to fit into the environment, like she didn’t want anyone to see her in such a… Jacob place. Her attempt to keep attention away, yet for you it was impossible not to be drawn to her.

Just like every other time you saw her, your eyes quickly dipped to her neck, a tiny smile passing your lips at her Saint Dominic pendant she had received from her Nana before she’d passed. When you met her eyes, the small smile on your lips grew, and hers did to match.

“Thought you’d never show up,” Melissa says playfully, but with a quiet tone, her words only for you.

“Surprised you even showed,” you mimicked her tone.

Melissa weighs her options before replying, “Barbara told me I should, told me I can count it as my good act of the year.” She relishes in your silent laugh, little puffed breaths leaving you as you turn your face away from her just for a moment to hide. Melissa had realized three days into knowing you that this was her favorite thing, this quiet laugh of yours, she knew that when you turned away, it meant it was genuine.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” you say with earnest, “if that's any consolation.”

A smile plays on glossy, pink lips, “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Two drinks later, and you found yourself meandering through the shelves of books, naturally being drawn to the fantasy section that was oddly close to the classics you also enjoyed. The small bar had reached capacity only a half hour after you’d arrived, and the bustling conversation was starting to pierce your eardrums. The cushions on the floor had become your new seat, in this almost-quiet corner.

The light vibrations of footsteps approaching brings your mind out of the dragon story you were falling into. Your eyes look up to see red hair contrasting against the shadows from the shelves. Melissa lowers herself carefully onto the cushion beside you, taking utmost care in not getting too far into your space. Her finger pokes the book in your hands, pushing it closer to you to read the cover, only a low hum leaving her throat.

She bumps her knee with yours, a silent you alright? She’s seen you get overwhelmed at assemblies and work parties before, often keeping an eye on you as you stuck to a corner, too polite to leave the room. You bump her knee back, a little smile on your lips, a quiet I’m okay. Melissa plays with the creases in her jeans as she tries to think of what to say, but you beat her to it.

“You know what’s fucked? You can’t even check out the books here,” you state with exasperation. “What’s the point of having all these books if you can only read them if you come here?”

Melissa warms with affection at your word, “No one would bring them back, hon.”

“I would,” you mumble with an incredulous tone in your voice, “but no, not even a checkout fee or, I don’t know, collateral.”

“Collateral!” Melissa laughs out. “Gonna hand over your watch to hold onto until you bring the book back?”

“I’d give them my car for those early editions of Mary Shelley’s work,” you half-joke as you nod towards the faded green and blue books. You look at Melissa for a moment, reading her face quickly before leaning into her space, “don’t even suggest stealing them.”

“Would they even notice?”

“These IPA-enjoyers? Definitely, unfortunately.”

Melissa never cared much for the classics, especially not the ones assigned to her in school. She preferred the historical fiction and true crime novels her grandfather introduced her to, but there was something intriguing about the ones you were showing her. There is peace in the way your fingers trace over the pages, a sort of reverence in how you hold each book. Sylvia Plath and Emily Brontë, Greek tragedies and comedies, they never sounded this interesting as they did when they came from your lips.

The world outside of this hidden corner continues to disappear around the two of you, the prying eyes peeking around the corner are completely lost on the two of you. Your eyes on the books, Melissa’s eyes on you. Ava and Barbara’s eyes, on the other hand, were flicking between the two of you before finding each other's eyes. A shared nod began the next step in their plan.

Ava, in a highly out of character fashion, quietly left the bar without saying anything to anyone, and drove off towards Iggy’s apartment. Barbara, pretending not to notice, went back to her conversation with Gregory regarding what he plans on growing in the garden for springtime. It’s Janine who notices Ava’s lacking presence, she peeks out into the parking lot, and sure enough, the silver car you’d arrived in was gone.

In a child-like fashion, Janine tugs on Barbara’s sleeve to gain her attention, “Ava’s gone.”

“What?” Barbara responds with faux surprise.

“Ava, she left. Like, gone. Not here,” without having to ask Barbara to be the one to tell you, Janine was definitely hinting at not being the one to say your best friend ditched you here.

The kindergarten teacher follows the maze of shelves, steps quickening as she gets closer to hushed voices in the furthest corner. In your own little, say you and Melissa, her legs stretched out as she leaned back against her hands while you sat close to her in criss-cross. There are two piles of older books in front of you, ones you had already shown her and the ones you were going to, and Melissa seemed completely unbothered by the infodumping you laid upon her.

Barbara politely clears her throat to make you aware of her presence, watching you nearly jumping away from Melissa as you realize the closeness between you. Pretending not to notice she speaks carefully, “dear, I just wanted to tell you that Ava left a couple of minutes ago.”

The nerves you felt dissipate, annoyance and a small anger taking its place, “what do you mean? She fully just left? Did she even say anything?”

“No, she must’ve snuck out. Janine noticed before the rest of us that she’d taken off,” Barbara is impressed by her own ability to fib so easily.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, keeping yourself from exploding. You rise from your spot next to the redhead, who is quick to follow in your stride, and grab your phone to call you friend. Speedily stepping through the shelves, you step outside as you press Ava’s contact.

She picks up on the second ring, which only pisses you off further, “what’s up, boo?”

“Where the fuck are you? You did not just seriously ditch me,” you waste no time.

“That little library was not the vibe. Plus, you were too busy nerding it up with Red,” she jokes, almost mockingly.

“You were my ride, Ava,” you sigh, “this isn’t cool, especially when I’m going to have to ask Janine to drive me home since she carpooled with Jacob and Gregory.”

“I know who you can ask for a ride,” the laugh she speaks through only hammers home your aggravation, “maybe she’ll give you more than one.”

A hard groan escapes your throat, “you owe me big time, asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank me later,” she hangs up on you before you can respond, the beeping tone of the disconnection feels more mocking than your friend straight up laughing in your ear.

When you step back inside, your brows are furrowed, deep creases on your forehead as you practically steam with anger. Never before would Janine, Gregory, or Jacob say they were intimidated by you, but right now, they can’t deny that you are almost as frightening as Melissa’s angry walk. Barbara looks at Melissa pointedly, motioning with her head towards you to tell her to talk to you.

The redhead is already in motion, immediately in front of you, “what did she say?”

Sarcasm and irritation drop from your voice, “the ‘library’ wasn’t ‘her vibe,’ so she’s apparently ditching me to ride home with Gregory and the Chipmunks.”

She doesn’t want to laugh at your predicament, but she can’t help it. Her hand rises to rub your arm reassuringly, “I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t ha-”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Let me get you home,” the gentleness in her voice makes the icy anger in you melt into a puddle, the hand on your arm was grounding.

“Okay,” your voice just above a whisper in the space between you.

“Okay,” her tone matching yours as she smiles.

Melissa’s car is warm, her presence beside you warmer. With only a couple blocks left before you reach your apartment, you find yourself wishing you knew how to slow, or even stop, time. Would inviting her upstairs seem forward? Is asking her if she wants coffee better? No, stupid, who wants coffee at ten at night? All you need is to be around her.

When her car parks in the lot of your building, neither of you move, not you to get out or her to tell you to. You turn your face towards her, resting your chin on your shoulder, peering through your lashes at her. She matches your position, looking back at you with a little grin.

“Thank you for listening to me,” your voice is quiet and insecure.

Melissa leans a little closer, “thank you for letting me.”

“I’ll see you Monday?” You don’t want to leave, but despite it being Friday, it has also been a school day. You’re tired, and you can see in her slightly droopy eyes that she is too.

“Bright and early,” she answers, eyes flicking to your lips shortly in a way you wish you hadn’t seen. She makes it impossible to want to leave.

Melissa stays in her parking spot until you disappear into the building, not before you glance once more at her and wave shyly. Her head rests against the steering wheel as she struggles to compose herself, before pulling out on the street.

You both fall asleep that night to dreams about the secret corner you’d found yourselves in, books stacked around while your eyes stayed on each other.

—☽—

There’s a certain pep in your step come Monday morning, but a small amount of dread knowing you’ll have to face Ava later. She knew better to keep her distance over the weekend, but though your annoyance with her was fading, it was definitely there. You push into the lounge, immediately gravitating towards the coffeemaker.

You enjoy the hum of the TV, Jim Gardener’s voice coming from the speakers as you focus on Melissa in your periphery. Clicking steps in the hallway stiffen your back, all eyes in the room shifting to you as your best friend, boss, and ditcher enters. The cocky smile on her face falls when you stand and leave the room without a word.

“Seriously? Still mad?” Ava asks with such a genuine tone that Gregory’s head drops into his hands.

Melissa speaks before Ava can even blink, feeling like she had to defend you after seeing how upset you’d been, “so selfish you couldn’t even give a heads up? Some best friend you are, ditching them.” Ava only responds by raising her hands in defeat, giving up on an argument with Melissa before it starts.

“You checking on that one or should I?” Mr. Johnson asks from the doorway where he’s collecting the trash, his eyes set on Melissa. His answer is just the second grade teacher pointing at herself in question, surprised that he would’ve thought of her to check on you. His face screws up, “duh? Who else?”

She listens. When Melissa reaches your classroom, quickly carried by fast and angry steps, she sees you at your whiteboard, writing the agenda and date on it. The unusually harsh strokes of your writing show her exactly what mood she’s walking into. She almost jumps when she knocks on the door and your head whips her way, hard face softening.

“Hey,” you breathe out, going back to writing the afternoon’s schedule.

“Hey. I just wanted to check on you,” she she says as she slides the orange marker down towards you.

“I’m fine, really. I’m mostly just pissed Ava left me like that and thinks it’s hilarious. You’d think I would be used to it by now, but apparently not,” you huff, “just like her mom always says, Ava’s gonna Ava.”

“How long you giving her the silent treatment?”

“Till she actually apologizes and doesn’t just assume it’s all good, it’s the only way. I’m not even that mad about it, if she wanted to leave she could’ve just said,” you shift your weight from foot to foot, “it’s the principle of it.”

Melissa glances over your face, grateful you don’t seem to notice, and she realizes it's less anger, more disappointment. It’s so starkly different from the smile that played on your lips and the gleam in your eyes just the other night. She so badly wants that back, she craves your smile.

It took three days for Ava to finally apologize, and she only does when she comes over to your apartment, no interest in letting the other hear her grovel. She hadn’t meant to make you upset, she was just trying to get you and Melissa alone, and so far, her efforts seemed to be working. She was diligent to not let out that it was a joint plan between her and Barbara, and that Melissa was getting played just as much as you.

—☽—

A snow storm Thursday night almost takes out your power, and the chill seeps through the brick walls, forcing you to bed early in a bundle of blankets. You wake up to your phone ringing at five in the morning, only a half hour before your alarm was to go off. Seeing Ava’s contact worried you immediately.

“What?” you say through a yawn, “are you okay?”

“Aw, you love me,” she jokes through her own large yawn.

“I do. Now, what do you want?”

“It’s a snow day, bitch. The roads aren’t too bad, but apparently the buses are fucked.”

You sigh with contentment, “snow day means I’m going back to bed.”

“Okay, lazy. I’ll see you tomorrow for wine night?”

You can barely answer through another yawn, “yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

It’s not until ten that you wake up again, sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow and making your room too bright to stay asleep any longer. The air in the room is too cold for your taste, leaving you to wrap your throw blanket around yourself as you trudge out to your kitchen for the promise of warm coffee. As coffee drips into the pot, the star-printed throw is replaced by your favorite grey sweatshirt, the faded university logo still maintaining a touch of the maroon and silver it once was.

The second cup of coffee tastes of cinnamon and cream, the warmth keeping your hands from stiffening under the cold of your building. No matter how much you turned up the heat, the draft made it obsolete. As you pour a third cup, clinging to the warmth it gave, you feel your phone buzz in your Abbott sweatpants.

From Melissa: How busy are you today?

To Melissa: on a snow day? not at all. why?

From Melissa: I’ve got a surprise for you.

To Melissa: should i be worried?

From Melissa: Do you trust me?

To Melissa: you know i do

When she doesn’t answer, anticipation starts to take hold. It hits you as you nervously sip your coffee, you’re still in your pajamas and Melissa is coming. You tumble down to your room, switching the sweatpants for an old pair of jeans, the faded sweatshirt for a thick black sweater, fluffy socks into slippers. Part of you grapples if you should make coffee for the both of you, the other part tells you a fourth cup may give you a heart attack upon seeing Melissa, your heart would never be able to take it.

A quiet ping from your phone alerts you that Melissa is down in the lot as she waits for you. You don’t even take a moment to answer, just quickly throwing on your denim jacket before hurrying down the steps to the bottom floor. Peeking your head out, you see the only car with lights on, the familiar black car making you smile. The snow had slowed overnight, wisps still quickly sticking to your hair and clothes.

Melissa doesn’t notice your approach, not until you tap on her frosted window with your knuckles, making her jump. She was lost in her mind, thinking about how bad of an idea it was, startling quickly at your tap, but quickly soothed by your smile and little wave. Melissa steps out of the car, leaning against it to keep you from peeking in her window and seeing the passenger seat.

“You really shouldn’t’ve driven, what if the roads were nasty?” you say with concern, despite the fact that you couldn’t be happier with her presence.

“They weren’t, I got here just fine,” she says, placating the worry.

You can’t even hide the smile that shows itself, “what sort of surprise was worth the black ice?”

“There was no black ice,” she laughs, shifting under your gaze, “but I hope it’s a surprise you’ll like.” There’s an unusual nervousness in her, one that you can’t help but feel and want to soothe.

“If it’s from you, I definitely will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Try me,” you cock your head to the side, a sly smirk on your face. Melissa ducks her face, concealing her blush. She opens the door, leaning in to grab the bag from the seat. A deep breath leaves her lungs as she composes herself before facing you. The paper bag is stretched out towards you, green eyes begging you to relieve her of this weight.

You try to be careful, not wanting the gentle snow to touch the contents. Peering up at Melissa, she urges you to open it. You reach in and feel something, a cloth covered board you think, until you feel what you think are pages. A book? No, three.

You pull back your hand, the books coming with it. A faded green cover with black serif text reads Frankenstein, the blue reads The Short-Stories of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley: A Complete Collection, and the final red one, Mathilda. The books you had fawned over a week ago were now in your hands, the very same you said you’d give your car for. No words form, only thick tears in your eyes that you pray don’t fall. They were the exact same books, the copies from the bar, and now they’re in your hands.

You can only look at the redhead, absolutely bewildered. She gives you a weak smile, having a hard time gauging your reaction and you slide the books back into the bag to protect them. There’s no warning, not verbal or even a glint in your eye, before you fling yourself onto her, wrapping your arms around her neck.

“Thank you, oh my fucking God, thank you, thank you, what the fuck?” your words fall out of your mouth, barely able to contain the delight running through your veins.

Melissa doesn’t answer right away, only wrapping her arms around you and basking in the feeling of you there. You smell like coffee and cinnamon, she wishes she could find out if your lips taste the same. Neither of you move, not wanting to be the one who breaks away first.

After a minute, your face lifts from her neck, but you don’t remove yourself from her arms. She meets your gaze, watching you watch her. Melissa is the most beautiful person you’ll ever meet, you’re sure of it. But right here, right now? She’d never been more so, nothing else compared to the snow stuck to her lashes, the pink of her cheeks from the chilled air, the lack of makeup across her skin allowing you to see all her freckles and the lines around her eyes.

“You got me the books,” it's a simple sentence, but there’s a weight to it that Melissa almost can’t handle.

She smiles so softly it makes you want to cry, “you love them, you wanted them.” The look in your eyes changes, and Melissa seems to notice. She finally speaks up, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is, at least I hope not,” you answer truthfully.

“Why that look on your face then?” Her lips look so soft, you have to tell her.

You swallow your pride, pursing your lips before telling her the thought that had been on your mind since you met her, “I really want to kiss you.”

It appears she feels the same, Melissa immediately leans into you, lips pressing to yours. You knew they’d be soft, and God were they. Her hands plant themselves on your hips while yours cup her neck, pulling her as close as you possibly can. Spinning suddenly, you find yourself pressed against her car, cold metal freezing you through your layers, but warm lips make the cold feel little. For someone so abrasive, Melissa was so soft, holding you like you were the most precious thing to her. Her tongue licked at your bottom lip, asking for entry. And who are you to deny her?

Her tongue traces yours, a groan comes from deep in your chest that only spurs her on further. She presses impossibly closer to you, hands sliding up to hold you at your ribs, pressing into your jacket in an attempt to get closer. Your blunt nails dig into her neck, not enough to hurt, just to feel more of her. All you’ve wanted since you met her was to be this close, and it felt like an unreachable dream until now.

Her lips pull away, only to be chased by yours. You press gentle, chaste kisses to her lips, and it only becomes more difficult as matching dopey grins grow on your faces. Her hand rises to your cheek, caressing the chilled skin that warms under her touch.

She barely hears your words over her rapidly beating heart, “you’re so pretty.”

“Haven’t seen yourself then, huh?” she jokes, pretending your statement didn’t make her feel like a giggly teenager.

“Funny, but I mean it. You’re so pretty,” your hand shifts around her cup her jaw, “I can’t believe you got those books for me. How?”

She smirks to herself, “I just asked nicely.”

“Nicely? Did you bat your lashes and give them that award-winning smile?” The sarcasm that should have been there sounds more like adoration, the lazy smile on your lips making them look even more kissable than they’d been before.

“Exactly, they just handed them right over,” she feels like a pile of mush with you looking at her like this.

The hand on her jaw pulls her in closer, “they’d be stupid not to.” There’s no chance to reply, just your lips pressing to hers again. It feels as easy as breathing with you, like she was supposed to be doing this the whole time. When you pull away, it’s just barely, a silent request in the way you stroke her cheek.

Reluctantly, she pulls away from you to take her keys out of the ignition and grabs her purse from the floor of the car. An arm wraps around hers as you lead her towards the door to your building, the other tightly holds the books against your chest. It was too soon to say it, but you knew that right here, right now, you were utterly in love with Melissa Schemmenti. The woman who probably threatened the employees at the Penman’s Alcove for the books when they said she couldn’t buy them, the one who listened for two hours as you spoke about authors and books she’d never cared about before.

She cared now. She cared because you did.

Melissa knew the moment you saw the books, that she would do whatever it takes to see that wonder on your face again. She thinks to herself that endeavor would be a good way to spend the rest of her life.

title is from a quote from mary shelley’s frankenstein: “you are still, as you ever were, beyond beautiful expression.”

i chose the st. dominic for mel’s pendant bc hes typically worn by educators

feedback appreciated as always <3

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian #lgbtq

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 7 months

Text

Imagine Shanks finding out you're a painter

You: *humming along to some music as you apply a fresh coat of paint to the wall of the galley*

Benn and Lucky Roux: *walk in*

Benn: Hey Kid.

You: Hey

Lucky Roux: Did you make sure to use the mold resistant paint?

You: Yes Roux.

Benn: And you applied the sealant before the paint?

You: *nods your head* And the primer, I got this man, thanks for checking in on me.

Benn: Alright then, I'm just gonna open this here winder to get some fresh air in here, so you don't get high off the paint fumes.

You: aww, but that's the best part.

Lucky Roux: *snorts* Let me know when you're done, so I can start dinner. Also, when you are done, you might want to put up a barrier, so none of the others accidentally lean on it.

You: I enjoy seeing them covered in paint. So I think they're gonna be in for a surprise, or at least the boss will be. Because I bet you a thousand berry that he's definitely gonna lean in the paint.

Lucky Roux: I'll take that bet.

Benn: I ain't, because he'll definitely gonna do it.

The next morning

Shanks: *Still annoyed that he got paint in his hair the night before* is this shit finally dry?

Benn: yeah, the kid didn't paint in straight lines though.

Shanks: what! But they're usually so meticulous about doing tasks perfectly.

Benn: it was on purpose too, take a close look.

Shanks: *leans in and glides his fingers across a floral design in the brush strokes* do you think they like painting?

Benn: I believe so, that, or they inhaled too much paint fumes and decided to have fun with it.

Shanks: both are possible... Didn't they repaint the hallway, and bathrooms?

Benn: yeah? They painted patterns there too.

Weeks later

Shanks: Hey (y/n) I got you something! *Presents you with a colorful variety of house paints, and a bunch of supplies*

You: ... Wow, that's a lot of paint, are you wanting me to repaint every room on the ship?

Shanks: no silly, for you to have fun with. We noticed the patterns you painted in the galley and thought you might like more colors.

You: but where would I paint?

Shanks: where ever you'd like.

You: *Kisses him on the cheek, scoops up the supplies, and runs to your room*, Thank you!

Two days later in the galley

You: I finished my room is it okay if I paint this wall now?

Shanks: Go for it.

Benn: *watches you run off* they painted their whole room you know.

Shanks: I saw, I was impressed they managed to paint such steady line work with the ship moving so much.

Benn: I think the little maze design the pained on their door frame was my favorite. Do you think they take requests?

Shanks: I dunno.

You: *pushes the box of supplies onto one of the tables*

Benn: is it okay if I asked you to paint something?

You: sure!

Yassop: Wait, you take requests! I want the pillar in my room painted.

The crew: *crowd around you listing off the things they want painted*

Shanks: Guys, let em breathe for fuck's sake! Make a list so they can start painting.

Lucky Roux: I ain't writing down my request because it's simple, don't paint any more realistic bug on the damn walls. I nearly shit myself when I saw the cockroach you painted in the bathroom, that was not a fun surprise at three in the morning.

You: only termite holes, got it.

Lucky Roux: (y/n) no! No termite holes.

You: fine fine, although the fact that the paint on that cockroach didn't even get to dry before one of y'all smacked it, is hilarious.

Shanks: no more realistic bugs, dear, in fact avoid painting realistic critters all together please.

You: ugh fine.

Shanks: I have a project I'd like you to paint, but I'll need to get you a canvas for it. *Winks at you and wiggles his eyebrows*

Benn: Gross.... if he's getting a nude I want one too.

Shanks: You want my nudes too?

Benn: I want a nude of myself, ding-dong.

List of Up-and-coming works

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #red hair shanks #shanks x reader #benn beckman #yassop #lucky roux #lucky roo #red hair pirates #red haired pirates #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #9/23/23 #no beta we die like men

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller & Javier Peña Headcanons (Drabbles?) Part 3!

another smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [both receiving], fem penetration, masturbation) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of hair pulling; bratty!reader; violence (slapping, choking, threats); mentions of pornography; description of a panic attack; step-cest; pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, darlin, hermosa, cariño) dubcon/non-con (age gap, power dynamics, coercion, just a bunch o’ shady shit in general imsosorry)

No use of y/n.

Hello! In honour of 2K followers (woot woot!!!) here is yet another work of absolute FILTH. These just get more and more insane idk what to do w myself. Your requests r gonna send me straight to hell. Anyways, I love u all so much. Don’t forget to join the taglist, you can find the other drabbles on my masterlist, & part 3 of Salvatore coming soon!

-em<3

—

Javi loves when you take charge—God, it just makes him laugh. He watches you, faithful that you’re in control while you ride him, fingers coiling weakly around his neck. “Gonna come for me, Peña?” He lets your imagination run wild until he grows impatient, sitting up to crush you between his arms, fucking up into you at his signature brutal pace. “Where’s all that tough talk now, hermosa?” He sounds so soft, so gentle compared to the thrust of his hips—snapping to bruise against the supple skin of your thighs. You never know how he manages to last so long, only that by the time his hot seed is leaking down between your legs, you’re barely conscious, barely human, and squirming away from those fingers—that cock—stealing non-stop orgasms from your core. He’s only satisfied once you’re reduced to his personal little plaything.

“Where you goin’, baby? I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

Stepdad!Joel catching you and your boyfriend messing around in your bedroom; “Get out,” he growls, holding the door open as the young man scurries out, averting Miller’s violent gaze with his own downcast, darting eyes, hurriedly tucking himself back into his pants. Shame spreads like the wings of a Monarch across your heating cheeks. “Joel—I—” but he’s already too close, shaking his head in disappointment as he unhooks the buckle of his belt. “Didn’ think you were like that, baby…” and he’s pinning your shoulders down, covering your mouth with his calloused hand, muffling your protests to keep your little lesson private. “Pay attention, angel. F’you’re gonna act like a slut, you’re gonna get used like one, too.” Joel is huge, he stretches you far, far wider than your boyfriend ever could. When he bottoms out between your tight, silken walls, you can’t help your cry of surprise, of pain—of reluctant ecstasy. “Sshh, baby—don’t scream, don’t scream.”

“M’doin’ you a favour, see? Think you don’t fuckin’ deserve this?”

It had been ages since you’d last seen him. He’d gotten himself disciplinary leave—some shady business with an anti-Escobar group of vigilantes. But he’s back now (as your boss, no less) and so is that stupid-old-crush. And God, does he ever look good, sulking around in those navy fitted suits. Your heart had lurched when he’d recognized you—“Nice seeing a familiar face around here, ‘specially a pretty one like yours”—but working late tonight, finally on your way out the door, he commands it to a full stop when a worn-down, stressed-out Javier Peña calls you back into his office. “I-I don’t have a ride home, sir—I can’t miss the last bus,” as he dips down to brush kisses to the side of your throat, as his hands caress the valley of your waist, as he lifts you onto his desk, carelessly scattering confidential affidavits, narco-profiles, ball-point pens. “Oh, but you won’t last long, cariño—I promise,” and you believe him, because his thumb on that delicate, throbbing bud already beckons, pulls, drags you towards oblivion. Sooner or later, he would’ve had you like this—spread open on lacquered oak; thighs trembling in the cradle of his grip; fingers, helpless, tugging at his collar as his own curl inside you. You’re learning a new language: Javier’s native tongue.

“Not gonna say ‘no’ to your boss, now, are you, sweetheart?”

Slapping brat-tamer!Joel across the face after he spends hours teasing your dripping cunt; feeling him ripple with lust-soaked aggression when he finally pulls his damp cock from its drag-and-circle strokes against your clit. “Joel—fuck me, already,” and he claps the back of his hand across your cheekbone, yanks you down the mattress, settles himself to tower, cock in hand, right above your face. He wrenches your lips apart, slaps his length against your awaiting tongue—“Watch your mouth”—eyes alight with caution, irritation, warning. So, you respond, “Fuck you.” A big ol’ fist yanks you up by your hair—you know you’re being punished when he stuffs your filthy mouth oh-so-full with his length. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Every pained choke, the pressure of your hands pushing against the merciless, quick snaps of his thighs—it’s Joel Miller’s favourite kind of apology. He’s nonchalant, deceptively casual when he says it: “Nah, you don’t needa breathe—”

“—You’re gonna stop bein’ such a brat, or you’re gonna gag on an old man’s cock ‘til it fuckin’ kills y’a… whichever comes first, angel.”

On those rare nights he found himself alone, Javi liked to jack off, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. Sometimes with porn, most often without. When he did use the tapes, however, his go-to featured a dark haired man brutally fucking a girl into the dented pillows of a worn-in couch—God, she looked just like you. The real ‘you’ that was tough, incorruptible, a bit high-strung, and completely self-denying becomes a needy, cock-drunk mess at 6:12. Split wide open, taking it so rough, she whines, “You’re g’na m-make me come all—all over your c-cock.” If Javi doesn’t finish right then, he always does around the eleven minute mark, when her cheeks puff up around his fat tip, glassy eyes coming alive with that familiar, feminine devotion to male pleasure. When a forceful hand drags her lips down a long length of cock, that’s when Javi doesn’t stand a chance; he hangs off her every muffled, desperate word (and Christ, does her voice ever sound like yours): “Use me—please—use me, use me, use me.” In his twisted, sex-addled mind, he’s answering you, warm spend dripping onto thick, coiled fingers:

“I want to—fuck, wanna use every square inch of you, baby.”

The Jackson commune required all adults to take shifts patrolling the community; you’d been paired up with a far older, far more experienced, and far more… volatile partner. He rarely made conversation, but he got on with your dad, so it seemed like a good pairing, one that might teach you a thing or two—a rational decision. It wasn’t. Very quickly, you’d noticed his near tangible stares of hunger, the way his fingers clenched into white-knuckle-fists every time the weather warmed and your clothing got shorter—tighter. Soon, you’d made up your mind: you needed Joel. “Stop fuckin’ teasin’” he’d growled under the blood-orange glow of the southern sunset, grasping your flattened palm and moving it from its suggestive position on his chest, “M’not givin’ it to you.” Creeping in close, running your thumb across the sparse, silver-flecked hairs peppering his rigid jaw: “But I’ll be so good, Miller—I’ll listen, I can beg for it, too—please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“S’exactly the problem, darlin’. Jus’ one touch n’ I’d have you doin the dirtiest things for me… Fuck, wouldn’t be able to look your old man in the eye for months.”

Bonus Fluff:

Thank God they’d managed to stop the outbreak. It had felt like the end, at first, with the government-mandated lockdowns, people hoarding toilet paper and Lysol, going stir-crazy behind closed doors. And thank God for your neighbour, Joel Miller, who’d become something like your rock throughout those terrifying weeks. He’d never been close with your emotionally distant parents (really, who was?) but you were friends with his daughter, so he’d always treated you like one of his own. Until one Friday night, when you’d fallen asleep watching TV with Sarah and woken up to the thrum of your heart pounding against your ribs, beige walls closing in tight, the beginnings of a panic attack cresting throughout your shaking body. “S’okay, s’okay,” and he’d been there, cradling you in those blue-collar arms, cooing wispy, gentle comforts into the crook of your neck. The memory was mostly haze—but you kept the ghostly caresses of his finger tips smoothing the tense muscles beneath your skin, the near-kisses he’d brushed to your forehead, throat, and cheeks, and especially his look of restraint as he’d replaced your restrictive clothes with his own oversized tee. The next morning, you’d come to in his bed, nose nestled into the crumpled folds of his black t-shirt. Heat blossomed across your cheeks as the sunrise brought realization’s dawn upon you. “You jus’ wouldn’ calm down—” Joel’s concern had overwhelmed his tone as his thumb traced the apex of your cheekbone.

“Jus’ couldn’t stand to see you so… upset, sweetheart. Holdin’ you’s the only thing that seemed to do you any good.”

It took months of dating before Javi had been willing to surrender any personal information, any vulnerable thoughts to you. Christ, just learning his father’s name had felt like cracking the Da Vinci code. Instead of talking, whenever he got sad, angry, or upset, he soothed himself by stripping you down, shoving you onto all fours or holding your mouth open between his thumb and index—either one worked just as well. Somewhere down the line, you’d learnt that splitting you open left him more inclined to open up, himself. “Why is it always rough when you’re… unhappy?” It’s a timid question, posed with your cheek laid against his shoulder. First, he asks if you really want to hear the answer. Then, he responds with his eyes closed, shy strokes up and down the length of your spine. “Guess I like the control—feel so fuckin’ out of it when shit gets to me.” You go silent, startled by his honesty. “Does it bother you?” and he sounds nervous, concerned. “No,” you say passionately, ardently. “I like knowing I can help.” Smooth and quick, Javi cups your cheeks, pulling you up to straddle him and laying a fierce kiss at the altar of your swollen lips.

“You single-handedly brought me back to life, baby. Got no fuckin’ clue how much you do for me, every damn day.”

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo

(The rest of the tags will be in a reblog—I don’t want this post to crash b/c of the amount of tags lol).

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all444miles · 9 months

Note

1610 miles with a girl whos js inlove with the beach and the ocean

— OCEAN GIRL

— pairing: 1610!miles x ocean loving!black!fem!reader

— genre: fluff

— summary: what it's like for 1610 Miles to date a girl with a love for the beach and the ocean.

— a/n: im always gonna make miles 1610 silly ! when i tell y'all im deadly afraid of the water so i had to think AS HARD AS I COULDDDD to make these hcs, i hope i did this justice !! ty for the request, and enjoy ‹3

MILES + YOU = beach dates.

you two will go to beach and have a picnic, and he prepares it so sweetly for you ‹3

something like this !!

he knows how much you love the ocean, so he makes it special for you ‹3

he paints the rocks and gives them to you.

like when i say you have a collection of sea rocks with random things Miles has painted, you have a collection.

your favorite is the one that has two spiders with yours and his initials on it.

you two also collect shells, one time, you and Miles found a whole bunch, and made a necklace out of them.

"These seashells are so pretty, right Miles?" "Yeah, but what are we gonna do with em?" "..Oh! Wanna make 'em into necklaces?" "Oh yeah, I know how to do that!" "Really?" "..Nah." "You're so silly. C'mon, I'll show you."

He loves to take so many pictures of you in the water with his polaroid camera.

He'll take like four, then use them as reference so he can draw you - you're practically his muse.

After he's drawn them, he'll show them to you and let you keep the pictures.

You two watch Moana together. I dont care.

He calls you "Mi serenita", which means "my mermaid" in spanish

It's corny, yes, but it's so cute ‹3

Speaking of mermaids, the two of you most definitely paid tickets to watch the new little mermaid. twice.

"Miles! Can we go watch the new lil' mermaid?" "Wait, did we not already watch it?" "We did- but i wanna watch it again! Pleeaasee" "Of course."

snow cones!

He's always the first to get brain freeze because he eats them too quick.

Thankfully, he has spidey sense so he doesn't get stung by a jellyfish or pinched by a crab.

Because if he didn't? Pray for him.

You can't surf, but he can, and he'll never act serious when he does. He acts like a surfer boy on purpose.

"Cowabunga!" "Love, please, never say that again." "Nah, but did you see the way I rode that wave? That was gnarly!" "Miles, I love you, and it was, but you is not a surfer boy."

A lot of the times, you'll stay at the beach till sunset so you two can be alone.

SUNSET KISSESSSSS ‹3

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

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slut4thebroken · 3 months

Text

Bully stepbro!Neil pt. 1

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Stepbro!Neil Lewis x reader

Summary | Your stepbrother likes to bully you… His all time favorite way to do that is with wedgies.

Warnings | Heavy on the humiliation lol, wedgies, lots of ‘em, that’s what the whole fic is lol, degradation, dubious consent, crying, pretend he’s actually strong enough to do this lmao

Words | 2.4 k

Notes | You guys fr need to stop encouraging me💀 Also I couldn’t decide on a gif lol since it’s not one full story but a bunch of little things, so I decided to put them at the beginning of each one :)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Give me the remote.” He said as he flopped down on the couch next to you.

“No. My dad said I can use the tv today.” You hid the remote under the blanket, trying to keep it away from him.

“Yeah well he’s not here is he?” You bit your lip and looked away from him with a scowl. “Give it.” He ordered, only making you more defiant.

“No.”

“Stop being a brat and just give it to me.” He snapped.

“No!” You watched him let out a heavy breath through his nose as he clenched his jaw. Before you could even blink, he was lunging at you. “Stop it!” You yelled, trying to push him away. The blanket covering you and the remote fell off in the process and you kept struggling as he tried to over power you.

Finally he grabbed your wrists and slammed you down onto the couch, making the remote fall to the floor. He let go of one of your wrists to reach for it and you brought your hand down to push at the arm holding himself up. Both of you grunted when he landed on top of you, but he kept reaching, so you used that to your advantage and rolled him off the couch, letting you have a chance to try and take it back. Part of your torso was off the couch as you tried to grab it and as soon as Neil got up from the floor, he was attacking again.

What you didn’t expect was for his hands to go down toward your hips and grab your underwear. You screamed on the first hard pull and he did it again, this time pulling you off the couch.

“What the hell?! Stop it!” You yelled, trying to crawl away from him, but he just got to his feet and stood over you, lightly stepping on your back to hold you in place as he got a better grip on your underwear. He started pulling again, lifting your hips off the ground as you screamed. The pain was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. The burning was so bad it brought tears to your eyes that didn’t take long to fall.

“Neil, stop!” You cried out. “I’m sorry! You can have the remote,”

“I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.” He said simply.

“I have! Please!” Your voice was cracking now that you were crying. He continued pulling, bouncing your hips up and down, each one forcing a sound of pain out of you. When he got bored, he yanked as hard as he could one final time, then suddenly let go. You dropped onto the floor with a startled grunt and watched him bend down to pick up the remote before sitting on the couch again. Your sobs quieted a little and you started sniffling, not getting up from the floor yet.

“Can you go cry in the other room?” He huffed, getting annoyed.

“That hurt, Neil.” You’ve never sounded so pathetic before.

“Good. It was supposed to.” He shrugged with a small smirk. “Go put ice on it or something— I don’t really care. But at least just shut up so I can actually watch.”

“What are you doing?” He asked as he walked into the room.

“Just making some lunch.” You shrugged and he hummed in response. You waited for him to say something, but he just kept staring at you. After another minute, he finally spoke.

“How long’s it been, huh?” He asked curiously, making your brows scrunch together in confusion.

“What?”

“You know… Since we’ve had the whole house to ourselves.” You stiffened, worrying about where he was going with this.

“Oh… Yeah, a while I guess.” You said nervously.

“Well, do you want to do anything? You don’t have any friends and all of my friends think you’re weird so we could just have some brother-sister bonding time.” He suggested teasingly. If you were facing him, he probably would’ve winked.

“I was just gonna read and catch up on some homework.” You were really hoping he’d just let this go and leave you alone… but when has he ever passed up an opportunity to mess with you?

“God,” he groaned exaggeratedly, “this is why you don’t have any friends. I mean seriously, who does homework on a Saturday night?”

“What do you even want to do?” You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t stop.

“I can think of one thing…” As soon as you realized what he meant, you turned around, finding him already walking toward you.

“No, Neil— Neil, please don’t.” You whined, but it was already too late. He turned you around to face away from him, then immediately reached in the back of your pants for your underwear and yanked them up. You cried out when he pulled hard enough to lift you off the ground for a second. “Ow! Neil, stop!” You yelled, trying to push his hands away.

“If you don’t want to be wedgied then you shouldn’t act like a nerd.” He snickered, pulling harder. “You're lucky I don’t feel like putting in the effort to get it around your shoulders or over your head.” He gave one last yank, much harder than all of the previous ones, then let you go. You had to cling to the counter for support so that you didn’t fall. Before walking out, he grabbed the plate of food you made for yourself. “Have fun with your homework, nerd.”

You were reaching as high as you could, trying to get something from the top shelf of the pantry, but your fingers barely brushed the shelf.

“Need a hand?” Before you could respond he was getting a good grip on your underwear and pulling them up until your feet barely touched the ground, making you scream. “Oh come on, you still have to reach for it.” He kept bouncing you, over and over again, never giving you a proper chance to try and grab it. Tears were welling up in your eyes from the burn now, but he didn’t stop. “Come on, nerd. Reach higher.” You heard the loud tearing before you felt the intense burn, then fell to the ground. “Holy shit!” He laughed loudly, holding your ripped underwear in his hands. “How much did that hurt, huh?” He smirked.

“Just give it back and leave me alone.” Your frown only encouraged him.

“No, I think I want a trophy.” He started stuffing your underwear in his pocket and you leaned up to reach for them, but he pushed you back down by your forehead. “Once you get whatever it was you were reaching for, make me something too. All of that pulling really took a lot out of me.” He started walking out, then stopped when he was in the doorway, giving you a condescending smile. “Oh and you might try using a stool, idiot.”

You were sitting on the couch, reading and trying to relax, but you sighed loudly when you heard his footsteps growing closer. Neil walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch, throwing his feet up to lay down and almost kicking you in the process.

“Clean my room by tonight. My mom told me to do it, but I don’t really feel like it.” He ordered casually, as he turned on the tv. The demand immediately made your blood boil— you’re sick of putting up with this.

“No! You can clean it yourself.” You said firmly, making him turn his head to look at you.

“Excuse me?” His tone made you falter.

“I-I’m not your maid. You can clean your own room.” Your voice was far less confident this time.

“Fine.” He shrugged with a smile, standing up and walking closer to you. When he grabbed you and started pulling you over the arm of the couch, you kicked and squirmed, but it was no use. As soon as your hips were resting on it, he grabbed your underwear and pulled as hard as he could. You screamed and tried to get out of his hold, but all he did was push his knee against your back to keep you against the outside of the couch, with your face almost on the floor. He let you continue kicking your legs— it barely did anything anyway.

“Stop it! Neil!” You cried, screaming even louder. You wished at least one of your parents was home right now, but of course they just had to have a date night.

“You need to watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking to me, nerd.” He punctuated his warning with another forceful tug.

“Let go! You’re hurting me— let go!” You yelled as you flailed, trying to escape the pain. He ignored you and kept pulling until tears were burning your eyes. After a while, he let go and yanked you up by your hair, using the momentum to throw you backwards so you were now laying on the couch. When he sat on your chest you finally understood. “No— Neil, no! Please, don’t! I’m sorry!” Your begging fell on deaf ears. The first pull for the frontal wedgie had you screaming as your tears finally fell.

“Stop it! Neil, I’m sorry— please stop!” You cried, voice breaking with the tears.

“Do you ever stop talking?” He asked with annoyance and you didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. He continued with that until you were sobbing and incoherently begging him to stop. When he stood up, you thought he was finally giving you mercy, but that hope was gone in an instant as he pulled you to your feet. He grabbed the leg holes on either side of your hips and started bouncing you up and down, stretching it more and more as you cried loudly, pleading with him to stop. You’ve never felt pain like this before in your entire life.

Once your underwear was level with your chest, he maneuvered your arms through each leg hole and pulled harder, stretching them even more so they were resting on your shoulders. When he dragged you by your hair, your crying got even more intense. He finally landed at the door to his room and shoved you inside.

“I’m gonna watch you clean my room and you’re not going to take that off unless you want me to hang you up somewhere overnight.”

“Neil, I’m sorry.” You whimpered through the sobs. “I’ll clean it— just please,” Neil looked around the room, picking up the first thing he saw; a pair of boxers on his bed. You had no idea if they were clean or dirty and you also had no idea what he was planning on doing with them, so you took a step away from him in fear.

“Open up, nerd.” He walked toward you and you staggered back even more, finally understanding his plan.

“No— I won’t say anything. Or cry. I’ll be quiet.” You begged, letting out a choked sob when he forced the fabric in your mouth anyway. He stuffed all of it past your lips, then gave you a light slap on your cheek, making you flinch.

“Start cleaning.” He smirked, walking back over to the bed and laying propped up by his pillows, relaxing as if he was getting ready to watch his favorite film.

You knew Neil liked films, especially old ones… but you just found them so incredibly boring. You do your best to get out of watching any with him, but this time it didn’t work. So you were sitting next to him on the couch, trying to pay attention. All the film succeeded in doing was making you even more sleepy.

“Are you even watching?” Your eyes snapped open as soon as you heard him.

“Y-yes. I am— I’m watching.” He scoffed, clearly not believing you. “I’m sorry, Neil. It won’t happen again.”

“No. You know what? If you don’t want to watch, that’s fine by me.” Your stomach was already churning at just the thought of where he was going with this. Before you even had time to react he was pushing you down onto the couch and sitting on your upper back with your arms raised by your head, unable to bring them down.

“I said I’m sorry!” You started kicking and trying to buck him off of you, but he was undeterred. “Neil, please!” Your words cut off into a scream when he used all of his strength to pull your underwear up. No matter how hard you cried or struggled, he kept pulling, leaning back and using his body weight to get more force. He only stopped once he needed more room.

Making sure he was holding down your arms with his legs, he shuffled backwards over your head until he was sitting on the couch close enough where if you lifted your head, your face would be inches from his crotch. As soon as you tried squirming away, he yanked on your underwear again, making your body go limp from the pain as you cried. You kept your face buried in the couch, not able to move it anywhere else, but it was getting hard to breathe with how much you were sobbing. You kicked and screamed uselessly, unable to do anything other than take it.

“Lift your head, nerd.” You kept your face firmly against the couch, which prompted him to roughly fist your hair and yank your head back. He shuffled forward because he knew that once he let go of your hair, you wouldn’t be able to put your head back down without it going in his crotch. He kept pulling and you kept crying, your sounds much louder now.

Without any warning, he pulled hard enough to lift your hips off the couch, then put the fabric over your head, covering your forehead and eyes.

“Stop it!” You cried, trying to pull your hands out from under him, but he wouldn’t budge. “Take it off! Please take it off,” Your sobbing intensified, making him laugh loudly.

“You didn’t want to watch. Now you don’t have to.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m sorry! Please take it off— it hurts!”

“What hurts? This?” He leaned over you and you screamed again when his crotch pushed against your face, forcing you to smell his musk. The scream only got louder when he grabbed the underwear from above your lower back and pulled a few times. After a few seconds, he sat back down on the couch and resumed the movie. “Don’t be such a cry baby.”

Part 2

(Part 2 will be a lil smuttier btw 😼)

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @idkdudsworld @nashja @rentaldarling @theoraekenslover @kaorisakamotofan @scorpiussage @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @aviamulier @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @nashja @xxorazz @halleysc6met @crunchsworld @babaohhhriley @deceitfuldevout @gentyleman @lorelais-world @shroombloom-rry @pinguwrites @thatonesinglefriend @bernelflo @milktert @nyxxie.pooh @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @milkytomura @bigbossbabysworld @sheisthedxrkness @hanawrites404 @ll4n4 @madeinuk @hanawrites404

#neil lewis #neil lewis smut #neil lewis x reader

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fictionalmenmakemecry · 4 months

Text

Golden Globes

Characters: Jeremy Allen White x Reader

Summary: A quick blur on what it would be like to be by Jeremy's side at the golden globes.

Warnings: Cursing, anxiety.

"I can't go"

You exhaled tiredly plopping down on his couch.

"It'll be okay, I want you by my side. Everything will be great and it might even be fun." Jeremy sat next to you, resting his hand on your thigh.

You glanced over at him and then closed your eyes leaning your head back. The knots you felt in your stomach were nauseating.

"Look, I know how daunting it is but it's a big night for me and it would mean a lot if you were there" He sighed, looking down at his hand on your leg.

There was silence between both of you.

You drove past The Hilton where you saw them setting up for the golden globes. You and Jeremy have been dating on the down low for the past 6 months. It was hard with always leaving at odd hours of the night in different disguises. You would enter and leave places separately. But as difficult as it was, you both had the privacy to spend time with each other without the pressure of the press or public.

You were a high school teacher. You weren't used to this environment. Hell, he was barely used to it as this point. He understood how you felt and didn't want to make you feel trapped. But this was a big night for him, and he needed you there. He wasn't completely comfortable himself as this was still not normal for him, but having you there would steady him.

"But everything will change" You spoke out quietly.

Jeremy took a deep breath. He glanced at you and saw the anxiety in your body. Your shoulders were bunched up, and your hands were in tight bundles.

You rolled your head over to him and looked at his blue eyes that were searching your face.

"I know... But wouldn't you prefer that they find out our way than we getting caught some night and it being all over the internet?" He asked with his head leaning on his arm on the back of the couch.

Your mind flickered back to so many close times of getting caught. When ducking when driving around or always looking around to see if you could sneak a quick kiss. The only time you felt truly at peace was in bed with him. His body was close to yours. No risk of anyone seeing you. Whether being in his embrace in the intimate moments you shared or watching your favorite movies sharing food. You were afraid of never feeling that peace again.

His hands were caressing you gently. His fingers brushed your hair and grazed down your cheek. His fingertip outlining your lips. His touch did make you calm down a little but the anxiety was still there.

"They're going to destroy me," you whispered, keeping your eyes on his.

You knew that people were going to speak about you being a teacher and not being good enough for him.

"Fuck 'em" He whispered, gently stroking your cheek.

"You just focus on us."

There you sat in complete awe, looking at your boyfriend accepting a golden globe. You looked around and saw all eyes were on him. You felt so proud after seeing how hard he worked in this short time you've known him, you knew he deserved it.

"...... I'm completely overwhelmed with this. Uhh-" He glanced at the award in his hand.

"I just want to say thank you to everyone I've worked with on The Bear, you made this happen for me and I'm forever grateful...." He looked around and finally his eyes landed on you.

"Uh-and finally.. thank you sweetheart for coming with me tonight and always being by my side" He raised his golden globe before giving a light wave and making his way off stage.

You could feel everyone's stare on you and you cheeks were on fire. You couldn't believe that he acknowledge you on live television in front of millions. You just wanted to be there for him but he was clearly making sure that people knew you were with him tonight.

You watched as he made his way back as other nominees were getting called out for another category. He came over and sat beside leaning over and giving you a light reassuring kiss.

"I can't believe you got it babe" You whispered looking at the award on the table between both of you.

"Me neither." He smiled genuinely, looking you up and down while wrapping his arm around your waist of your backless dress.

You gave him a light slap on the chest for making your blush even more if that was possible.

Masterlist of other fics

#fanfic #fluff #fanfiction #love #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear #carmy x reader #jeremy allen white #golden globes #the bear hulu #the bear fx #fanficiton #los angeles

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

Text

From this post about Eddie controlling the demobats

When Eddie returned, so did the bats. In a great blast of cracking concrete and flapping wings, they emerged like a storm right in the middle of main street. The people of Hawkins, who were still getting over the earthquake, had run inside every nearest building, waiting for the revenge of the man they had hunted down.

Eddie had simply taken one long look at their cowering faces through the windows, and then walked off. The horde of bats followed closely behind him. They were still just as menacing in the daylight but they never strayed to pick off a helpless human.

So Eddie was back. Good news!

The bats were also top side. Bad news?

Eddie had control over them. Definitely good news.

It was an odd arrangement. It was made less odd by the fact that Eddie didn’t bring them absolutely everywhere. They mostly stayed in a dark cave unless called upon.

At least at first.

It started with small things. These were wild, territorial things and they never backed down or deferred to anyone who wasn’t Eddie. Except for Steve. Eddie had been sitting on a park bench, tossing some food to the geese who dared to get near. The demobats were perched next to him and around his feet, at least a dozen. They were immovable. But as Steve walked up and drew near, they parted and cleared a space for him.

He had staunchly refused to be around the bats at first. He never wanted to give them a taste again. It appeared his worries were for nothing. Because they hadn’t touched him once.

“Do you think they think I’m gross?”, Steve asked as he tossed to the birds. “I mean, they chomped us both up but they obviously like you better.”

“Why? Is the king jealous?”, Eddie teased, flashing his fangs in a grin.

“I’m just saying you’d think they’d have better taste. No offense, but I’m basically prime rib and you’re just some beef jerky.”

Eddie scoffed in offense despite Steve saying no offence. “Robin is right, you’re a total meat head sometimes. Tell me Steve, when you’re on an hours long road trip and need somethin’ to keep you going, do you just fork a whole steak while driving? Or do you stop at a 7-Eleven for a Slim Jim?”

“You’re just proving my point at how slender you are compared to me.”

While he and Steve traded barbs it would’ve been clear to anyone who made the connection between Eddie and the bats that he wasn’t offended at all. But no one had made the connection yet.

--------------------------------------

It was one of those days where a bunch of things had simply lined up and everyone was in the same place. Hopper was fixing his car with the help of Jonathan, Mike, and Max. Joyce was merrily cleaning the house and even rearranging the furniture with the assistance of El, Steve, and Eddie. Robin, Dustin, and Erica were posing for a painting outside for Will. Argyle and Lucas were sitting on the porch, talking about California.

As usual, Eddie’s command for the bats was to stay in the cave. Even if the others knew they wouldn’t be attacked, they still didn’t feel totally comfortable with them around. But throughout the day, a few at a time had appeared, making the roof their perch.

“Should we be worried about those?”, Argyle asked, pointing towards the sky.

Hopper looked up from the hood and let out an exasperated sigh. “If they cause trouble we can handle ‘em. Mike, oil.”

Eddie looked out the window and cursed under his breath, making El pause as she moved the couch.

“It’s fine. Nothing. I guess I’d get stir crazy in a cave all day too. Aren’t bats supposed to be nocturnal?”

“They’re not exactly normal bats”, Steve grunted as he pushed the fridge into its new position.

Eddie bit his lip as he watched the way his arm flexed a little and right then a demobat face planted into the kitchen window.

Joyce whipped her head. “What was that?”

“Nothing!”, Eddie rushed to cover his tracks. “There’s always one that’s a little uh, new to their wings, you know?”

Their need to follow Eddie was beginning to be a problem. Because they only seemed to disobey when he was with Steve. When Eddie was by himself, they stayed put. But the moment Harrington was in the picture, these little monster shits had to be there. And if anyone ever realized that, his cover would be blown.

--------------------------

Eddie thought he’d been keeping a good handle on things all considered. That is until one bat decided to have a personal vendetta against him. Eddie had been calm, cool, and collected while he and Steve hung out by the quarry. A couple of bats had joined them as usual. But Eddie kept a straight face about it.

And then their bull session turned to serious talk. About what the future held for them after this. About how they’d never be able to leave this town. About how it felt like no one would need them.

Eddie was quick to shoot down that part for Steve. This man was like the air he breathed and if there was ever a day that Steve wasn’t in the world, that would be it for him. That’s not what he said though.

“People need you more than you think. Just cause we don’t say it, doesn’t mean we’re not thinking it.”

“Dude, we’re about a six pack in, too many negatives.”

“I’m saying we all want you here. Even if we don’t need you to hold our hand, isn’t that enough?”

Steve’s eyes softened. “They need you too. I can’t even describe how they all-how we were while you were gone. We need you just as much Eddie.”

And then one of the bats, those traitorous bats, sidled right up to Steve and nuzzled its ugly little head into Steve’s side like a pitiful dog and Eddie could’ve cried. At least he did internally.

‘Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo what are you doiiiiiiiiiiing????’

Steve was visibily nervous at first because that was the same area he’d been eaten but the bat didn’t put its mouth anywhere near and simply rubbed its cheek to his torso.

“Hey, hehe”, he laughed a little when it was clear he wasn’t being attacked. “I think they like me now.”

“You don’t say”, Eddie breathed out in a strained, punched out voice.

That incident was enough for Eddie to have a heart to heart with his group of followers. He paced around the mouth of the cave while the bats sat on the ground at attention.

“Okay, here’s the deal guys. You can’t keep stalking Steve like this. I get it, trust me. But if people start to catch on to what I’m feeling because you guys keep. Making. It. Obvious. Then we’ve got an angry mob on our hands again.”

Eddie felt like he was talking to a pack of puppies because that’s exactly how they looked right now and didn’t these things kill him before? He couldn’t believe he’d ever been afraid of them.

The talk did nothing though. They still left the cave in the middle of the day to find him and Steve together and were getting more and more affectionate as the days went by.

And somehow Steve just got more comfortable with it. Nancy had them in her garage, teaching the two of them how to clean a gun and a demobat was honest to god (was there a god up there? If there was, he was getting his giggles in) snuggling up in Steve’s hair. In his hair! The crown that Eddie dared not touch. He had never been more jealous or mortified.

“Those things really like you Steve”, Nancy mentioned.

Eddie was mentally begging her to not be a sleuth for once.

“I think they’re just realizing which of us would’ve been the better boss based on flavor.”

“On the flavor?”, Eddie and Nancy deadpanned in unison, also giving him twin looks of judgement.

“Nancy how you’d ever date this guy? It’s like he’s got beef for brains.”

Nancy shrugged. “I guess I’m just a little carnivorous. I think we’ve got that in common”, she said, giving Eddie a meaningful look.

Outwardly, his throat bobbed. Inwardly, he was screaming from the edge of a cliff. Still his feelings for Steve trumped any panic that Nancy Wheeler might know his feelings because the demobat just burrowed deeper in his hair.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Yeah”, he admitted. “I’m pretty carnivorous. Maybe a little too much. That bother you?”

Nancy shook her head quickly. “To tell you the truth...I might be....”, she hesitated on the words. “Going vegetarian.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up while Steve was on another page entirely.

“Vegetarian? Nancy you’ll never survive in this town, everyone cooks with bacon grease or lard.”

“Well it’s more like, I’m omnivorous but I might be trying to add more vegetables to my diet”, she amended. “Does that bother you Eddie?”

“I’m in no position to argue Big Wheel. I’ve been circling your steak like a vulture.”

“I haven’t looked at that steak in ages. You can have it. Not that you need my permission.”

“I get the feeling you guys aren’t talking about food anymore”, Steve said.

And Eddie just couldn’t resist that confused face Steve made. But the moment wasn’t right to reveal his and Nancy’s ahem, dietary preferences. So he just patted him on the shoulder.

“We just agree with the bats man. You’re pretty tasty. Even if not all of us are getting bites in anymore.”

“Oh that reminds me”, Steve said. “We weren't able to get you a blood bag. I kinda dropped the ball. So tonight you can just drink of me.”

At least five bats descended and inched their way towards Steve like desperately hungry animals and Eddie had to stop them in their place.

“Looks like steak’s on the menu tonight”, Nancy commented.

Part 2

#apo writes #fanfiction #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #kas!eddie

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hqbaby · 8 months

Text

twenty-five — you don’t mean it

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.4k content. swearing, more feelings

“Ya good?” Atsumu asks, sitting down beside you and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Ya didn’t eat much.”

You smile at him. “I ate a bunch at breakfast,” you say. “You made sure of that.”

“I know how much ya love ‘Samu’s omelets.” He shrugs, grinning. “Couldn’t let ya go without ‘em.”

“Yeah, but stealing Aran’s was a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“What can I say? I live to serve my girl.”

You chuckle, curling into his side as you watch your friends play Twister in the middle of the living room. You’re all heading back to campus tomorrow morning and everyone’s made it their mission to do as much as possible before returning to the drudgery that is school.

You’ve been a little out of it since last night. After your mini-breakdown and your cryptic conversation with Ayame, you haven’t been able to focus on much else.

It doesn’t help that everywhere your turn Suna and his girlfriend just so happen to be there, touching, talking, sitting, messing with your head.

“You should talk to him.”

The words are stuck in your head, repeating on an endless loop.

Talk about what?

What is there to talk about?

“The boys wanna play volleyball on the beach,” Atsumu tells you, standing up. “Ya wanna come?”

“But it’s freezing outside.”

“It’s fun!”

You shake your head, still smiling faintly at your boyfriend’s endless fountain of enthusiasm. “Think I’ll stay here,” you say. “I’ve still got that budget request to finish for the team.”

He pouts. “Will ya come swim with us later then?”

You gape. “It’s cold!”

“That’s half the fun!”

The look on his face tells you that you’re not winning this argument.

“Fine,” you groan. “Five seconds.”

“Minutes?”

“Three minutes.”

That seems to cheer him up, his features bursting into a smile as he takes your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Fuckin’ love ya.”

You giggle at his antics. “Love you too.”

The words come naturally to you now. When you said them the first time, you had to admit that you weren’t quite sure if you were just saying them in the heat of the moment or if you were just trying to get out of a tough situation—but time seems to have softened them. They make more sense now.

You love Atsumu. You aren’t lying when you say that.

When you wake up beside him, a little drool spilling from the corner of his lips, you know you mean it. When you find him regularly giving you his sweaters before he wears them so he “can smell like you,” you know you mean it. When you find your mind drifting in the middle of class, the only thought on your mind being his goofy little grin, you know you mean it.

After lunch, your friends start filtering out of the house and heading to the beach, all admittedly freezing but looking to savor every bit of your weekend getaway.

You head to the little study in the house with your laptop to go through the budget reports of your team's past expenses. It’s boring work and you wish you could be doing anything else, but it’s better than witnessing Suna and Ayame get all touchy-feely with each other.

“Hey.”

You look up from the screen, trying your best not to look so surprised. Speak of the devil.

“Suna,” you say quietly. “Hey. W-what are you doing here?”

He shrugs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “It’s way too fucking cold out there.”

You hum in agreement. “That it is,” you murmur, awkwardly tapping your hands on the table. “Where’s, uh, where’s Ayame?”

He furrows his brow as he makes his way to one of the bookshelves. He picks up a knock-off Spongebob figurine, turning it over in his hands. He doesn’t dare look your way.

“You don’t like her.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t like her,” he repeats, putting the figurine down. Suna’s head turns in your direction, but his eyes don’t exactly land on yours. “You don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“Me being with Ayame. You don’t like it.”

You furrow your brows, closing your laptop and looking at him from across the room. “What are you talking about?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “You have a problem with us.”

“What? Come on. I think she’s nice.”

“Oh, nice, right.” He nods. “That’s why you’ve been so weird around her. Ignoring her. Ignoring me. But, yeah, sure, you think she’s nice.”

An uncomfortable laugh spills from your lips. What the fuck is he getting at? “I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to be weird. I’ll be nicer.”

He looks at you, finally. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is twisted downwards. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

He’s being impossible. You know. He knows it. You know that he’s prodding things neither of you should even be going near, trying to uncover truths that will only hurt you both. He’s being dumb. He’s being stupid.

What did you expect?

“We don’t talk, we never talk,” he says, pulling up a chair and sitting at the desk across from you. “I wanna know what you’re thinking.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Suna—”

“What happened to Rin?”

Fucking impossible.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask hopelessly. “I’m sorry, okay? Things worked out well, though, didn’t they? I have Atsumu, you have Ayame.”

He scowls. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Being weird about her,” he says stubbornly. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He knows, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. “Why are you so weird about me having a girlfriend?”

You scoff. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

There are two ways this conversation can go. You can continue to beat around the bush, never address the real questions that are hanging over your heads. Be civil. Be polite. Like mature people, sensible people. Or you can blow everything up.

And the decision to choose between these two paths seems to be entirely up to you.

You never did consider yourself to be mature or sensible.

“I think it’s mean,” you say. “I think you’re being mean.”

His eyes widen at that. He hoped you’d finally be able to talk about it, he just didn’t expect that you actually would.

“How am I being mean?”

You chuckle humorlessly. “Who the fuck is Ayame?” you ask. “You don’t even know her.”

“I do.”

“No! You don’t!”

“You don’t know everything about me.” He’s adamant even if he doesn’t believe that himself. You probably know more about him than he does himself. “What’s your deal anyway? Why are you so bothered by her?”

“I’m not bothered by her.”

“Then what is it? Why are you so against her?”

“I’m not against her!”

“Honestly, it’s a little hypocritical. You start dating Atsumu three days after you call things off with me, and I can’t start dating someone three months later?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

You put your face in your hands and groan. This is so childish. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“No.” Stubborn. So fucking stubborn. “What’s your problem, huh? Why are you so against my girlfriend? Why are you being so—”

“Why wasn’t it me?”

The words seem to be sucked out of Suna’s mouth. He swears his heart has stopped beating, his lungs have stopped breathing. Did you really just say that? Did you really—

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

There’s a sad smile on your face. You don’t look mad or upset or anything like that—you just look resigned. Like you already lost this fight a long time ago and all you can do now is face the aftermath of the carnage. Like you don’t even want him to answer, like you already know the truth.

“Why does she get to be introduced to your friends? Taken on a whole trip with us?” you ask, each dispirited question sticking a knife in his heart. “Why does she get to be your girlfriend and all I got to be was a secret? Did you hate me that much?”

The last question makes him shake his head furiously. “I didn’t hate—”

“No, you didn’t hate me. You would never,” you say, shrugging. “You just didn’t care enough.”

“Of course I cared. I still do.”

You look at him, unbelieving. “Then why?”

“Because I—”

Atsumu’s voice booms in his head. “If ya ever hurt her again, I’ll fuck ya up.”

“—I love you.”

Fuck.

Your face falls. “No.”

“I love you.”

“Fuck you.” You laugh, getting out of your seat. “You don’t love me.”

He just stares at you, all earnest and empty. As if this is all he has left to give. “I love you.”

You go to the door, keeping your head low the whole time, eyes away from his. You know you should be mad or terribly sad or something, anything, but you’re not. It’s like all the emotions are lost somewhere inside you, somewhere you can’t seem to understand just yet.

Right before stepping out of the room, you look at Suna one last time. “You don’t mean it,” you say before walking out and shutting the door behind you.

He just stares at the empty space across the desk, suddenly alone.

“I love you.”

notes. 😳

#hqbaby.fyi #hqbaby #haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou fic #suna fic #miya atsumu fic #atsumu fic #haikyuu fic

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katsukiizmoon · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🥛 ┊boba time ┊Mama’s Harvest ꒱

『♡』 pregnancy

Your fingers fiddle with the little flower bud in your hands and you use the back of your hand to wipe sweat from your forehead. The sun is beginning to beat down on you, drenching your skin in rays.

“Almost done?” Katsuki startles you, leaning over from behind where you kneel.

You bounce, dropping the flower and turning around to give him a glare.

“Yeah, jus’ gotta finish pollinating the squash or it’ll produce less..” You remind, returning to the task at hand.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes and begins making his way through the garden with a basket in hand. Leaves rustle and the tell-tale sound of stuff flopping to the ground let’s you know he’s harvesting.

“Babe..” He calls and you glance over in his direction.

“Hmmm?” You wonder, nearly finished with your chores.

“How many peppers did you plant?” Katsuki inquires and you freeze.

“Uhhh..” Your mind races for an answer and you begin counting on your fingers. Whispering to yourself and naming off varieties.

“We’re gonna drown in peppers, holy shit.” He jokes, rounding one of the rows with a massive basket filled with different pepper varieties.

Katsuki rushes you inside, complaining that you shouldn’t be in the heat for too long and you pout. Still, you do as told and go inside to make lunch and relax.

There’s a lot of pros to your husband being a pro hero. One, you don’t need to work. You can if you want to but you don’t. Katsuki gives you all the money you want and more, no questions asked.

He doesn’t push unrealistic expectations on you, either. You had a career for years of your relationship and for the first two years of being married.

But when Katsuki came behind you with red cheeks and shy eyes, saying he wanted s little one, it was time for a change. Pregnancy is hard on the body and both of you thought it would be best to have you home for at least the first three years of the little melons life.

You aren’t far along, either. But your husband is persistent.

You watch from the kitchen window as he grabs another basket and scissors, only to come back with an abundance of herbs and fruits. Nothing in life rivals these moments.

You turn, grabbing s large knife and a cutting board to begin slicing a bunch of green onion. The knife hits the bamboo with a satisfying “knock knock knock” and you sigh in content.

Nausea bubbles in your throat and you push it down, thinking about all good things.

The door creaks open and Katsuki places the woven baskets on the table. You hear footsteps before his large hands are on your lower tummy. His head comes to rest on top of yours, where the places a kiss and sighs.

“So, when should we tell ma?” He ponders.

The cutting stops and you set down the metal utensil, turning to face him. Your arms wrap around his shoulders where they lay purchase, tugging your body closer to his own.

“Mmm.. not sure m’ love. Whadd’you think?” You mirror his mindset, unsure of what the best option would be.

“Well you’re the one growing the baby, so I thought you’d wanna do it a certain way- I dunno people get sentimental about this shit.” Katsuki’s damp lips come to rest on your forehead for a moment.

“Well I can’t hide it much longer- fuck it why don we just invite them over for dinner to get some of these peppers? We can tell em then!” You propose, shooting a look at all the excess fruit and vegetables.

“Yeah, we can do that, I’ll tell ‘em. What time?”

Katsuki’s breaking away, using his hip to bump you over so he can take over cooking. You smack his shoulder and he flinches. It stings even when he’s got a dark grey shirt on, no match for your mood.

You scowl and grab another cutting board and a bell pepper. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

“Baby I’m pregnant not dying. I’m cutting the damn bell pepper. And mm eight, we’ll do that.”

Before long, all the colorful foods are cut and turned into a large dinner. Sitting in front of you is chicken legs smothered in seasonings and drizzled in gravy over mashed potatoes. Your stomach grumbles and you nearly sigh in relief when his parents walk in.

The conversation continues as normal until you’re met with a wave of nausea. Your face scrunches and despite attempting to hide it- his mother notices. His father isn’t paying any mind, looking at the massive side salad you’ve prepared.

Her eyes narrow and her mouth opens.

“So, uh-“ Katsuki begins, cherry eyes flicking over to meet your own.

“I’m pregnant.” You reveal and his mother slaps the shit out of katsuki on instinct.

It isn’t malicious, she’s practically bouncing. A wide grin wipes across her face and she looks toward her husband with a giggle.

“Fucking FINALLY!” She yells and katsuki looks at her incredulously.

“Don’t look at me like that Katsuki! I’ve been wanting grand babies for years now!” His mother scolds, looking at you with a bright smile.

Katsuki takes a breath, nice and slow to steady himself, while your mother prods with questions. You’re eating, talking about the ins and outs of pregnancy while his father pitches in warmly.

He grumbles in the corner, telling his mom to shut up, and makes faces at some of the things he didn’t expect.

“Yunno, with this asshole, I really craved sweets. But the hardest part of being pregnant with him was probably the hemorrhoids and kicking. God- the kicking was horrible.” His mother explains, stuffing a last bite of mashed potato in her mouth.

You giggle at your husbands angry and confused face from the side. He seems almost offended that pregnancy could be so horrible.

“Why was the kicking so bad?” He pokes, much more gentle than usual.

“Ahh.. it feels like butterflies at first, yunno? But you moved a lot-“ she grabs a sip of water, tilting her head towards him, and places the glass back down.

“-that’s fine and all at first. But you got stronger and it hurt, at one point you had your foot pressed against my ribs for two hours! You’d just kick and it was a constant mild uncomfortable feeling..”

The blonde to your right furrows his brows and takes a sip of his own water. The metal fork he was once using placed on the side of his dish.

“Well, that… makes sense.” Katsuki thinks out loud and looks over towards you.

The dinner ends with kisses and hugs. His mother says she’s coming over in a few days with a couple pregnancy life savers and demands to have copies of the ultrasounds.

Katsuki takes his time that night while you bathe. He massages your shoulders and back, up your ankles and thighs and kisses your tummy. You catch him whispering for the little melon to be sweet to you and nearly coo at the man.

The next day, he brings in a large notebook and grabs a pen. “Baby Food” is messily written at the top and you smile.

A kiss is placed to the top of his head, then a kiss to your lower stomach, like it’s becoming routine.

There’s something fond, simple, and beautiful about the way he falls into fatherhood without question.

#pregnancy #bakugou x reader #bakugou #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #strawberry cake #boba time #boba series: garden

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babygirl-riley · 4 months

Text

Lights

Simon used to love Christmas that led to hate that led to love once more.

A/N: Merry Christmas you guys!!! ❤️💚Here is the angsty family fluff you all love 🖤 And I KNOW i’m on a Sleeping At Last kick BUT some of things just match alright? 😭

“Takes violent things, angry things…and makes them kind.”

Warnings: angst, mentions of childhood trauma, violance, blood, fluff, dad!simon, soft!simon, husband!simon

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

“Ya ever think we will have a normal Christmas Tommy?” Simon whispered as Simon gathered the make shift tiny ornaments and tiny lights.

Tommy pulled a small tree that he stole from the closets market. Simon saw that all the other kids were having these lights and decorations in their homes. They talked about it all at school. However, their house didn’t. So when Simon told Tommy about it, of course Tommy told Simon to secretly make things. So when Santa sees that they made them they would get presents.

In the Riley home Christmas was never a thing while dad was around. Only one year that it happened and only year that it happened. Never was it jolly or good. Dad would drink and drink while Simon and Tommy would open presents while be yelled at saying; “You don’t deserve ‘em.” “Ya both been naughty.” “Remember who truly bought ‘em toys.”

It wasn’t until now that Simon liked Christmas. Tommy would make sure that there would be something related to it. Always in secret. “One day but this is our little fun Christmas. They other kids don’t make theirs.”

Simon shot his eyes up at his brother. “Really?”

“Yep,” He placed the tree in the middle of them in the small closet. They both wrapped the tiny thing wire with the lights on around the tree. “They might have bigger things but this is way better Si.”

Both of them took turns on the little paper or plastic ornaments. Laughing at some that Simon drew or what Tommy bunched up. “Ready?” Tommy whispered, Simon nodded waiting oh so patiently. Tommy plugged the small lights in and a tiny white glow came from the tree.

Simon started at the lights, always he loved how they would glow. “Wow.” He whispered and looked at Tommy.

Tommy smiled as he watched Simon hand over a small present to Joseph. With their dad gone they were able to be open with Christmas. Their mom mentioning that it was time to have a good Christmas. Joseph gasped in excitement to have the new train set that he wanted.

Tommy looked at Simon who shrugged as the little kid ran to hug him. The night was smooth and nice as they all gathered around to eat dinner. “Uncle Simon what’s your favorite thing about Christmas?” Joseph asked smiling has he stuffed his face with a roll.

Simon smiled and looked over at the tree lights. “The lights, all of ‘em.”

“Lights,” Joseph asked looking at the tree “Why?”

Simon looked at Tommy and smiled. “They’r pretty is all, huh Tommy?”

Tommy laughed as he shook his head. “Always brother.”

Simon’s heart raced not in excitement for the holiday as in fear. He remembered what the bastard said about his family and he had to get to them before it was too late. His car parked in front of the home with the red and green lights on the roof. Snow on the ground. The chill running down his spine with the cool air hitting him.

He shoved the door open, seeing the lights around the house. Some decorations scattered. Something was wrong, house lights were off and things were a miss. Simon shakily sighed as he walked into the horror.

Simon knelt beside his family, the blood staining his jeans. The door left open as the snowy breeze passes through. It was darkness besides the lights the illuminated the room. Showed the bloody scene of his family.

Simon couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, he looked at the lights and glared. He had to disappear, burned everything to the ground including the lights that he loved so dear. Leaving it all behind.

You knew Simon hated Christmas so you would make sure to have a good evening with nothing around related to it. Even though Simon would tell you it was fine to have decorations and everything. Your agreed to have one thing in the house related to Christmas and it was lights.

One light wrapping the room against the wall. That was it. Simon would avoid it as much as he could. He hated lights. He hated Christmas. Anytime he saw them he saw Tommy. A haunted memory for him to live over and over again. He never told you until 2 years into the relationship of why he hated Christmas.

Your heart broke as you held him and cried. Not for yourself no for the fact that someone would do that to him to the people he loved. “I wan’ to try to but…” Simon stopped looking away, he never was good with complicated emotions. He didn’t want you to stop your traditions with your family.

“It never ruined my Christmas spirit. Always celebrated somewhere else. And that’s okay.” You whispered grabbing his hand.

Simon frowned and looked away. “Neat year I’ll go to your family’s party yeah?”

You nodded as you picked his hand up to kiss his knuckles. The year went by and he kept his promise. While driving there you noticed the way his hand was shaking on your leg. Tapping your thigh. “We can turn around. Say I have the runs.” You joked gently grabbing his hand.

Simon chuckled. “No darling, I promised.”

It was a bit overwhelming for him at first. Your parents hugging him and seeing all the decorations almost put him on a spiral. Until your niece ran up. “Ya here! Uncle Simon will you help me with the gingerbread contest!”

It not only took you by surprise but him. He nodded as he looked back at you with the little girl guiding him to the table. That year their house was the best. Simon made sure that this house would be the only cool one than all the other ones. He took it personally to help your niece.

After that he came every year, slowly you saw happiness form around him. He would help bring a tree into your home. Decorate with you. Piece by piece you saw the man that hated Christmas learn to love it. Even when you became pregnant he made sure that the house would have Christmas.

Your children loved Christmas have the tradition of making small Christmas trees having them in their own rooms. Help decorate the big one in the house. One night Simon and you finally were able to go to bed after setting up that Santa came. He heard a small noise that shot him up.

Thinking it was someone in the home that wasn’t suppose to be there. He stumbled with his three girls. Millie looked as gasped as she sat in front of the tree, followed by Allison, who had Tessa in her arms. “Tessa, you have to be quiet.” Allison whispered as she cooed little loud.

“Dad wakes up he might think we are stealing,” Millie giggled and Millie too as they looked up at the tree. “Should we take our stockings?”

“That would be stealing,” the girls gasped as they turned to see Simon. They all looked at each other but Tessa who was signaling to be picked up. “What are ya all doin’ up?”

“Just seeing if we can catch Santa.” Millie commented looking over at the cookies.

Millie knew of Santa but promised she would play along until the other two knew about him. Simon and you appreciated it as it was important to you two. “I see, did he?”

As Simon picked Tessa up, Allison popped up and grabbed the plate of cookies. “Yes daddy look!”

Simon smiled and looked around. “Ya think he still here?”

Millie chuckled and looked down at Allison. “No he took the bite out of the cookie.” She said placing it back on the small table. “Can we see what we got?”

“Well that would have to wait until tomorrow pretty sure mum wants to see too.” Simon said lowering his hand to Allison.

“Wait, I want to look at the lights longer.” Millie said going to sit back down.

Simon nodded and Millie followed as they both sat down. The girls and Simon sat in front of the tree looking at the lights in the tree. “Daddy lights are my favorite, I really liked the color ones that we went to last time.”

“Same especially the white lights that were shaped as a deer.” Millie comment looking at Simon.

Simon looked at both of them and back at the tree. “The deer was my favorite too, even all the colors that were around.”

“Ohhh like the rainbow bridge!” Millie giggled.

Simon nodded and laughed a bit holding Tessa tighter. “Yeah the rainbow bridge.”

They sat there for a few more minutes before Simon looked at Allison who was falling asleep on his shoulder. He looked at Millie. “Will you carry Tess and I can grab Alls.”

Millie nodded as she gently grabbed the baby. Simon grabbed Allison and carried her bridal style holding her head close to his chest. Millie went to Tessa’s room and Simon went into Allison’s. Before they both went into their rooms Millie turned to him.

“Thank you dad for Christmas.” Millie said smiling at him.

Simon could feel his heart swell with so much love and pride. Simon used to be afraid of Christmas to love to hate to now love again. All because of this family. His family. Simon was so happy that he was able to give the girls a proper Christmas, that was filled with joy. It could still be something to mourn but he always now has something to be comforted with.

Simon smiled as placed a kiss on her head. “Ya welcome princess.”

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bumblesimagines · 17 days

Note

Big fan of your work. Unsure if you're taking requests, but thought I'd reach out just in case. Keep up the awesome work!

Sarah Cameron

I knew you'd be dating them

how long did it take you to find someone new?

this is a little awkward i have to admit

I knew you'd be dating them

how long did it take you to find someone new?

this is a little awkward i have to admit

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, Gender Neutral!Reader

Requests for series and imagines are closed! I don't really count sentence starter lines as requests since I am asking for em to be sent in!

The rapid, insistent knocking on the front door echoed throughout the house, eliciting a groan from you as you tugged the headphones off your head and stood up from the couch. You headed down the short hall toward the front door and unlocked it, tossing it open without bothering to check the peephole. Your brows immediately furrowed at the group standing on your porch, their faces too familiar and consistent in your life to forget. The Pogues.

"Uh, hey, (Y/N)!" Pope greeted, dropping his curled fist and shoving it in the pocket of his shorts. Your eyes flickered over to JJ, watching him slowly set the small cat statue back in its place with an awkward, sheepish smile. Your gaze moved away from the reckless blonde, trailing over the rest of the Pogues until they settled on Sarah fucking Cameron. She stared back at you with lips drawn in a tight-lipped smile.

"Not interested." You told them and began closing the door, only for Pope to stick his leg in the gap and push back against it. You groaned again and relented, releasing the door and crossing your arms over your chest with a small scowl. Pope smiled innocently and cleared his throat, removing his leg from the doorway and glancing back at his friends. "Ya'll selling Girl Scout cookies or what?"

"No, actually," Pope laughed awkwardly. "We, uh... well, you see-"

"We need something from your great-aunt, (Y/N). Mrs. Crain? We- We were wondering if you could help us get on her property... without... dying... like her husband." Kiara swiftly cut in but her confidence bubbled down tremendously. You raised your brows, lips slowly curling upward into a half-amused half-bitter smile.

"And why the hell would I help a bunch of strangers and my ex-girlfriend?" You questioned and relished in the shocked looks that passed over each of their faces, apart from Sarah, of course. She dipped her head immediately, fingers brushing through her golden locks as she forcibly cleared her throat and tugged her hand free from John B's.

"Well... this is a little awkward I have to admit," JJ muttered, scratching his temple and sucking his teeth. "We, uh, we did not know that."

"Yeah, I figured." You glanced at him before settling your attention on Sarah, lifting a brow at her when she refused to meet your gaze. "How long did it take you to find someone new? After, you know, you cheated on me with Topper Thornton and then broke up with him? To be honest, I knew you'd be dating him eventually. You've always loved a little chaos, haven't you, Sarah?"

Pope glanced back at his friend and pursed his lips before he took a small step to shield her from your scathing glare. "Uhm, well, you two can chat about this later, I guess. Like J said, we didn't know. We just came here for a favor-"

"I know how you idiots work, Heyward. I do this and you'll be coming back whenever it's convenient. Like I said," You grabbed the door handle again and shot them a fake smile, shutting the door right in their faces after uttering, "Not interested."

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garoujo · 2 years

Text

HELP ME OUT — SANO SHINICHIRO

you’d grown used to your boyfriend getting himself caught up in stuff, good thing you’re there to help.

♱ warnings — f!reader, stuckage, exhibitionism, shinichiro gets himself stuck while he’s working at the shop, creampies. ꒰ word count : 3k ! ꒱

♱ note — hewo ! welcome 2 my first post of kinktober yay . i hope you guys enjoy this & the rest of the stuff i have planned <3

RETURN TO KINKTOBER MLIST ♱ REGULAR MLIST

shin : you comin’ down to the shop t’day, baby? need y’re help <3

you always were, you don’t know if it was how hot you thought your boyfriend shinichiro looked working on bikes that had you accepting his invitation everytime, or if it was just your desire to see your boyfriend at any opportunity you could.

but you could never say no.

you’d told him about how sexy you thought he was as he worked, his hair mused and hands slick with oil, gaze heavy and drowsy despite the way it softened when it met yours.

you can still remember the way the confession had made shinichiro swell with pride at the time, grinning all bright and proud and the sight of him like that made your own heart warm because he was really was cute, and all yours.

the bike shop is quiet when you arrive, wearing one of the pretty little skirts that always make your boyfriend’s cheeks dust a little pink — the kind that distracted him from his work and turned his attention to you instead, but maybe that’s what you wanted today.

you let your gaze drift from the parts that lay across the walls, tv in the corner playing some bike commercial that garners your attention for a few moments as you let yourself sway on your heels. there was a certain comfort that came with the store itself, it was clean but rugged and had a certain air to it that was very much like shinichiro that made you feel at home.

you’re only snapped from your daydream by a clash of something metal through the back followed by a spit curse, one that you’ve heard too many times from your boyfriends lips and the sound makes a giggle sound from your own before you follow the source.

but he’s not in his usual spot beside the bike he’s been tinkering with for the last few days, and you frown with a huff before you call for him. “shin? where are you?” you call, pausing at the silence that seems to linger before his voice sounds from deeper into the garage and you turn on your heel.

“shit. ‘m in here, baby.”

you want to laugh when you finally find shinichiro, his body is shuffled under the tiny entryway underneath a suspended truck — his overalls tied around his waist as he lays on his back, oversized shirt pooling on the ground beneath him before you’re leaning down to peek underneath.

“shin?” you grin as you let yourself drop to your knees, and you watch the way your boyfriend features seem to soften at the sight of you when he turns. “hey.. y’look real pretty, angel.” he drawls, his compliment drawn out and slow, sounding unbothered despite the way he’s sweating and covered in oil.

ofcourse he still looks absolutely perfect and attractive.

you watch his eyes flick down to the way you’re bent over to look at him, tiny little skirt bunching around your waist before he quickly turns his head away, clearing his throat with a lazy grin and trying not to think about the view he could have from behind you.

“what’re you doing? you work on trucks now?” you trail off as you watch shinichiro’s gloved fingers work with his tools, propping your chin up against your palm and the bewildered look in your eyes makes him laugh when he glances back at you again.

“nah, he’s a friend of gramps so said i’d take a look. dunno, figured it can’t be too different from a bike.” you pout at him, and it only makes his grin grow. “it’s a real pain t’ crawl outta here when i need my stuff though, baby. can y’hand me my tools when i need ‘em?”

once again, shinichiro does a bad job of glancing over the swell of your thighs in your skirt and you try hard to ignore the simmer of something warm you feel twist in your stomach — knowing you always have his undivided attention everytime you walk into a room.

“is that what you needed help with? you’re so lazy, unless.. sano shinichiro are you stuck right now?” you tease, eyes narrowing at the way your boyfriend suddenly seems to avoid your gaze. “pfff, nah.” he is, you can tell by the way he’s not looking you in the eye but you decide to save him the embarrassment. “just needed an excuse t’ see my baby, ‘s all.”

you did always like when he let you help out, and he knows that. rolling your eyes, you make your body move to stand up straight before you’re skipping over to sit on the floor where his legs rest. “well, what do you need shin?” you sigh with a hum as you watch his pretty abdomen twitch and twist with every movement he makes underneath the truck.

“gimme a sec, baby. jus’ gotta—fuck, don’t think that’s meant’a look like that.” his words are followed by a very alarming grinding sound and a long, drawn out sigh from your boyfriend that makes you giggle. “quit laughin’ at me, can still hear from under here y’know.” the way his words are spoken through a pout only making you laugh even louder.

but by the time shinichiro eventually calls for you to hand him a tool you’re already bored and needy, it feels weird to spend this much time with your boyfriend without his hands on you — or atleast being able to feel his touch given how touchy he was.

“shin~ im bored, when will you be done?” you groan— you hate how childish you sound but you’re still tossing and turning as you try to get comfortable — fiddling around with the metal tools that you’ve organised neatly infront of you too many times to count.

“nearly there, baby. can y’hand me my wrench.” shinichiro asks with good nature, but he’s been telling you he’s nearly there for almost an hour and you’re feeling too touchstarved to hide your frustration now. his voice is rougher with drowsiness, he’s probably tired too but you can’t deny the way it makes your thighs rub together with need.

you feel his hand smooth along your skin when you let the silence linger with a pout on your lips, but then you get an idea when you take another slow glance over the lower half of his figure that’s not concealed under the truck.

this is a desperate situation, you’re absolutely bored and you don’t think you can stand another second of it.

“can feel y’ poutin’ at me, come on don’t be like that — promise, ‘m almost done.” he hums with another affectionate squeeze to your thighs, and your eyes almost roll back in delight at the smooth touch before you decide to put your new plan into action.

with a deep breath, you let the pinpricks of arousal burst along your thighs when you pick up his tool — deliberately leaning onto shinichiro when you reach underneath the truck to hand it to him despite his outstretched hand that’s waiting.

you let your palm rest and curl along his thigh, a little too high up for it to be just coincidence and you feel his muscles twitch under your touch when you press harder, grazing it higher when you hear him exhale shakily from his place underneath the truck.

you know you’ve already gotten to him when you still feel the weight of the tool in your other hand, the image of shinichiro’s eyes fluttering closed as he bites back a moan making you squeeze your fingertips into his skin before you watch the first throb of his cock bounce behind his sweats.

“shit, watch y’re hands, baby. y’re gonna make me fuckin’ hard.” he sighs, taking the wrench from your fingertips a little too quickly as he lets the touch linger a little longer when you exhale.

“sorry shin..” you feign innocence, releasing your grip on his thigh to let your hand trace featherlight touches higher along his bulge, making his abdomen tense when it jolts. “just thought you must be sore under there.”

“fuck—what’s gotten’ i-into ya.” shinichiro grits, you can hear that he’s biting hard on his lower lip to stifle a groan when you let your fingertips dance just short of his cock, he’s half hard and basically begging for you to help him out. “what do you mean, shin? i’m helping.”

your fingers graze teasingly along the base of his bulge and you hear him groan softly at the soft pressure of the touch, hips jolting to chase more of the intoxicating friction before he’s hissing behind clenched teeth.

“this ain’t fair, baby. fuck, can’t fuckin’ feel ya from here.” shinichiro’s muffled whimper makes you feel too warm under your clothes suddenly, and the next sinful, lingering squeeze of your fingers around him makes desire twist thick in your stomach when you feel him thicken and throb against your palm.

you can basically already imagine the look on his face, the flush on his cheeks and the pinch of his brows, the way his forearm is probably resting over his blown, heavy eyes. you can tell that he’s panting softly with the rise and fall of his abdomen, lower lip most likely sucked between his teeth.

you’ve barely touched him, but you know shinichiro’s already a mess.

“y’re a real tease. y’know that, angel?” his words catch at the end when you deliberately tighten your fingers around his bulge, giving it a rough stroke against your palm before you pull your hand away entirely, earning a long whine from your boyfriend who’s still stuck underneath the truck.

“h-hey.. what’re ya—“ he grunts when he feels your fingertips graze against his abdomen, tucking under where he’s tied his overalls around his waist before you’re pulling the knot undone and pulling down his sweats after, just enough to have his cock springing out to slap against his stomach.

finally seeing shinichiro’s cock makes your mouth water before you’re hooking your thigh over both of his — letting yourself straddle his lap while you let the fabric of your skirt bunch around your waist.

“i want you, shin.” you gasp, and you watch his abdomen twist with a shock of pleasure when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving it a few languid pumps before he’s groaning and meeting every twist of your wrist with an eager hump.

“yeah? shit—you know i can never say no t’ my baby.” his words are low, wound so tight with anticipation despite the way he still wishes he could see you right now.

shinichiro can imagine how pretty you’d look lifting your hips to pull your panties to the side, his lips parting to grind out a groan when he feels your thighs shuffle up to straddle his waist followed by the first swipe of his cock through your folds.

he really should be embarrassed, he’s stuck underneath a truck in the back of his bike shop, while his pretty little girlfriend humps and rubs her slick cunt all over his cock. if waka or benkei were to see him like this they’d bully him about it for the rest of his life.

but then you’re catching your clit against the head of shinichiro’s cock and the pretty little whisper that drips from your lips makes his mind blank, and suddenly he couldn’t care less if the fucking world were to walk in right now because all he can think about is the way your cunt feels when you finally sink yourself down on his cock.

“holy shit, bet y’look r-real fuckin’ pretty right now.” god—he knows you are.

he can hear the way you moan and twitch at the thick spread of him, his body twisting to look between your bodies — the peek of your cunt just visible above his cock, and shinichiro swears he’s in heaven.

he can see just above his own hips, but that’s enough for him to see the peek of your puffy folds spread for him, that’s all he needs to be hypnotised by you. he lets his head fall back against the concrete just as he watches your hips finally press flush against his, taking your time to adjust to the stretch as his cock throbs inside of you.

“you’d be able to see if you didn’t get yourself stuck, dummy.” you tease followed by the first real bounce of your body against his, raising your hips until only the top of shinichiro’s cock is resting inside of your cunt before you’re sinking back down onto him.

“y-yeah, yeah.. lecture me later, baby. mmmm, fuck—y’re pussy f-feels too good right now.” your mind feels cloudy with the low rumble of his voice, and shinichiro’s feels hazy with how good you’re fucking him. your boredom completely melting out of your body now that you’ve gotten what you wanted most, your boyfriends body rocking seamlessly along your own.

the muscles in shinichiro’s toned body shake beneath you when he grinds his hips up to meet yours, deliberately rolling his pelvis upwards to graze along your puffy clit. the head of his cock slides along every one of the swollen spots inside of you, and he’s really wishing he could swallow those pretty sounds you’re making for him right now.

but his cock feels like it sparks something along the nerves in your body, letting your fingers graze between your thighs to roll your clit in sticky circles as the other takes a slow, handful of your breast through your shirt. you try to imagine your fingers as his, letting yourself indulge in the warmth that he always seemed to make burst along your thighs.

“can feel y’ squeezin’ around me, princess. hnnn, y’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum.” shinichiro grunts, and you’re surprised at the way he still seems to keep a pace given his current position. everytime he grinds his cock into your slick cunt it feels like it reaches even deeper.

your pace stutters as he pushes against something sensitive inside of you, your body grinding closer—needier into his and he feels like he can barely breathe with how consumed by you he feels.

“well you were taking too long, shin.” another languid roll of your hips and another needy squeeze of your cunt across his cock makes him moan loudly, choking on your name as his own fingertips twist in his hair and fuck—he wishes it were your hands instead.

but shinichiro only fucks into you more even more eagerly, one of his palms reaching to squeeze around the flesh of your thigh as he listens to the way you cry for him. another sweet groan kicks it’s way from his chest followed by another needy coax of your walls and he swears you must be trying to milk him.

his body almost curls in on itself in bliss with the way you’re bouncing on his lap, every push of your cunt feels like it makes his vision white and he wishes he could pull you closer to bury his sounds in the crook of your neck instead of the back of his forearm.

“aint complainin’ bout it now, baby. got what y’ wanted di’nt ya?” you hear him grumble, words buried into the back of his elbow as he almost bites down on the skin. he can feel tears prick at his lashes, can imagine the way you’re rubbing so desperately at your puffy clit — probably in time with the way you’re squeezing around him and it’s driving him insane.

maybe it’s the lack of some of his senses that only makes his pleasure burn more intense along his nerves, his carnal need to look at you—touch you as you fuck yourself dumb on his cock.. but knowing he can’t makes his cock throb with another silky squeeze of your cunt around him.

“fuck, angel. ‘m gonna cum.. mmmm, feels too fuckin’ good—shiiit.” shinichiro’s breathing hitches as he curses, eyes screwed shut as his hips twitch and stutter beneath you before he’s cumming thick and warm inside of you.

every bounce of your hips makes his lungs quake and it only takes a few more flicks of your clit underneath your fingers before you’re following him off the edge, the warmth he fills you with helping dig your orgasm out of you.

the back shop is filled with both of your mixed moans, small whimpers of eachothers names that break off into something weaker as your pleasure rocks through you, every connection of your hips growing wetter, louder than the last.

your movements finally come to a halt when your thighs burn and a mixture of both your orgasms is smeared along your thighs and shinichiro’s pelvis, watching your boyfriend twitch when you finally release him from the milking compressions of your cunt with a long sigh.

“holy shit.” he huffs, breathing heavy as he tries to catch his breath and hisses when he reaches down to try and tuck his cock back into his sweats. you let yourself roll off of his lap to relax, hearing a few spat curses to your side as your boyfriend struggles to duck out from underneath the truck, but you still find it in yourself to laugh when you finally see the first peek of his face a few minutes later.

he’s flushed to his chest, dark mop of messy hair stuck around the sweat that gathers across his hairline and his eyes are a little wet, probably from desire as his hooded, drowsy gaze sends you a fond look and he’s finally pulling you against him.

“the hell was that all about, baby? would’ve finished sooner if y’just told me you were horny.” shinichiro hums, pressing wet kisses along your cheeks and lips that makes you grin when they tickle your skin. but when his arms hook around your waist, it’s almost too easy to melt against his chest despite the mess he’s covered in.

“you were taking too long.. but you fixed it, right?” you hum, turning to blink up at him from where he’s got you pressed against his chest.

“nah, might’a made it worse.. i dunno. ain’t my fault i got a bit distracted.” shinichiro laughs before he’s leaning down to press his lips against yours with a fond hum.

“not that i’m complainin’ bout it, angel.”

#𖥶 ₊˚. — ktober !#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers x you #tokyorev x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo rev smut #tokyorev x reader #shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro smut #shinichiro smut #sano shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x you

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