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3verythingiknowaboutlove · 15 days ago

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the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest.

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet.

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him.

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.”

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him.

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.”

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

…

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam.

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.”

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready.

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday.

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes.

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly.

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it.

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?”

You blush, unable to respond.

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate.

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans.

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth.

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis.

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you.

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.”

Another one falls.

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

#spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfic #piper’s works

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allophonicmess · 4 months ago

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Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 1

Remember that inspo I posed the other day? I coudn't let it go and decided to write a three part fic based on it.

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool& Wolverine, descriptions of a panic attack, angst, implicaded age gap

word count 2k

No beta and English isn't my first language

there will be fluff later on but sadness first:

Too Sweet

Logan felt a great mix of emotions since he had followed that red-ass clown Wade into this universe. Most of it was anger, confusion, rage… But In that moment as he was sat on the black beat-up couch among Wade’s friends… He was overwhelmed.

Not by sensory overload, although that casserole that blind Al had made did stink up the place with garlic-

He was overwhelmed by the feeling of happiness, joy and companionship of the people around him. He hadn’t felt that way in ages if he ever did at all. He never felt that way with his team before everything happened.

He liked them, sure. But this company of weirdos shared a Kinmenship he never got to experience.

“Hey, Peanut! Are you angrily staring off into space to allow for good exposition?” Wade had plopped down on the couch right next to him. His jeans-clad thigh rubbed right up to his. At this point, Logan had given up on trying to keep him out of his personal space.

The older man frowned and stared at Wade next to him. His beer was getting warm but he didn’t feel like giving up his spot on the couch.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He huffed, taking another sip of his beer. But Wade just clicked his tongue, scooting even closer to Wolverine.

“Aww, you know what I mean! You are big and gruff and don’t talk that much… It’s kinda hard to capture you in writing you know. There are only so many words in the English language to describe your grunting and-“

“Are you done?” Logan sighed, finishing his drink. He was starting to regret coming with Wade. Getting drunk in some shit hole of a bar sounded better than listening to Wade's babbling.

“See! That’s what I mean. Sigh is nice, sure but it doesn’t quite capture the nature of those beautiful noses you make, big boy.” Wade petted Logan's thigh, which the older man quickly pulled away as he stood up abruptly.

“Jesus fucking- Can’t you annoy someone else? You got all of these muppets to talk to. Stop bothering me god damn it.” Logan placed the empty bottle down on the couch table. He scanned the room, looking for someone else that Wade could annoy to death. His eyes landed on the brunette… Vanessa… He knew that something had been going on between Wade and her. He never told him the details but from the pining look Wade gave her and the sad as fuck sighs he made, it was clear that the motherfucker wasn’t over her.

“Go and talk to the girl for god's sake. She might be the only one here to appreciate it.” He grinned at Wade, enjoying how his stupid grin faltered even for just a second. He leaned down on Wade's level, whispering to him in an overly joyous manner. “It might even get you laid.”

They stared at each other for a hot minute. Both men tying to provoke the other into action. But Logan was getting bored so he pushed “I might try if you don’t have the balls-“

“Fine!” It came out way too loud. Wade got up quickly trying to keep up his jolly attitude. “Fine, I will. But not because you said so.”

“Or threatened you.”

“You didn’t threaten me.”

“Sure, if you need to believe that” Logan got back onto the couch, now stretching out lazily across it. He closed his eyes, pretending to snooze.

There was no witty comeback, which surprised Logan. But it only came to show that Wade was serious for once.

Logan would never tell but he warmed up to Deadpool. He respected the man, despite his annoying and borderline brain-rotting bad humour. But he had principles. He cared for those around him, loved them dearly and would do anything to protect them. He did in fact. Logan spread out on his worn leather sofa is proof of it. He hated to admit it but Wade was the better man of the two. He didn’t let those he loves down, running away like the drunk asshole Logan is. Wade would have come to help her, would have-

The obnoxiously loud ringing of Wade’s apartment doorbell ripped Logan out of his self-deprecating talk. He blinked against the bright ceiling light and watched as Wade sighed softly. He had just started his conversation with Vanessa and it seemed to be quite a good talk from the looks of it. He seemed frustrated to be ripped away from it. Wade nodded softly, towards Vanessa, excusing himself but he was stopped by Colossus.

“No please Wade, I get it. You seem to be engaged in an interesting conversation.” The 7’5’’ metal man said, touching Wade by the shoulder to turn him back towards to woman. Logan huffed, he wasn’t the only one trying to get Wade laid.

The giant stomped towards the door, turning the doorknob that looked comically small in his silver hand to let the latecomer in.

“Hi! I’m so sorry for being late. I still had to finish some work. It’s the end of the semester, you know how it is.” A sweet voice called from outside.

Then two things happened at the same time. It was like a push and pull.

Ellie, Yukio, even that odd taxi driver… they all turned towards the door in excitement. Smiling and wooing at the woman that just entered the apartment with a cake carrier tucked under her arms.

Logan on the other hand? He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He sat there, staring as Colossus pulled her into a big hug, lifting her off the ground before taking the container off her hands to allow the others to greet her. She was smiling, laughing at some joke Ellie had cracked at her.

She looked younger. Maybe she was, who knows how time worked in this universe. Or it was the lack of stress she had to face, no heartbreak, no constant rejection from a bastard that couldn’t see that the best thing was right in front of him.

“Ah, there you are! We were starting to miss you!” Wade pulled her into a tight hug. He seemed to be content. And the older man cursed himself for even caring about it.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, or so he hoped. Maybe she didn’t know him. It would be for the best.

“Yeah, I already told Piotr, I had to finish some lesson planning at the academy before the school year is over.” She replied as she greeted Vanessa and the rest of the group.

“Oh right. You are the only one that actually knows what she’s doing at that school.” Wade joked, earning a playful remark from Colossus.

So she also studied at a human university before starting at the school, Logan noted. He was still stuck on the couch, feeling unable to move as he kept staring at her.

“You know her?” The sudden comment coming from right next to him made Logan flinch.

“Whoa, relax man. I just noticed you staring at her for like 5 min straight. And you don’t seem too happy about her being here.” Ellie stood next to him, casually watching the scene just as he did.

“None of your fucking business.” Logan managed to spit out. While he did get startled, the interruption helped him to finally feel able to move again. And it happened just at the right moment. He needed to get the fuck out of there.

Ellie just huffed, watching Logan get up on shaky legs. It could just be from the constant level of alcohol in Logan’s blood, making his knees weak, or the age. But she suspected that there was more.

Yet Logan’s attempt at a quiet escape was hindered by Piotr, calling him to come to the kitchen to introduce the two.

“Come to kitchen! I want you to meet my good friend Y/N. She also works at the school. You will like her”, the man sounds proud. He should be.

Logan ignored him, pushing his way through the small crowd with shaky steps. Why was he sweating for god's sake?

“Logan!”

“No” He called, breathing was getting harder again.

“Logan!”

“I’m good! I’m-“ He finally reached the door, rattling the doorknob and cursing that his fucking fingers got shaky. Everything was too loud and too hot and too-

“Wade, it’s fine. He doesn’t have to.“ She tried to stop the two men next to her from calling the man over. He was clearly in distress and it hurt her to watch him fumble on his way out. There were only so many people that were scared of her outside the battlefield.

She had met “their” Logan, but only briefly at some anniversary event. They had simply mismatched their time at the school. He left shortly after Y/N started working and they hadn’t met much. She wondered what the other her must have done to him to cause such a reaction.

Finally. Fucking finally. The door opened and Logan simply burst into the hallway, rushing down the steps to feel the air rush back into his lungs. A fucking embarrassment. That is what he was. The Wolverine scared shitless by a woman that doesn’t even know him.

But the other one did and it killed her.

“Logan, what in the ever-loving- fuck was that?” Wade had run after him. He just couldn’t leave it alone, could he?

“Fuck off.” Logan breathed weakly. He felt tears prickling in his eyes and it made him hate himself just a little bit more.

“You just running off? Scared of a girl?” Wade kept pushing, following Logan as he walked down the familiar street towards his bar of choice. That being the cheapest and quietest he could find in the city.

“Scared you can’t get one off? I don’t wanna make predictions but man, I think she is into the dark brooding type” he kept pushing “ Or you know what? If I can’t get Vanessa laid I might try with her, I mean she is quite-“

That made Logan snap. Turning around and impaling Wade against the closest wall. Both sets of claws out and push into the other man's torso. He only groaned in return.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you fucking-“

“Okay, okay, whoa ow… man-“ Wade coughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “ I was only joking man. Unfair. Fuck. I am unarmed-urgh”

Logan retracted the claws letting Wade drop to the floor. He knew the man was joking, he should. But it was all too fucking much too soon. He wouldn’t let it happen again. And how to best prevent the inevitable heartbreak? Don’t even let her get close, to begin with. She didn’t deserve it. She never did in the first place and he would do anything in his power to stop it from happening to her.

“So, you are just leaving me hanging? It’s your party too, you know.” Wade got up, inspecting the bloody holes that stained his new shirt. He cursed softy. “Damn, it was brand new. Ruining a perfectly good shirt for the exposition”

“Don’t wait for me,” Logan said, turning away from Deadpool. A cheap bottle of whisky was waiting for him to calm his nerves and forget about that fucking stunt. He won’t see her again, not even talk to her or talk about her. It’s for the best. She would agree if she knew, Logan was sure of it.

New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)

Do comment here for feedback and spreading some love ❤️

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #deadpool wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #x men #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #angst

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leeloooonfire · 4 months ago

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based on this post about Steve's internalized bi-phobia:

Steve has known for years.

And how could he not when Tommy's freckles come back tenfold each spring like a flower peaking it's head through the last layer of snow? Or when Matthew Carver's hair have a reddish brown tone that turns blond after they spent the last days before summer break practising outside and remind Steve of liquid gold? Or when he watches Star Wars and Harrison Ford, rugged and witty, comes into view and twists his stomach in knots? How could he not know?!

Steve knows he finds guys as attractive as girls, known for many, many years. But.

But he can't. Not when Tommy sneers at that boy in their literature class who likes flamboyant clothes and wants to be an actor on Broadway. Not when the people they meet in Indi who are like Robin and Eddie 'fully queer' and talk about people like Steve as if they're traitors and scams. Not when he reads the newspaper and is assaulted by Reagan and his folk preaching about the 'fag pandemic' or how his father nods in approval and mutters 'another sinner gone for good' when the news play on TV and they occasionally mention the crisis that kills people like Robin and Eddie and him.

Like him....

It doesn't matter how much he loves sleeping with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone or that he thinks he'd like to kiss Eddie and hold his hands and wake up beside him until they're old and wrinkly and complain about bad knees.

He is, but he cannot be a queer, half a fairy '50% like me, 50% like Eddie' as Robin jokes.

He will not be a bisexual, he can keep it inside, keep it hidden, buried deep inside him no matter how much it pains him. He can be the straight friend who goes to pride and bakes rainbow cakes and marries a woman even though his heart screams in an ear ringing cacophony, 'Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie!'

This is how his 20s go: loud and hurting and yearning and hiding and more noticeably being disgusted and ashamed of himself for simply being able to love men the way he can love women.

He's 29 when his wife, Becky, leaves him. It's not just Eddie and this shameful secret that weights heavy on their relationship, but the scars and all the other secrets he is unable to explain to her that drive Becky finally away - back to Boston. She leaves him alone in that tiny house they bought three years ago with their Saint Bernard puppy they lovingly named Bernadette.

He's 30 when he goes to a coffee meeting of the bisexual group meeting in Chicago, nearly turning the car multiple times, hands and knees sweaty with fear that they won't want him there. They do want him there, welcome him with open arms, and talk about things Steve knows all too well: 'When I fell in love with the first girl, I ran. I like men just fine, so I hid my crush. It's just easier, when your parents hate gays, when the world is shaming our community, when we're dying.' He finds a second home there, and learns - learns about queerness and bisexuality, about trans and gender non conforming people and physical attraction versus emotional attraction. He learns about his past and present and about his future, about their history and where they want to go, how they want to mold their world to fit people like them into it without the pain and the hiding.

Steve is 33 when he finally comes out to everyone dear to him. To the kids who aren't kids anymore and to Joyce and Hopper, and then his parents. this does not go well, but Steve doesn't want, doesn't need their validation anymore. He has his family, his friends, his support system who love him not regardless of his sexuality but because of it, love him because it's part of him. He comes out to Becky, too and that goes much better. they want to be friends, in the future. She's also met Gary who works the the NY Times and wants her to follow him into the big city. So Steve is looking forward how that goes, their tentative friendship.

He is 34 when Eddie comes back from his latest world tour and wants to take a break to rekindle with his uncle, to write new songs, to take a breather. It's only natural that Eddie moves into Steve's guest room and takes over his space on the couch where he cuddles Bernadette while Steve is in the kitchen and makes them grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

Its even more natural when their feet meet while watching a movie and they lean into each other in the kitchen, dawn barely there, while they wait for the coffee maker to finish.

Steve's 35 when Eddie finally kisses him and he kisses back. No hurt, no shame, no guilt gnawing on him, Steve finally allows himself to be with the person he truly wants - regardless of their gender.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #eddie x steve

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gutsby · 5 months ago

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If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

#REMEMBER - JUST BECAUSE JOEL PUTS A POPSICLE IN YOUR P*SSY DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD DO THE SAME IRL!!!! I’M SO SERIOUS #PLEASE PROTECT YOUR PH AND DON’T PUT SWEETS DOWN THERE LMAOAKSK #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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seeleybooth · 5 months ago

Text

What are you doing out here? - I was... - No. In fact, do not answer that. It is clear I found you in the midst of some... secret dealings. I do not wish to know. And what "secret dealings" have I found you in the midst of, all alone the night before our wedding? What right do you have to ask me that?

"He tried to picture a life without Penelope. It was impossible.

Just weeks ago she'd been ... He stopped, thought. What had she been? A friend? An acquaintance? Someone he saw and never really noticed?

And now she was his fiancee, soon to be his bride. And maybe... maybe she was something more than that. Something deeper. Something even more precious.

"What I want to know," he asked, deliberately forcing the conversation back on topic so his mind wouldn't wander down such dangerous roads, "is why you're not jumping on the pet-fect alibi if the point is to remain anonymous."

"Because remaining anonymous isn't the point!" she fairy yelled.

"You want to be found out?" he asked, gaping at her in the candlelight.

"No, of course not," she replied. "But this is my work.

This is my life's work. This is all I have to show for my life, and if I can't take the credit for it, I'll be damned if someone else will."

Colin opened his mouth to offer a retort, but to his surprise, he had nothing to say. Life's work. Penelope had a life's work.

He did not.

She might not be able to put her name on her work, but when she was alone in her room, she could look at her back issues, and point to them, and say to herself, This is it. This is what my life has been about.

"Colin?" she whispered, clearly startled by his silence.

She was amazing. He didn't know how he hadn't realized it before, when he'd already known that she was smart and lovely and witty and resourceful. But all those adjectives, and a whole host more he hadn't yet thought of, did not add up to the true measure of her.

And he was.... Dear God above, he was jealous of her.

"I'll go," she said softly, turning and walking towards the door.

For a moment he didn't react. His mind was still frozen, reeling with revelations. But when. When he saw her hand on the doorknob, he knew he could not let her go. Not this night, not ever.

"No," he said hoarsely, closing the distance between them in three long strides. "No," he said again, "I want you to stay."

She looked up at him, her eyes two pools of confusion. "but you said---"

He cupped her face tenderly with his hands. "Forget what I said."

And that was when he realized that Daphne had been right. His love hadn't been a thunderbolt from the sky. It had started with a smile, a word, a teasing glance. Every second he had spent in her presence it had grown, until he'd reached this moment, and he suddenly knew.

He loved her.

He was still furious with her for publishing that last column, and he was bloody ashamed of himself that he was actually jealous of her for having found a life's work and purpose, but even with all that, he loved her.

And if let her walk out that door right now, he would never forgive himself.

Maybe this, then, was the definition of love. When you wanted someone, needed her, adored her, even when you were utterly furious and quite ready to tie her to the bed just to keep her from going out and making more trouble. This was the night. This was the moment. He was brimming with emotion, and he had to tell her. He had to show her.

"Stay," we whispered, and he pulled her to him, roughly, hungrily, without apology or explanation.

"Stay," he said again, leading her to his bed.

And when she didn't do anything, he said it for a third time.

"Stay." She nodded.

He took her into his arms.

This was Penelope, and this was love."

Romancing Mister Bridgerton, Chapter 17

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sugarlywhispers · 7 months ago

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b.katsuki + reader!Quirk similar to him

Your first year at UA was going amazingly. Not only because it meant it was one step closer to your dream of being a hero, it also brought new challenges and new people into your life. You have made two new best friends: Gouna, a tall girl with an elastic type of Quirk, and Zynu, an exchange student from Greece, who had a fast Quirk. Literally, she was freaking fast.

The first semester of school consisted in getting to know each of the classmates and oneself. Training, studying, physical tests in groups. Also boring tests like Maths and English.

But it has been magnificent so far.

Until the training camp. Pushing one's Quirk to the limit had literally brought you to tears. Being a cold type of quirk yourself, you never thought you would be able to do what you were doing. But you gave your all, like always. You were focused. Witty and ready. Ready to fight for that number one spot in the rankings at every moment of your life. And very loud about it too.

"She reminds me of someone…" Kan-sensei once commented to Aizawa-sensei, smiling amused.

Your black haired teacher rolled his eyes, "Please, no…"

You didn't know who they were talking about at the time, but whomever they were, you decided you would be fucking better.

That camp had been one hell of a test for everyone.

Or so that's what all of you thought until the day to meet the Big Three came.

Despite other previous years, these Class 1s, A and B, hadn't met them until closer to the end of their first year. Apparently, they had been on a mission in another country.

"Can you believe it??? They haven't even graduated yet and they already go on missions!!" Zynu exclaims, giving little fast jumps as the whole classes 1-A and B awaits for the Big Three to arrive at Gym Gamma.

"Well, our little Y/N has nothing to envy them, right?" Gouna lays her forearm on one of your shoulders, making you smile.

"Ughh, I still can't believe Hawks himself asked you for help…" Zyna smiles so happy for you, her hand grabbing yours and shaking it way too fast in excitement. Gouna laughs at the way your one fast and joyful friend pulls you.

"She was only called because Hero Shoto wasn't around to help."

The annoying voice behind you makes you groan.

"Don't you have anything else to do than to prove how very in love you're with my friend here?" Gouna's words make you snort before turning around.

Hamata Aiko, the one guy that always has an opinion about you –a bad one, if you may add– stands there, all bulky, full of himself and annoyingly looking down at you like you're scum, with hands closed in fists.

"All of you are going to be in love with me once I take down all three of the Golden Trio…" He declares, flexing his arm so his bicep pops out even more. Disgusting.

The look you share with your two best friends, followed by a cackle of loud laugh, brings the attention of most students around.

"I'll bring tissues for when you cry like a baby after being embarrassingly defeated. But that was a great joke, Aiko-chan," you can hear the grit of his teeth at your mockery.

A huge shadow with red eyes suddenly appears behind Hamata. "A joke indeed," the low voice that came from the shadow makes this same boy jump away like a scaredy cat.

You back away a few steps just so you don't get stepped on. Light then clears everyone’s vision and you see this man– this mountain of a man, with red eyes and blond hair, a few steps in front of you. You can’t help but think he’s insanely huge, more than anything you could have ever imagined. And the other two guys that also appear on each side of this blond mountain are just as big. Maybe not in muscles and height, but each of them has a powerful energy and stance that immediately makes you succumb to their glorious presence.

Like… fuck. Like fucking heroes! The biggest ones you have ever seen. Ever been in front of.

And you want that. You want that majestic power. That strength that makes everybody believe and trust that they are the best.

"Hello, everyone! It's very nice to meet you finally!" The green haired one greets enthusiastically as the blond mountain rounds him to let him stand in the middle. You also noticed how the blond one and the duo colored haired one stand two steps behind, giving this greenie one space, giving him the lead. "We are very sorry it took us this long to meet, but we hope to make the best of our time together!"

"He's too much of a sunshine," Gouna whispers at you and Zyna, the latter smiling and nodding. You somehow doubt it. Something tells you he is as deadly as his two companions look.

"My name is Midoriya Izuku, hero name: Deku," lots of whispers and gasps from the students are heard as he turns to his right, where the blond mountain stands with his arms crossed over his big chest, a frown deep in his face, "this is Bakugou Katsuki, hero name: Dynamight," some grunts and groans are heard. You even hear a kid say "this is going to fucking hurt", and you definitely feel that. Especially when you see the satisfying smirk on the blond mountain's face. "And, this is Todoroki Shouto, hero name: Shoto."

More whispers and grunts. Some look excited, others are already lamenting getting to class today. But most of the students are terrified. These Big Three look nothing like third year students. They look fucking Pro, and that shit’s scary. Not even your first day as an intern in Gang Orca’s agency made you this uneasy. (And it’s Gang Orca we are talking about!)

"It's Endeavor's kid," Gouna whispers, eyes open wide in excitement looking at Todoroki Shouto. Her biggest dream is to be part of the fire hero agency, but she had told you how that was a mere dream considering how Hero Endeavor only took fire type Quirks in. You feel sad for her, but still encourage her to at least try it. The “NO” was already a given; what harm could be to try for the “YES”?

Of course, you all have heard about the rumors circling the Big Three and their achievements. You are a liar if you say that, even if they are supposedly rumors, their stories don't ignite a spark of hope and admiration over them. However, being in their actual presence is a whole different feeling.

"So today, we are fighting," Midoriya Izuku smiles, but surprisingly enough for everyone except you, the kindness doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes change demeanor and look challenging, a bit scary even. (Ha! You knew it! He isn't as sunshinie as he looks.)

"We did this exact same exercise with the current Big Three of our first year, but this time we decided to give you all a bit of advantage, uniting both classes for the exercise, so you can have the upper hand." The shiny smile doesn't leave his face, and while most around you sigh in relief, you know right then and there is a fake sense of security. It's a trap.

And by the way some unnoticed snorts are heard from behind greenie, it's more than obvious.

This will definitely hurt.

You realize then, as Midoriya Izuku takes his bow and school jacket off and steps back closer to his own classmates, how his other two companions are getting ready. Todoroki Shoto hasn't his jacket nor his school shirt on already, but a sport kind of shirt that accentuates his defined chest, where the sleeves only cover a bit of his shoulders, arms on display. This is definitely strategic for his own quirk, half hot and half cold. You wonder if the material is actually made to bear and endure the changes of temperature in his body, like the ones you wear. Bakugou Katsuki, on the other hand… Holy. Mother. Of. All Might. He now stands with his whole school shirt unbuttoned, chest and muscles and freaking abs on display, sleeves rolled up his forearms, jacket lost somewhere. You haven't actually had time to admire any type of physics in boys since the year started, being completely focused on your goals and dreams. Now, this hot mountain of a man makes you feel things you haven't before. Is that the feeling of butterflies on your stomach as the tingles travel through your body? Fuck, it’s distracting. (Very much so.)

You have to mentally slap yourself to focus. This is not the time to drool over an upperclassmen.

"This is your moment to try your moves and Quirks, they will gladly take them and give you feedback. But remember, this is a sparring, nothing to seek real harm. Have fun, children," Aizawa-sensei speaks as he walks towards the entrance door of the gym and stands there, away from the bloodbath that is about to happen. (If you had to define what betrayal looked like, Aizawa-sensei’s smirk as he stands there looking should be it.)

You, in a very calculated and dissimulated way, grab both of your friends' wrists and pull them back slowly, away from where the Big Three stand. They don't say anything and follow you. After so many group tests passed, you three have learned to work together very well. And with one look, all three of you understood. If you wanted to at least hit one of them, you would have to be a team. No solo fight could win them. And even then, there was no guaranteed win over them. They look, and you're pretty sure they are, very strong.

All three of them crouch a bit, showing they are ready, evil smiles plastered in their faces like they enjoy each and every little sound that showed how scared the two classes were.

How sadistic. You love it.

You so want to fight at least one of them, one on one. But you know you don't have a chance to win moving on your own. Yet.

"Should we go first?" Deku suggests, seeing how no young student is brave enough to approach.

It's not that you are not brave. You're not stupid enough to volunteer for death first.

Dynamight and Shoto look at each other for a moment before looking back to the front, both smirking, and then the blond mountain yells, "FUCKING DIE, EXTRAS!"

A blast clouds everyone's sight for a moment, before you have to jump to the side as Shoto slides with his ice way too close to you. And then it's chaos. Quirks and fights are seen and heard around. And fuck, you have to dodge Shouto's ice three more times. Not to mention his fucking fire.

Your best friends and you remain as far from the Big Three as you can. Gouna got caught by a little piece of ice from Todoroki on her right cheek, cutting it a bit. Zyna, on the other hand, in these kinds of environments gets anxious, moving rapidly on her spot, needing release to do something in her fastness tempo. You… you get calculating and observing. Everyone around is losing against the Big Three. They are too strong, too big. Students are falling to the ground like levees, no matter how strong some of their Quirks are. These three professionals know what they are doing and how to do it.

It's going to take more than just guts to confront them.

Then you see it. Shoto is standing close to Dynamight. And if he moves, he comes back closer to the blond as fast as he can. Oh. Are they guarding each other's backs? Your eyes travel around the gym until you find Deku on the other side of the gym, fighting at least a dozen of the students, who are trying to get their one on one sparring. Of course, none of them win, other than detailed observations from the one third of the Big Three and a punch that knocks them out.

An idea then surges in your head. The one creating way too much chaos is Bakugou Katsuki. Maybe, just maybe, if there's a way to distract Todoroki Shouto, you could have a chance to at least try to take Dynamight out.

Alright, maybe not completely out, but at least a punch or two. That would be satisfying enough.

Your eyes travel to your two best friends, and somehow –even though none of you have any telepathic Quirk– you all know what to do.

You three high five together before running to different parts of the gym. You run towards the build up rocks behind and explode some to create more small and medium ones. While doing this, Zyna is smartly distracting both third year students. Running, flying around them to just annoy them as they try to attack her with their Quirks, which is impossible to target her for how fast she is. Once you're done, Gouna is right there, arm expanding to create like a catapult to throw the rocks in their direction.

"Hey!" Deku yells, but he's been held back by his own fights to do anything. It's enough though to grab his other two classmates' attention.

It's your turn to smirk now at their surprised expression, excitement driving your whole system.

Bakugou's eyes find yours as you say, "Now you fucking die."

The rocks fly their way faster than they expect. Both of them fire at them to disintegrate the rocks into ash. And that's exactly what you wanted to happen. The ash creates a wall of smoke that won't let them see either of you.

Zyna helps Gouna to run fast towards Todoroki Shouto so she could evolve him with her elastic arms and legs, putting him out of the fight. One down.

And you… Fucking. Damned. Shit. Why do you always pick the hardest and most difficult fights? You don't know. But you always win. So, could you win against this big mountain?

Only one way to know…

The smoke helps you disguise yourself in it, but you can feel his careful and ready at all times stance. So you play. A spark of explosion from your ice here, and he answers with another of his own fire one. Creating more smoke. Funny. Another spark of your ice there, and he answers again, groaning in annoyance and pain when a sudden spark of your ice finds his left forearm.

"FUCK! FACE ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

You chuckle maliciously from behind him, right at the moment your ice explosions hit the back of his knees. You're not stupid to even think that you'll be able to win a one on one. You need the advantage in height at least.

How's the saying goes? If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain… Or well, in this case, you'll make Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Hero Dynamight come to you.

Before Bakugou inevitably falls after that cold blast against the back of his knees that unbalanced him, he tries turning around and shooting whomever it's being a pain in his ass. He doesn't count with the knowledge of how small you are compared to him that you fit perfectly in between his stretched arms that are ready to shoot.

As he falls back, your crazed smile is the last thing he sees before an explosion of white and cold happens just in his goddamn face.

A hard and strong thud is heard as the smoke around finally dissipates, giving one impressive image that leaves everyone around stoic and in silence.

Bakugou Katsuki is laying on the floor. You're kneeling on his big chest, hands with spreading cold smoke, like snow, right at his face. His expression is one of complete taken aback and surprised. Like, he can not believe what just happened, as the smirk it's still on your face.

"Who's the fucking extra now?"

You're both inhaling rapidly, trying to bring your breathing back to normal. Your eyes won't leave his, completely enraptured in his deep ruby color, filled with so much fire it feels like he's trying to melt you. (And you would, if these were other circumstances.)

You then stand up and step back from him, smiling. You fucking won! And against this enormous and angry mountain! Fuck yeah!

He’s still lying on the floor, looking very surprised, so you laugh as you stretch a hand to help him up. Bakugou Katsuki takes it, a little side smile finally appearing as he shakes his head and stands. Now you definitely have to look up at him. Jesus, he’s way taller now up this close.

Before any of you says something, the annoying voice of Hamata Aiko says, "You're still an idiot," and he punches you on the side, making you literally fly meters away and hit your head with the wall.

The roaring scream of "HEY!" from several people is the last thing you hear before passing out.

When you next wake up, you encounter the kind smile of Recovery Girl.

"Hi, sweetie. How are you feeling? You took one hell of a punch…"

You groan. "Ugh, don't remind me… I'm going to fucking…"

"Language, dear."

"...kill him to pieces!"

She chuckles amused. "Alright, but first, you should rest. Then kick his butt." Her wink makes you smile in content as you relax in the infirmary bed.

"There are people outside waiting for me to report to them. Want them to get in, or should I tell them to come later?"

"It's okay, they can come in," you nod delicately, not wanting a new headache to deal with.

When Recovery Girl said they, you were expecting your two best friends. Not the Big Three entering the room in a hurry, especially the first one, the blond mountain who enters and walks directly at your side.

"How are you, Coldie?" Bakugou Katsuki asks, his big and calloused hand landing over your small one laying on the bed. You pull up an eyebrow at his nickname for you, but don't comment on it.

"I'm fine, Mountain. My left side still hurts a bit, but I have had it worse."

Bakugou Katsuki growls. Literally, like an angry dog.

“That kid was completely out of line,” protests Todoroki Shouto.

You sigh. “It’s Hamata Aiko. He needs to be the center of attention or he snaps.”

“I’ll snap him in two, give me a minute…” You don’t know if Bakugou it’s being serious or not, but the idea makes you snort as Midoriya Izuku exclaims, “Kacchan!” Todoroki just shakes his head and a small curve of a smile in his face.

“He’s being talked down to by Nezu-sensei. What he did… It's not okay at all. I hope he reconsiders his actions.” Midoriya says, in a stern but worried tone.

“What you and your friends did, on the other hand, was pretty impressive,” Todoroki says as both of his classmates nod, Midoriya more enthusiastically.

“I have never seen Kacchan so taken aback!”

“Shut up, nerd!”

“You were smart and fast and careful with all your moves. You took into consideration how different Kacchan was physically compared to you and you brought that to your own advantage! It was the true thinking of a hero in a dare situation! We were all impressed!” Midoriya rambles, his eyes shining now in true awe.

“Not to mention how in sync you and your friends were. I never expected being gripped like that by arms and legs functioning like ropes. It was funny, and smart,” Todoroki also comments while Midoriya nods in agreement.

You feel the tears in your eyes itchy, so you look down in shyness and smile.

“I… I just looked. Midoriya-senpai was on the other side of the gym, being held back by students so I knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything,” you look elsewhere but them, which is the window next to your bed, “and then I looked how Todoroki-senpai and Bakugou-senpai kept being close to each other, clearly looking for each others back, so I thought that the best option was to try and separate them. By looking at Todoroki-senpai using his quirk, I knew he was avoiding close contact combat, so I guessed that was his weakness. At least if you take him by surprise. So, I knew my friends were gonna be able to catch him. Me, on the other hand, I didn’t know what I was gonna do. I just knew I was gonna give my all to win.”

You finish shrugging, taking a deep breath to finally get the courage to look in the way the Big Three are standing.

They all look at you in complete amazement, pleased smiles on their faces.

“Another nerd alert,” Bakugou comments and Todoroki laughs.

Midoriya looks in reprimand in Bakugou’s direction, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, that nerd took you down very easily, without counting the times I also took you down…”

Todoroki then passes an arm around Midoriya’s shoulder in clear partnership as he prepares to pester Bakugou.

“There’s the fact that she is younger than you, Kacchan…” You think Hero Shoto has a death wish.

“I will blow both of your heads off,” Bakugou responds in a growl, pops already sounding from his hands. Both of his classmates snort in amusement.

Oh, yep, they all have a death wish.

“Oh! That reminds me…” Midoriya suddenly changes the subject, “Your Quirk.”

His eyes open wide and look at you in expectation. You tilt your head to the side a bit confused as you put your palm up and then make sparks of blue and white pop as the temperature around you gets colder.

“It’s a lot like yours, Kacchan, but…”

“Cold. Your explosions are cold.” Todoroki says, directing his hand from his cold side closer to your palm so he can feel the sparks.

“Did they discover how it’s produced?” Bakugou asks, looking very serious in your direction. But he isn’t angry, he’s just observing.

You shake your head. “They said it’s a composition of two or more chemicals, but they still can’t find which ones create this type of reaction.”

“That is a very important thing to know. I would investigate a bit if I were you. Knowing your Quirk to the fullest, even the small things, helps you be aware of the possible weaknesses and advantages you can have. That way you can be prepared at all times.” The professional tone in Bakugou’s voice leaves you mesmerized. He is… good. What he’s saying is so true, you haven’t actually thought about it.

“But, the doctors…”

“Doctors sometimes know shit.”

Midoriya physically slaps his own forehead while saying, “Kacchan..”

“He can’t help it. He’s an ass.” Todoroki snorts.

Bakugou decides to ignore them, not before stabbing them with his glare.

“What I’m fucking trying to fucking say,” you laugh at his foul mouth. He smiles a bit in your direction, “is that go beyond. You take the initiative to learn. Don’t wait for the teachers or doctors to tell you who you are.”

You can’t believe the Bakugou Katsuki is actually being nice and giving advice to you.

“You know who you are… Fucking number one, ain’t ya?” You nod smiling as he extends his hand closed in a fist so you can bump yours with his.

Midoriya’s big and proud smile makes you shy. And it's funny when he exclaims, “Plus ultra!”

Everyone laughs.

And, boy… Did you go plus ultra.

a.n; this will have a part two. 😉💥♥️❄️

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solelifauna · 1 month ago

Note

Oooh i really like that!!! The batfam who possessive,unhelthy protective toward each other except reader (fortunately or unfortunately 😅) I would like to know more about the other members too. What was the trigger who make them like that toward each other?

(Sorry if the english is bad , i'm belgian )

OHHHH, I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK!!!

Oof, starting out with Bruce Wayne. This man has been through it. He'd already been a little obsessive, considering his response to his parent's death was to dress up as a bat and beat people up. This, plus how he vies for control so much it becomes an obsession. It starts off with Dick, his first son. He didn't really plan to become as attached as he did tbh, he just didn't want the kid dying out on the streets, seeking the same type of retribution he also once sought. Dick was, to say the least, tough to deal with. He didn't want Bruce as a dad, Dick already had a dad and he was dead. But as days and patrols went on, Bruce became B, and on certain nights when Dick wakes up trembling, B becomes dad. And that cements it. Bruce was now a dad.

Then comes Jason. The kid was a riot, having the balls to jack tires off of the Batmobile and having the audacity to hit him with the tire jack too! Bruce knew Jason would be his son then and there, no question. Sure, Jason was a bit scared now, but once he settled in, it felt like everything was in place. He never stopped being a riot, reading and coming up with quick quips like nobody else. Eventually, Jason came to find out about Bruce's night job, and bada-bing-bada-bang, the second robin was ready to take on the streets. Dick wasn't too happy but its fine, turns out Dick ended up loving the kid just as much as him. Which is why Jason's death completely sent Bruce over the edge. His boy, his, killed by that god awful clown. It takes everything in his body to not rip the joker in two.

"It wouldn't be what Jason wanted", he tells himself as he brutalizes another petty thief. He says as he nurses another glass of brandy. He says as he benches Dick and starts another screaming match. But he doesn't care, he can't lose another son.

Then incomes little Tim Drake. He almost gets whiplash when this tiny little boy enters his office, thick folder in hand with a determined look in his eyes. Tim drake says his piece,

"You're killing Gotham."

"You're killing yourself."

"You need a robin."

"I can be Robin."

Those words set him off. Jason. His precious son-dead because of his crusade. the word "no" leaves his mouth stronger than he intends. He doesn't remember much about the exchange after that, but he remembers Alfred escorting a glaring Tim Drake out of his office. The folder remains on his desk, pictures, and documents askew. He opens it once more half-heartedly, his gaze blurring with tears as he looks down. Pictures. Hundreds of them, ones of him and Dick, of Him and Jason, and dick and Jason. He cries silently in his study that night. But it doesn't stop there, Tim Drake is persistent. He tells him to stop, but there's no quelling Tim. He follows him on patrols, stopping him when he gets too violent, and calling ambulances while Bruce tries to dampen the rage in his body.

Eventually, everything blows up one day, he yells at Drake, telling him to get lost or else he'd end up dying out here, dying like Jason. Tim never does stop. Instead, somehow, he now finds himself spending his nights with another little black-haired, blue-eyed boy. This one smaller than the last. He doesn't grow attached this time, he swears he won't. But it's hard not to love the boy. His witty banter, his long rants, and his insane cognitive skills, making even Bruce marvel at him. He's not Jason, he reminds himself, but it doesn't matter. He finds himself loving Tim Drake all on his own. Dick on the other hand had come around to loving Tim faster than Bruce had. Tim was his bird, just like Jason was. Tim had earned his respect. And now three became four.

Then the Redhood appears, a duffle bag full of heads arriving with him. He takes Gotham by storm, crime lords being killed left and right. He's elusive, obious Leauge training instilled in him and something else. Something familiar. Then Batman gets a warning from Hood,

"Keep an eye on your new Robin. It'd be a shame if he ended up like the last one."

And just like that Tim, Robin, is benched, much to Tims's outrage. Hes sent to Titans Tower, far away from from Gotham, far away from Hood. Its too bad that doesn't stop the Hood from finding the little bird anyway. Green is swimming in his vision when he first enters Drake Manor, he knows his replacement isn't here, but he's hoping somebody else will be. In the end, Hood doesn't find the Replacement's parents, when hacking into their flight logs he finds out they've been in Honduras for the past four months. Puzzle pieces click in Hood's head as he gears up towards Titans Tower. There has been a change of plans, well, not completely. Bruce would learn his lesson, but his plans for Tim have drastically changed. He'd scare the bird, nothing more,

"No more dead Robins." He repeates, a new meaning to those words.

(P.S! I know canonically the Drakes were not abusive, maybe a smidge neglectful, but they loved Tim. And Tim loved them. they were good parents. This is all following fanon.)

He doesn't expect Tim to fight back, sure it's a pathetic try considering the amount of sedative gas he'd pumped into the building. He simply cooed as he stroked Timmy's hair, watching as the bird slumped into him. The last word leaving his mouth was a slurred "Ja'sn." And Hood, Jason is pleasantly surprised. What a smart bird. Some events happen in between, but eventually, Jason finds himself back at the manor, back with his family. Bruce and Dick don't let him or Tim out of their sights their first week back.

This is when Jason meets Stephanie for the first time. She isn't adopted, no, but he could see that she's family nonetheless. As much as Bruce reprimands her, he also urgently ushers her over to Alfred for a check-up, thanks to another one of her reckless stunts. She and Tim get along great, whilst she and Dick are a rambunctious bunch, making it their life's goal to give B grey hairs. She's a feral thing, fighting to prove to herself that she isn't her father. Again, she was a Robin too, if only for a few days, still, she was there. Jason ends up cuddled on a couch with her and Tim on either side of him, watching some shitty ass crime movie. He grumbles, but there's no heat behind his complains.

Then comes Cassandra Cain. Within hours of meeting her, it was a unanimous decision to take her in. With her background, her story, and her lack of speech, it would be difficult to send her off elsewhere. And now Bruce has a Daughter, and his boys have a sister. Its not common knowledge, but Bruce has always wanted a daughter, and Cass was a saint. She was sweet yet lethal, she cared about her brothers, often going out with Dick, and learning how to read with Jason, whilst she and Tim bonded over casework. And just like him and her brothers, she wouldn't dare let a hair on any of their heads be hurt. Once she gets more comfortable talking, she doesn't ever stop reminding Jason that she's the older out of the two of them. She and Dick bond over Ballet and Dancing, his gymnastics, and time spent in the circus making it possible for him to keep up/aid Cass with her newfound hobby. Steph and Cass are even more well off together, usually patrolling together, or Steph ends up dragging Cass along to plot her next scheme. Bruce watches in adoration.

Then you arrive. He's completely blind sided when Alfred says he has a call from CPS, saying he has a biological child. You're a small thing when you arrive at the manor, only eleven years old. But right now, he just can't get over the fact that he has a child, one that was of his actual blood, and you've just been dumped on his doorstep. He doesn't know what to do, so he just gives you an awkward pat before retreating into the cave. He cant deal with this right now, he has one too many high-profile cases going on at the same time, and now, everyone couldn't just walk and talk freely around the manor. He sighs into his hands, your timing really was poor, but he knows it isn't your fault. You're just a kid, a kid who lost her mom. But yet, Bruce can't bring himself to talk to you. Alfred keeps reminding him with a disappointed tone, and Bruce promises that he'll get around to talking to you, but he just never does. It doesn't help that he starts seeing you less and less. Unbeknownst to him, you've taken the hint that nobody really wanted you here, so you just stopped caring. And Bruce doesn't care enough to amend your thoughts.

Lastly comes Damian. His blood-son. The son of him and the woman he once loved, Thalia al Ghul. Sure, there was some love lost over the years but he still had feelings for her. How could he not? All those days spent training in Nanda Parbat, how could he not still love her if even just a little bit? And Damian? He's the living, breathing amalgamation of their love. It doesn't help that the boy is adorably feisty, and dangerous, but it's clear that he's still a kid seeking approval from his father and mother. He knew Tim was going to be ecstatic, finally, he wouldn't be the youngest (though he forgets that technically you were the youngest). It's an immediate catfight when Tim and Damian meet, though Tim doesn't take it to heart, he knows how League influence works. He does, however, put Damian in his place subduing him before everyone else comes down to see what happened. Immediately Jason grabs ahold of Damian, remembering him from his time in the league. He holds Damian in a possessive grip as he looks him in the eyes, green swirling in them.

"baby bat, its good to finally have you back."

"Tch, its good to see you too Akhi."

"Still Dami, you're new here, but we also have rules. No harming family. You touch Timmy or anyone else again, ill keep you locked up in my room." Jason says gently.

Damian only nods his head, familiar with his akhi's protective behavior. Tim was his brother then, and everyone else was family.

"I understand Akhi, no harm will come to Drake. I apologize, I did not know he was family."

Tim only flashes Damian a feral smile.

"No harm done Damian, you're not the fist person in the family thats tried to kill me."

Jason grumbles. Whilst Dick laughs. What a fucked up dynamic, am i right?

Of course, nobody really tells Damian you're a part of the family too. All Damian knows is that you're the only biological daughter of Batman, you are not considered family, and he must kill you to inherit his rightful place. What he didn't know, was that you were just a civilian, someone not even worth the effort. Still, the damage is already done. Damian expects some kind of punishment, however, he only gets a light reprimand and is let off the hook.

"He's still learning." They all say.

He ends up cuddled on the family couch in between his father and Drake, whilst Grayson, Todd, and Cass fight over what movie to pick. He doesn't see you anywhere.

'Good.' He thinks to himself.

You were of inferior breeding, weak and fragile. You had no place amongst them or anywhere else. Still, you were his half-sister, meaning he had some obligation to you. Sure, he hated being related to someone so weak, but hey, according to league customs, you were marked by his sword, meaning it was now his job to be your keeper. So, he'd make sure you'd stay at the manor and stayed out of trouble and out of the way.

Anyways, y'all are going to see more of their dynamics with each other and y/n in later chapters. Just wanted to drop this drabble. Thanks for this ask! I really enjoyed writing this.

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feralthoughtdump · 11 months ago

Text

False God

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, smut, threesome, alcohol and ambiguous substance consumption, lip biting, a little bit of blood, oral (m&f receiving), facefucking, spitroast, a lot of bodily fluids, squirting, a teeny bit of bi!Felix, a little bit of butt stuff, not fully canon compliant (let’s imagine that Felix didn’t find out about Oliver lying)

Word Count: 2k

Felix wasn’t the type who liked to share his toys. Whether it be his girlfriend, or his shiny new friend who comes to visit every summer, Felix felt a certain possession over them that he didn’t like to admit. But Oliver came to Saltburn with that woeful, wide-eyed gaze that Felix couldn’t fully resist. He also couldn’t deny how he looked at his girlfriend and how she looked at him. All of the shared glances across the dinner table, how she’d swallow when he had something witty to say to her, how his gaze would linger on her just a little bit longer than hers.

Felix trusted her, he knew that she’d never go behind his back. And it’s the trust he holds in her that fuels his desire to let this happen. He adores her. Especially now with her, as Farleigh calls it, slutty fairy costume, and he’d do anything to make her happy, even if it meant letting Oliver touch her in ways that were solely reserved for him.

So, the three of them find themselves in this predicament, with her draped against him, and Oliver leaning against the doorway.

“Baby, know Oliver, right?” She nods, pressing herself closer to his chest. Felix wraps a comforting arm around her midriff, rubbing circles into her exposed skin with his thumb. “It’s his birthday today, and I thought this would be a nice present.”

His lips pressed against her neck, her pulse thrumming against them, while his hands wandered, pushing the little skirt that she wore past her hips, exposing the intricate set that he bought for this occasion.

Oliver grins, stepping closer to the pair. He looks at her, the antlers on his head casting a shadow over her glittery doe eyes.

“She’s a very nice present.” His fingers push at the strap of her fairy wings, letting them fall to the ground with a soft clatter. “How’d you know I was into her?”

“Saw you looking.” He chuckles and expertly unclaspes the back of her lacy bra. “But I can’t blame you, she’s pretty.”

His large hand palms at her now exposed tits, rolling a nipple between his fingers.

She whines and lets her head fall back against his chest, still covered in the ribbed fabric of his tank top.

“Don’t tease, Felix.” She sighs.

Oliver approaches them, stripping himself of his embroidered suit in the process. The pair watch with bated breath as he sinks to his knees in front of her. He noses at the inside of her thigh, taking in how soft and plush she felt.

He savors her, kissing and nipping at her thighs, letting his fingers drift from her ankles up to her knees. As he pushes her legs apart, Felix thumbs at her pussy through her panties, creating a wet patch on the expensive lace.

“Can I give her a taste?” Oliver asks, lips parted and eyes gleaming, staring up at Felix.

“Of course you can.” Felix carefully positions her on the bed, her back flat on the mattress and Oliver places himself in front of her, right in between her thighs.

Her shaky fingers push the lace waistband past her hips, but Oliver stops her, letting his teeth catch on the fabric to do it himself. He hums at the sight of her pussy, all wet and wanting.

Felix places himself over her, jerking at his cock as Oliver licks a strip along the length of her folds.

She yelps, pulling back, oversensitive from Felix’s previous ministrations, but he tightens his hold on her, keeping her in place.

“C’mon, be a good girl. Let him make you feel good.” She turns her head, bashful at how his words affect her, but he takes her chin and forces her eyes to meet his. “You’ll be good for Ollie, for me. Won’t you?”

She licks her lips, shallow breaths making her chest rise and fall.

“Yeah, I’ll be good,” she whispers.

He smiles, and affectionately pats her cheek, and her thighs widen as she shifts against the mattress, trying to relax.

With a nod of approval from Felix, Oliver grabs her thighs and pulls her onto his face. His tongue laps at her, circling her clit and teasing at her entrance.

As she parts her lips, moaning at the heat that grows in the pit of her stomach, Felix places his thumb against her tongue, keeping her jaw open. He takes this as an opportunity to slip his cock into her wanting mouth. She sputters around him as the length of his shaft fills her mouth.

“Fuck.” He groans. “Taking me so well, baby.”

Felix fucks himself into her mouth, letting his tip hit the back of her throat. She hollows her cheeks before sucking, letting her lips wrap tight around his shaft, saliva dripping past her lips with every drag of his cock.

Oliver wraps lips around her clit and slips two fingers into her dripping entrance. His fingers curl and she cries out.

“Do that again,” Felix demands. “She likes it.”

He angles his fingers, letting the pads of his fingers press against her G-spot. At the sight of her legs shaking, he curls his fingers, practically forcing her hips to jerk against his face.

She feels her body tense, falling closer and closer to the edge, as Oliver teases her, over and over again. Her arousal, in combination with his saliva, is spread across his lips.

It’s messy, but none of them care. Both she and Felix love the sight of his flushed cheeks, eyes half-lidded in pleasure from the way her cunt tastes.

“Don’t let her cum yet” he breathily orders “Have her suck you off first.”

Felix manhandles her onto her knees and crawls onto the mattress, he taps his cock against cunt, dripping with a mixture of both her arousal and Oliver’s saliva. She looks up at Oliver, keeping her mouth open and drooling, and sticks out her tongue, an open invitation for him to start fucking her face.

“So well behaved,” Oliver whispers, tapping his hard, flushed cock on her tongue, pre-cum dripping down into her throat. “You’re Felix’s good girl, aren’t you?”

Before she can respond, Oliver shoves his cock past her lips and Felix pushes himself inside her, forcing all of him into her cunt. She yelps around Oliver’s cock, the vibrations from the back of her throat making him shudder.

The sound of skin slapping against one another fills the room as Felix fucks into her, letting his hips slam against hers.

The reflection in the mirror across from them is obscene. Her chin is covered in her own drool, smeared across her cheeks and chin, dripping onto the expensive sheets. Felix has his head thrown back in pleasure, hands on her hips with a bruising hold, sweat gleaming on his skin, soaking through the front of his thin tank top.

Oliver takes Felix’s face and plasters his lips against his. He’s taken by surprise, but he grabs the back of Oliver’s neck and pulls him in closer, forcing Oliver’s hips to push his cock deeper into her mouth. She grabs at the back of Oliver’s thigh, digging her nails into his skin. He hisses at the sting and bites down on Felix’s lower lip, a metallic taste blooming on his tongue.

They pull away from each other, and blood trickles down Felix’s chin.

Oliver stares at Felix, about to apologize, but Felix grins. “I could taste her on you, you know? Doesn’t she taste good?”

All he can do is nod in agreement, cock twitching in her mouth.

Oliver nods and leans forward, licking up the blood pooling on Felix’s lips. The pair lock their lips together. Wet sounds of their kisses and Felix’s cock being sucked into her pussy reverberate throughout the room, accompanied by her gagging and choking.

She whines, drawing both of their attention back to her.

“Aww, my baby needs some attention?” At the sound of her whimpering in confirmation, Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll give you some attention then.”

Felix reaches forward, pressing his thumb into Oliver’s open mouth, biting his lip at the sight of him swirling his tongue around the digit. With a loud pop, Felix removed his thumb from Oliver’s mouth.

Wet with Oliver’s saliva, Felix’s thumb circles her other hole, slowly teasing it open. She whines, feeling a foreign stretch as his thumb pushes past the muscle.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight.” He groans. “Don’t know why I haven’t fucked your tight little ass yet. Maybe I should tomorrow, I know your pussy’s going to be sore.”

Her holes clench around Felix, the feeling of fullness, overtaking her body. She shudders, legs about to give out underneath her, as he forcefully drives his cock into her and teases at her hole, letting his thumb push against the rim, stretching it open.

“Oh, she likes that, doesn’t she?” Oliver grins, messily grabbing at the length of her hair, forcing her to look at him. “You like it dirty? Like getting all of your holes filled?”

She blinks away the dark streaks of mascara that run down her face, trying her best to nod. He lets his cock slip free of her lips and gives her cheek a pinch.

“Come on, use your words.”

“Yes,” She gasps, back arching, pushing herself into Felix. “I like it.”

He presses her front into the mattress, forcing her back to arch deeper into Felix. His fingers wrap around his hard, leaking cock, letting her spit lubricate his hand as he tugs, slowly bringing himself closer and closer to his own release.

She tightens around Felix, whining as she feels an oncoming orgasm about to wash over her.

Her glassy eyes look up at Oliver’s and he coos, thumbing at her cheek.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ollie, I- ah!”

Felix lets his thumb hook inside of her clenching muscle, pulling her into him.

His cock buries deep inside of her, forcing itself against her cervix. She screams, and Oliver is thankful for the loud music playing throughout the house. Her arousal gushes, spraying against both her, and Felix’s thighs.

“Fuck, baby, making a mess over here.” Felix groans. His head falls back, panting, his grip on her tightening.

His hips still, with tense thighs and stifled moans, he cums, coating her insides. Carefully, he slips himself out, using his fingers to spread her pussy open, watching with pride as his cum and her arousal drip out of her clenching, gaping cunt.

Oliver pushes his cock back into her mouth, releasing down her throat. Her eyes tear up at the sudden intrusion. She’s overwhelmed and over-sensitive, but she swallows around him, obedient as always.

The trio collapses on the mattress, chests rising and falling in tandem. Felix wraps a strong arm around her and pulls her in close, letting her temple rest on his chest. Oliver gently grazes her shoulders with his fingers, calming her down and letting her shaky and twitchy body slowly fall still.

The lights of the party filter through the large windows, illuminating their sweat-slicked bodies. They shimmer, her body glitter having rubbed onto each other.

Distanced from the commotion happening outside of his room, it was just the three of them, sprawled across Felix’s bed. It was the three of them. Felix, their shining Adonis, and her and Oliver. Felix’s favorite toys.

#saltburn #oliver quick #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton smut #oliver quick smut #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fic #felix catton x oliver quick #felix catton x reader x oliver quick

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persicipen · 29 days ago

Text

like always ノ jiaoqiu

₊ ˙ ⊹ . after the incident that left jiaoqiu in a weakened state, both physically and mentally, shutting himself off even from you, he reluctantly accepts your plea to relearn dearly missed intimacy.

ৎ୭ — · · 4.5k ノ afab gn reader — established relationship . emotional making out ノ petnames — sweet pea . sweetheart ノ bittersweet fluff . lots of hurt and comfort ノ riding him . clumsy and messy attempt at reigniting the spark ノ cumming inside and together hihi ノ heavy spoilers about his condition included! set after 2.5 version!

The start of this little story begins in late afternoon when the distant hustle and bustle of the startskiff port plays a melody for the dust dancing listlessly against the wine-dark sky. As the evening settles in, it’s natural to seek comfort in beloved arms. To rest and feel safe is almost all one could ever desire, but a subtle silence hangs like omen in the quiet inside of the house instead.

Jiaoqiu says nothing, as opposed to the incessant surge of babbling he would normally hit you with as soon as you two were done with work for the day, but that was before the events of Xianzhou Luofu’s Wardance.

And then he mutters the heavy truth in front of your face.

“I don’t think I can do this.” You’re taken aback by the soft voice. As gentle as the fluttering of butterfly wings. There is an edge to his tone, however, like that of a subtle crack in a frozen river.

Little tuskpirs gather around the bed, their round bellies flattening as they slump right against Jiaoqiu’s sides, immediately sensing the rise of anxiety within him and running to soothe his mind and feed on the negative energy. Like sluggish pets, three of them wriggle between you two, ignoring the hints of an unsuccessful attempt at reigniting the intimacy and clothes half taken off.

“Why? What’s wrong?” You scoot over and wrap your arms around his lithe frame. “Do you not want to do this anymore?”

“That’s not it…”

“Jiao…”

“I’m sorry. I want to see you.” His voice breaks down — not enough to cry, but it’s obvious he’s struggling.

By instinct, he finds the safe crook of your neck and hides himself there to calm down. A meek escape from what he’s afraid of. You.

No matter the passing time, you wish to give him more if that’s what he needs to open up again. Strength in devotion is not something you’re lacking, no — far from it. However, it would be a lie to say that his rejections do not hurt you. Like knives, like needles, jabbing at your heart that you so willingly present before him, all bare on your open palms.

You knew he’d always been prone to sadness, sulking in the depths of sorrow over his life in private while maintaining a shiny smile at work and shushing all uncomfortable questions with a playful swat of his feather fan. The truth is, you’re helpless by now. So, it’s not like you’re trying to push him into sleeping together. More like persuade, convince, because you’re certain this is exactly what he requires. He has closed himself deep inside his mind, away from you and your tenderness, like believing he’s no longer worthy of your love and he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate something that should never be transactional in the first place.

It’s been already a long while since his recovery, still far from his peak condition, but as good as it will get in the next year, at least.

To heal his shattered image, you want to love him. You already do. Make love to him to show he’s still just as precious to you, each part of him one of a kind. Even if scarred and weakened, he’s as handsome and witty as ever, and you have never wanted anyone else in your life just as badly as him. That’s love to you. You love Jiaoqiu. The problem is, he doesn’t love himself and thus diminishes any chance to prove him wrong.

At first he was repeatedly apologising to you that you had to wake up multiple times a night to change his bandages and soak his wounds in herbal ointments, even if you were doing it because you wanted to. After that, he stopped saying anything, just glancing at you with pity, like he’s taking something from you. As if surviving a few weeks without sex was that hard for you. You want to scoff at the implication. Obviously, this was the last thing you were thinking about, more concerned about the well-being of your beloved man and focused on working yourself off to ensure he’s back to full health as soon as possible to not waste all the amazing treatments he received from the Luofu’s Alchemy Commission.

To put it bluntly, you don’t miss his hot embrace around you while he’s busy crowding you with his cock in the morning when you two are still sleepy. What you do miss is the passion in his heart, burning as brightly as the early sun, beckoning you to hold him close and whisper your feelings to him until there’s nothing left to say.

The tuskpirs hum and snort, wiggling their cute, pudgy bodies to get on his lap for maximum comfort. One settles on yours, sensing that you’re getting overwhelmed by the situation. Instead of enjoying the privacy, you and Jiaoqiu have to accept there must be enough space between you both for these dreamy living cushions. They have been by his side ever since he returned from the Wardance.

“Shh, it’s okay.” There’s so much you wish to say to him, but nothing seems right enough. You wrap your arms around him and pet the back of his head. After getting your breath under control, you decide to speak up gently. “You’ve been doing great around the kitchen for a while now. Touching me should be easier than looking for the right ingredients in the drawers, hm?”

“Hmph, I haven’t lost my skills. I just loved watching you.”

“I can’t see myself either. I wouldn’t consider it a big loss.” You laugh sheepishly.

“I do. You’re so pretty! And, well, it’s unfair when you can still see me.”

“Not when you’re hiding in my neck, silly. Hey…” You cradle him like a wounded bird, trying to get him to move up without forcing him if he certainly doesn’t wish to.

But he does.

“I want you. Really.” You admit, kissing his cheek. “And would appreciate if you could do something about it. But I will not force you. Take your time.”

There’s a voice inside your head telling you to feel guilty for examining his face so intently now, but you need to study every little frown and twitch of his muscles. You need to determine if he’s willing to be loved. The heart before him is bare again, ready to be taken into his hold, but he hesitates, as if returning to you as wounded could change anything between you two. Never. Not only this, even more so, you’re thankful he’s alive and still in your arms, warm, which makes you want to cuddle him even closer.

“Mmm… it’s impossible to refuse you. I just… Hmm, it’s a lot to process.”

“Do you think it will be easier i-if you lie down and I sit on top of you?” You stumble upon the question, cheeks burning at the memory of how you did the exact same thing during your first time together, being much less experienced than you are now.

A faint smile plays on his lips, a blush quickly blooming across his face.

“Haven’t heard you so flustered in a while.” He smirks, noting that you indeed kept your worried and assertive mask for far too long. If not for his flaring injuries, that fake credence of yours would be gone with the first flirty joke playing on his pointy teeth. You never win against his teasing. A spark of joy in your chest blooms at witnessing him so relaxed and regain a part of his old confidence.

It means he might be ready for something more than just the light kisses you haven’t been able to stop yourself from sharing.

A nervous purr erupts in his throat as he clumsily turns around to rest on his back, his hands yearning to never break the contact with your body. Meanwhile, you, even more clumsily, drape yourself atop his lap. There’s a giggle when tuskpirs walk right across his face, brushing their soft, fat bellies against his nose when they march away and jump down the bed, disappointed there’s less of negative energy to snack on. But it’s for the better. You’re almost jealous that Jiaoqiu wouldn’t see them anyway because making out in front of them would embarrass you beyond recognition.

“You sure?” You ask when the proximity is nearly unbearable.

“I owe you this much, dear.”

“Jiao, you really don’t have to force—”

“No, shh… Listen to my voice. I owe you this much, dear. It’s the truth.” His fingertips glide across your hips, sliding further up and over your stomach, trying to make out how many clothes you’re wearing. Still too many, that he’s certain. “Let’s focus now on something else, hmm?”

You allow him to remove the silk robe without making a fuss. He pokes out a tip of his tongue once you’re naked, eagerly roaming his hands all over your body, whispering ‘perfect’ as he begins to explore the well-known shapes and dips of your skin, like recreating the familiar image through other senses. His ears are flicking lightly at every sigh you let out from his bold caresses.

“Just say if anything changes, alright?”

“Alright.” That’s all he can do. Agree. He’s unable to read all the worries hidden in your expression. There’s nothing, just your voice. “Same with you, yes?”

With the closeness and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, it’s like the rest of the world suddenly doesn’t matter. The twitching tail curled next to him reflects his eagerness.

“Mhm, I promise.” You waste not a single more second, drawing near his lips with your own, this time ensuring it isn’t fleeting.

He copies the gesture, one hand tugging you closer to him and the other getting lost in your hair, holding onto the scalp like guidance.

Jiaoqiu feels feverish underneath you, no longer reserved but like a lover he once was before. He savours every last bit of physical contact, yet the bandages are quite irritating and disrupting him from fully enjoying your warmth, though do nothing against the soft noises escaping him whenever you roll yourself along his growing erection.

The tenderness, the touches, the hot kisses shared — all of it. With how sensitive you are after an unavoidable break from sharing a bed with him, it doesn’t take much to make you wet, covering his loose pants with arousal. No longer able to see the sheen layer, but extremely sensitive to sense you’re getting all slippery and hot down there, Jiaoqiu takes it slow to focus on every brief sensation and mark them all in his mind.

As you try to part from his lips to change your position and help him get rid of his clothes, he merely pulls you closer, tongue peeking out and asking for permission to get tangled with yours.

“Not yet.” Is all he says in the quick interval between claiming your mouth.

You whine, maybe from being depraved of the pleasure or maybe exactly because of the delay caused by his request. His breathing becomes faster as he sinks deeper into the kisses, just as he sinks his nails into your back.

The hand that was tugging you down finds its way near your legs, right next to his cock, finger delicately dipping in your wetness and swiping your clit back and forth to both tease and explore where you are — he sighs in relief that it’s no different from when he used to navigate your body in the dark after you had been so embarrassed by his previous mischief that you couldn’t bear to leave any lights on. You squeak, grinding harder into his palm. The teensy noises echo your thirst, one you can no longer contain as Jiaoqiu skillfully guides you to feel his shaft instead of riding his fingers.

“Jiao, please…”

“Mmm, that’s so sweet to hear from you.”

“Get out of your pants already.” You bite his lower lip. Your hands tremble as they try to pull the waistband down.

He smirks into the kiss. How could he doubt himself when all it takes is just a moment to have you so touch-deprived?

Aside from the incessant flames of affinity, you are also proud it got to this point. You want him to be proud too. And you are going to help him understand that he still has you, body and soul. You want to see him come undone underneath you and between your pussy walls, like he always did, like he used to. Ignoring that the break was a necessity for some time, overcome with the tender care for your lover, but now the pent-up desire from these last weeks weighs down on you like a tempest. You need to have him, preferably inside you, and want him to claim you as his own once again.

Fully hard and flushed, his cock throbs in your hold as you lift your hips up to finally hump yourself against him. You take in the sight of him lying underneath you. Beautiful. Elegant.

It seems Jiaoqiu himself isn’t faring much better than you — he curses under his breath as you brush your noses together, pressing just a tad more to get his cockhead to slide into the dewy core. You roll your hips to align him with your entrance, encouraging him to do so with a squeeze to his hand and a lewd whine into his lips. It feels tight and wonderful for both of you; it almost makes you lose your balance and collapse on top of him, but you find yourself steadied by the reassuring arms wrapping around your waist.

He bites his lip, groaning when you purposefully clench around him. Not yet fully inside you, but it’s impossible to deny just how blissfully it is to share this intimate embrace again.

“How much of you do I get today?” You purr, trying to sink down further.

“All of me.” He gulps in response, desperate to indulge himself while you take him as deep as possible. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. All this time spent on thinking about you like this…” He guides you down with a tighter grip on your midriff, himself bucking at the syrupy praise in a physical form. A wordless prayer to let him enjoy it — something so divine even he can’t deny it. Jiaoqiu moans at the contact, even louder as you nip at his neck, giving permission to do more.

“Is this okay?” You ask with a shuddering voice and he only hums in agreement.

Your forehead is pulsing in the dearly missed inkling of being overwhelmed, gathering thoughts and courage to get used to the presence between your legs, nestling raw where you feel the most exposed. The only difference is that usually he would look at you, yet now his eyes remain closed. A small price to pay for the chance of appreciating the sensation of being one with you once again.

The broken whispers are different. He groans, already fucked out even when he hasn’t moved at all. Just the idea of having you wrapped around him again, hips sinking into your downy skin and kissing away tears as you ask him to take you in the same old rhythm of kisses and trust, has him almost too excited.

“Jiao, ah, ngh…”

“I know.” His voice comes out husky, “I missed you so much, sweet pea…”

The tenderness melts your insides as he gently bucks up into you.

Jiaoqiu buries his face in your neck, lips and teeth everywhere, just trying to touch as much of you as possible. You let him, ignoring the burn of your ticklish body and even more bare than before now that he uses his hands to map your entire form.

How you look when submitting to lust.

How you feel, all tight and sodden for him at the same time.

It draws a moan out of you, wanton and crystal clear, out of breath with a need that threatens to drive you mad if not for Jiaoqiu’s sweet smooches swallowing the whimpers and begging whines.

With one hand holding onto the side of your ribs for support, his other goes to grip your ass, lightly patting it, testing the waters to see if he can be more aggressive with you and how you will react. He even presses his cock further inside, his finger teasingly ghosting around your entrance while you’re stuffed full of him. The feathery ecstasy makes you melt in delight, head dizzy as you bable his name over and over again to finally move and not tease you any longer.

“How is it that you’re even more impatient than me?”

“I love you. I just love you so much, and you make me feel good!” You sob, barely able to contain the pleasure anymore, rocking against him, as desperate to hear your little pants and moans as he is to dwell in the squeeze of your walls. He is being selfish, denying you to make this moment last as long as possible just to test whatever is new to him, but it is impossible to fight the temptation of getting lost in you. Together with you.

Perhaps it really is a big inconvenience to not rely on his sight anymore, but he still sees through you better than anyone else, able to bring out the shine from most of your features, knowing your body just as well as knowing the properties of each herb from the drawers. He’s aware of the moment when you get too close, hating that he can no longer watch your face twist and convulse in ecstasy. Even if he has memorised all your precious antics from when he could still watch your pretty visage, they are new again. And it causes him to lose his mind.

He’s beautiful, sprawled on the pillows with his peach-coloured locks of silk for hair; cheeks painted incandescent red and the tip of his nose the same pink as tuskpirs. Eyes closed and framed by long, delicate lashes — so pretty when curled from tears, a layer of sugary fog. The softness of his fair skin catches the dim mauve light of the evening, porcelain and unblemished, save for the subtle traces of weariness that linger from the remains of the sickness.

Even in his exhaustion, there’s an ethereal grace to him, as if nothing could ever dull the elegance etched in his figure. It’s easier for him to get tired, but that was within your expectations.

In this fleeting stillness, he belongs only to you. You can imagine hearing the echo of his laugh — that mischievous lilt he so often hides behind — but now, his lips are parted just enough to hint at the quiet suspire of fulfilment.

He’s so perfect it almost hurts. And yet, there’s something fragile in him too, something only those who love him enough can see beneath the layers of smiles and clever words. Something you’d protect at all costs.

It takes no time for him to figure out how to move in just the right way to keep you hanging on the edge, ickle mewls now dripping down your tongue with how helpless you are against his touch, even when you’re on top of him.

“I will take your hands, ngh— and lay them down, okay… Ah!” So desperately trying to intertwine your fingers together and press them to the sides of his head — all futile as the strength leaves your limbs to be replaced with the prickling heat of love.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem like you’re able to do that, sweetheart.”

He moans as you arch your back and whimper with every bounce of your hips, as if trying to get away from the torturous rhythm but encouraging him to buck into you simultaneously.

“Tell me… how does it feel like?” Jiaoqiu demands, a saccharine tone between panting breaths, making your face burn.

“Like… ah, perfect.” The sensation is too overwhelming for you. Unable to even think, let alone speak coherently. “Like always…”

The pleasure is rolling off you in waves as you meet his thrusts. Like always, like it was before. After all the words left unsaid, you two are closer than have been in weeks. It is perfect in its imperfection — there are scars, spaces you cannot quite fill — but the air between you is forever the same, scented with spices and sweet lewdness, and you don’t need any further proof that this is real, that he is real. The closeness is still raw at the edges, a bit awkward as somehow your bodies clash in places that used to align smoothly, charged with something that passing days and distance have failed to erase.

This is your first time in many long weeks, after all. The stabs of bliss send you over the edge faster than before, keening into his face. Jiaoqiu hums and coos at how beautiful you sound, taking a deep breath under your jawline to take in your scent and drown himself in it. It surprises him when you quiver, deliciously soaked with the tint of love.

His cock throbs in wanton pain, begging for relief, and if he knew this would make you even tighter than before, he might have thought twice before doing it. He chuckles, still overwhelmed by the wave of endorphins, as if drunk on happiness. You swear you can hear him purr when you run your fingers over his ear and take a firm hold on it, feeling him buck into you with a high-pitched whine. As your shaking hand slides down his neck, tracing the smooth scars there, you reach for his chest.

“You still love that, hmm?”

“Hmm, how could I not?” He sighs as you nibble on his collarbone, very very careful not to irritate the discoloured marks after Hoolay’s fangs.

“Please, touch me here, too.” You bring his palm between your legs, gently guiding his fingers to your clit.

“Aren’t you a tiny bit too bratty?”

“What if I am?” You ask teasingly.

In spite of the exchange of words, he obliges to your demands. Your arousal covers his digits when he circles them around your swollen nub. Concurrently, his thrusts are slow and purposeful, holding you in place and savouring the sensation of being one with you again. The rough patch of the bandage near his navel reminds him in the most annoying way he’s yet to return to full health.

“Ahh, Jiaoqiu!”

His ears perk up in delight at how it sounds so beautiful when you cry his name like that.

Having an emotional barrier over your sex life has been excruciating for both of you, but you’re finally getting a glimpse of the previous wonderful intimacy you used to share.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He breathes out, heavy and shuddering, already so close just from this.

“I’m yours,” you whine. “All yours.”

He’d never force you into that, but the sentiment of such reassurance, even after all this time and his condition, makes his heart flutter and his hips stutter in their movements. His hand flies up to cradle your face, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The sudden confession and a rough tap on your bundle of nerves — a hint of pain and pleasure as his hips hit your own — is what at last pulls you into release. With his name slurred in between hiccups and sobs, you grip at his shoulders, and your orgasm washes over you in waves, bringing him with yourself.

Jiaoqiu thrusts deep inside you and lets go of his load, biting down on your shoulder with the intention to leave a mark. Regardless, you allow him even closer to give him more of your skin. The temptation to make a small wound and taste you is irresistible for him, yet he will not cross this boundary. Not yet, at least. Your fingers brush through his hair as he whines and clings to you for support, licking over the sore spot and pumping in a frenzy, riding out his orgasm to milk himself in your welcoming core.

He’s always been rough while reaching his peak, as if all instincts within him take control to fill you up with his cum thoroughly. Jiaoqiu tries to prolong the pleasure but can’t do it — simple as that — panting and cuddling to you like he’d never let go. You sink into him as you both catch your breaths, giving in to the sleepiness after a warm, much-needed release.

It is so comforting and dreamy to be cradled in his arms, to have his cock still buried inside you, already sore and sensitive. His heartbeat joining your own, soft tuffs of inhales and exhales lulling you to rest against his chest, as you let out a lush sigh in satisfaction.

A couple of touches and smiles are enough for now.

“How you’re doing?” You let yourself settle on his chest again, trembling hands stroking the mess of fur between his ears. He squirms, placing an arm around you.

“Surprisingly good.” He adjusts on the pillow, holding you tight as if not to let you slip away from him. You only stroke his face, thumbs swiping across the wet tear streaks on his cheeks, continuing to give affectionate pats and tender brushes through his hair.

However, it’s impossible to miss how drowsy he turns after the vigorous exercise. With the bandages so loose, the difference is just so apparent.

“Tired?” You brush your nose against his. “I know it was rather taxing on your constitution now, but… how do you feel now?”

“No matter what you think, I am perfectly fine. I missed you a lot. Quite fun to realise that I needed just a little persuasion from you to accept some things.” His hands brush up and down your arms, and he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “What about you? How do you feel with everything?”

“I needed this just as much as you, you stubborn old fox.” You mumble.

“Hmm, not as stubborn as you, it seems.”

It makes you giggle into his shoulder. There are so many emotions hidden under the cover of snuggles, but you wish for this to last longer than anything else — and in his arms, you are at last secure and loved. Together with him.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . AUTHOR’S NOTE — okay, so… i really hope i approached the topic the right way. it might not be obvious, but i read through many articles, comments and stories from people who lost their sight, especially as adults, and how their lives changed after that. they’re still doing fine and adjusted to the new reality, which is sweet! working on this little fic was quite emotional to me as a certified jiaoqiu fan, especially that i “secretly-not-so-secretly” selfship with him, and perhaps i even could add a warning that it’s selfship-coded, but also reader didn’t really have any specific traits there. i guess i wanted to just write something cute that happens after the incident to show that jiaoqiu, even if struggling with some aspects of his life, especially emotional and intimate ones, is still the same lovely character <3 and if i have enough time and motivation later, i plan to write some fluff about it too!

#—writing.#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x you #jiaoqiu smut

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jobean12-blog · 3 months ago

Text

At First Sight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (maybe he's a Mafia/Mob boss, maybe CEO- either way he's too delicious to ignore)

Word Count: 2,248

Summary: You're out to celebrate with friends when something unexpected happens.

Author's Note: We all know I love Mob/CEO Bucky and skirting that mystery line so you can use your imagination here! Honestly, if he approached me like this I'd just be putty in his hands haha 😏thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, Bucky is pretty forward, fun, drinking and mentions of alcohol but everyone is coherent and able to make clear choices, fingering, semi-public sex, curses

“I’m not sure…?”

You look between your two friends, Sadie, and Nia, and blink several times. “Too much?”

They look at each other then back at you.

“Definitely not!” Sadie squeals.

“And besides,” Nia adds, “the limo’s here. Too late to change!”

The space is dark, loud, and filled with moving bodies. You shove your way up to the bar and shout, “excuse me!” hoping to get the bartender’s attention.

With the music so turned up and so many other people slamming the bar, the bartender doesn’t even look in your direction.

“Heyyyy!” you shout with a slap on the bar.

“I’m not sure he heard you.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you look up at the man pressed close to you at the crowded bar.

He’s tall. And sexy. And gorgeous. And wearing a smirk that screams trouble…in the best way.

“Yelling won’t work doll,” the man says, motioning to the bartender. “It’s just too damn loud.”

You purse your lips as you try to think of a witty comeback but before you can he continues.

“But lucky for you, he’s my friend so I’ll help you order another round of those shots you seem to love.”

“How do you know what I love to drink?” you start, batting your lashes. “Maybe it’s a Whiskey neat.”

You lift your chin and smile sweetly, waiting for his reply.

“You’ve been ordering the same blue shots all night beautiful.”

Your mouth falls open to respond but nothing comes out.

Has he been watching you all night? Creepy or…amazing?

Instead, you stare and take in his features. Perfection.

The bartender comes over and looks at the man beside you expectantly.

“Three fingers of Whiskey, Steve and whatever the beautiful woman is having. She’s been waiting a bit.”

He turns to you, wearing a lopsided smile. “Will you be having Whiskey too?”

“I think I just might,” you tell your new friend.

“And how many fingers would you like doll?”

He watches you with an innocent expression as he spreads his long fingers out on the bar.

“Did you just…?” you stammer.

“Maybe just start with two,” he says.

A playful smile teases his lips, and you can’t help but stare at them.

“Fine, two fingers,” you say the bartender, “of whiskey…,” and then you give the man beside you a demure smile, “and more shots please.”

“First time here?” the man asks, his gaze sweeping over you.

“How did you know?”

“I’d remember seeing you angel.”

Even with his flirty forwardness you can’t seem to find anything that makes you uncomfortable. His eyes are friendly, and he’s standing close but not too close, just enough so you know he wants to be there to talk to you and only you.

You glance back to search for your friends but can’t find them anywhere.

“What are you celebrating tonight?” he asks when your eyes find his again.

“What makes you think I’m here celebrating anything?”

You raise an eyebrow and hold his stare.

“Do you ever just answer a question?” he counters.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your smile and fire back with, “do you ever stop asking questions?”

He laughs, the action lighting up his face and making his eyes crinkle flawlessly at the corners. It makes your stomach flutter.

You hold each other’s gaze for a beat before he continues.

“All the dancing and drinks…seems like a good time…a celebration.”

“Well, you’re right. My friend just got an amazing promotion at work.”

He smiles triumphantly and you smile back.

“So, there’s no chance you’ll be leaving here with me tonight.”

The bartender sets your drinks down in front of you just as your new eye candy finishes the sentence and you grab for your glass, downing as much as you can before you start to choke.

With a laugh the man takes a long and slow sip of his Whiskey, watching you. You put your half empty glass down on the bar with a dramatic bang and exhale.

“I…what? No!”

“That’s too bad,” he replies.

“You just met me,” you argue.

“And since the moment you walked in you’ve had my full attention,” he admits.

The shots seem to hit you all at once and you sway on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle but strong hand on your arm.

“Easy doll.”

“Ok…stop being so charming. The smiling and the touching… I like it way too much. It makes me want things…and we’ve only just met.”

“What kinds of things?” he asks, voice smooth like silk and deep.

You swallow hard and he tracks the movement of your throat before his eyes linger on your lips.

You gather up the shots for the girls. “We’re going to do these.”

He nods, slowly, his smile growing.

“So…um. I’ll see you later…?”

You wait, hoping he’ll give you his name.

“James, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Ok then, see you later Bucky.”

“I sure hope so angel.”

You find your friends at a table, catching their breath, and set down the shots.

“I met the hottest guy.”

Both friends pause with the drinks halfway to their mouths.

“What the hell are you doing here then?” Sadie asks.

“Girl’s night, we’re celebrating,” you say. “Duh.”

“Fuck that, go dance with the hot guy!” Nia shouts.

You lift your glass to your lips and shake your head. “No way, I’m here to dance with you all! Let’s go!”

You polish off the shot, wait for them to do the same then hold out your hands to pull them onto the dance floor.

The beat of the music surrounds you and you let go, forgetting routine and responsibility and just enjoying the moment.

Sadie yells something to you about the song that just started but you don’t quite catch it. Just behind her, set in the shadows off the side of the bar stands Bucky.

Your eyes meet and neither of you look away.

He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to be caught staring at you. Every inch of your skin heats and when he lifts his glass, takes a sip, and smiles, you smile back…and start to move…just for him.

The hem of your dress inches higher as you lift your arms above your head, swaying your body to the rhythm of the music and getting lost in it. Your friends move closer and lean in.

“You’ve attracted an audience,” Sadie chuckles.

She whips her head to the side to point out the group of guys moving closer. You ignore the group and search the shadows for Bucky but he’s nowhere to be seen.

With unexpected disappointment you grab Sadie and tell her you need to use the ladies room, weaving your way though the crowd and off the dance floor. You follow the signs to the second floor, which is essentially a balcony overlooking the rest of the space.

After freshening up you walk out of the door and right into something hard. Bucky grips your biceps lightly, holding you close.

“You ok?” he asks.

You were standing close to him at the bar, but not this close, not close enough to smell his skin and feel the rise and fall of his chest. It makes you heady, but you manage a nod.

“Hi angel,” he smiles.

“Hi.”

“I was enjoying watching you dance.”

“I noticed.”

You hold his gaze, unable to look away. Down at the bar it was hard to tell the color of his eyes, but here, hidden away, even in the low light you can see they’re beautiful. The blue is like the ocean on a sparkling sunny day. Mesmerizing.

“Do you know what watching you does to me?”

You blink, trying your hardest to keep up with his directness.

He reaches down to take your hand, his grip loose and his movements tentative, waiting for you to tell him to stop.

When you don’t he presses it firmly to where he’s hard and aching.

“All this?” you ask in a breathy whisper. “Just from watching me?”

“Come home with me.”

You let out a little giggle.

“No. I can’t.”

“Come to my car then.”

“I’m not leaving this club with you.”

Even as you hear yourself say the words you know they aren’t holding the force you want them to.

He bends and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“But I’m dying to touch you.”

It’s impossible to pretend you don’t want the same thing and you place your palms on his chest and push him backward into the darkness.

“Is that a yes?” he asks as he runs a long finger over the curve of your shoulder.

“You aren’t some psycho are you?”

With a chuckle he moves closer, brushing his lips along your cheek. “You make me feel a bit crazy doll, but no, I’m not.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head, whispering against his lips, “something tells me I can trust you.”

He moves willingly, and meets you with a smile, pressing his lips to yours.

“You taste as good as you look angel. What’s your name?”

“My name?” you whisper, so caught up in the feel of him you almost forgot.

“You know my name, so you’ll know what to call me when you’re about to come. It’s only fair I do the same.”

You let out a little gasp and hold onto his shoulders more tightly.

“I…,”

You feel his smile against your mouth before he turns you and presses your front to the edge of the balcony overlooking everything below.

He takes your chin between his fingers to turn your head and steal another kiss, lingering until you whisper your name against his lips.

With a satisfied smile his fingers tease the edge of your dress and then he lifts it, sliding his hands down between your legs to rub along your panties.

“You’re so wet. And all for me angel.”

You moan loudly when he slides a long finger inside you and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs into your ear as he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit.

You turn and look at him. His eyes are wide open and clear. He teases you more, watching your every reaction then turns you to face him and drags you against the wall, bending to kiss you, hard and hungry.

“Someone could come down here,” he reminds you, meeting your eyes, giving you one last out.

You don’t care. He’s too perfect. He feels too good.

When you don’t protest he kneels at your feet and carefully pushes up your dress, hooking his thumbs into your panties to slowly drag them down.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, standing and lifting your leg to spread you open.

Reaching between your bodies, you open his jeans and push them down along with his boxers. You grab for him, rubbing him through your arousal.

“Fuck doll, wait. I need to put this on.”

He reaches behind him and fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans, pulling a condom free.

“You’re big,” you whisper, loving the feel of his warm, silky skin.

His grin is wolfish. “That’s the best thing you could say to me.”

You run your closed hand along the length of him again, letting the tip just bump your clit.

“Fuck, keep that up and I’ll be coming all over your hand.”

His fingers are unsteady as he works to slip the condom on.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off his cock.

“Have sex with a beautiful woman in a public space?”

He starts to push into you, achingly slowly. “No angel, I’ve never done this before…but with you, I’ll take what I can get.”

His words die away when he’s fully inside you, rubbing against your clit with each stroke and filling you so completely. You grip his shoulders as his thrusts grow faster.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He leans back and looks down between your bodies, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he starts to move faster.

When he leans down to kiss you he slows his movements, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in. The slow pace doesn’t last long, and he hitches your leg higher to go deeper.

You feel your release building in your stomach and it’s only a few seconds more before a cry falls from your parted lips.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hips moving jaggedly and rough before he comes with a deep groan.

He leans heavily against you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You’ve wrecked me angel.”

His hand is gentle when it smooths along your leg, and he pulls out. You straighten your dress as he rolls off the condom.

“That was perfect Bucky,” you hum, meeting him for a kiss.

He nods, dazed. “You’re ok?”

“Better than ok,” you answer. “And I think I’m ready for another dance.”

His lips twitch with a surprised grin and you turn away before he can respond, leaving him standing with his pants still unbuttoned.

A few minutes later you find Sadie and Nia, both ready to head home. And it isn’t until you’re sitting in the quiet of the limo, reliving every second of what happened with Bucky, that you realize you’d left your panties on the floor at his feet.

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