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darylssunshine · 4 months ago

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Teacher's Pet

Summary: You ask for a bit of help with your assignment. You end up getting some extra credit.

Genre: filthy smut hehe

Professor x Student!AU

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: i think college is corrupting me guys

You scowled and the rubric paper that had been placed in front of you twenty minutes ago. You sighed and put your head in your hands, leaning your elbows on the desk. Written in bright red ink in the top right corner:

65%.

Engineering had always been the career that you aspired to have. You felt that you were qualified for all of the other classes that the degree had required you to take, but you did not feel this way about your Beginner Woodworking class. The assignment was to make a simple tool caddy, but you could not get the hang of any of the simple techniques the class required you to use for projects. The walls weren't sanded correctly and the edges were jagged and uneven. It almost made you feel bad for the professor that had to meticulously grade it.

The professor, Mr. Dixon, had been perplexing to you since the first class a couple weeks ago. He was dressed in a professional-looking gray polo, tucked into black dress pants and black glasses framing his face. His brunette hair was wavy and fell down to his shoulders, normally shaped into a loose man bun to get rid of the factor of it being a safety hazard. But, he juxtaposed his white-collar demeanor with a straight from Georgia southern drawl, complete with incorrect grammar and a heavy usage of the word “ain’t.” He taught the class like it was second nature, answering every question that came his way.

But even with his calm nature, you still struggled. Not just with your low level of expertise, but with the way he looked at you during lectures.

You were sure that you were just being naive, but you couldn’t help but notice the little side glances he gave you with a slight smirk that could get him any girl he wanted. This made you attentive to other things, like the way his bulging arms looked underneath the bright overhead lights of the workshop. The way he gestured to the whiteboard with veiny hands that looked to be twice the size of yours. The way his gravelly voice consistently sent shivers down your spine, and when he gives you praise for answering a question right in class, you thought about the comment all day, wondering what that praise would sound like in other scenarios.

This is the reason why you had to hype yourself up to ask him for help. You felt a little embarrassed that it took you this long to simply ask your professor a question, but at least this was a night class and everyone else had gone home. So if you made a fool of yourself in front of your hot professor, you would only be a little mortified.

You sighed to yourself and lifted your head up to look at his desk in the far left corner. He was dressed in the same pants and glasses from the first class, but instead of a polo, he sported a more casual untucked black sweater, the sleeves rolled up to show his delicious forearms. He had also let down his bun, letting his locks cascade down his face, occasionally flicking his head to the side to get a strand out of his eyes. He was lazily leaning back in his chair, holding a packet of paper with one hand, and casually twirling a pen with his other hand. It must’ve been lesson plans for next week, considering his tongue that slightly stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. You definitely thought it was cute.

After much contemplation, you finally slid out of your chair and slowly made your way to his desk. He was alerted by your approaching footsteps, so he put both the pen and paper down in front of him on the desk and relaxed further into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. That action caused his pectorals to be pushed up, and you fought hard to keep your eyes glued to his sapphire ones.

“Mr. Dixon?” You asked tentatively.

His eyebrows perked up at the sound of his name. “Hm? I saw ya sittin’ over there for a while. Whatcha need, darlin’?”

You had to pause for a second.

It's just a common southern nickname. Don't make this weird. Just ask the damn question.

“Yeah I was just coming up here to see if I could get some sort of extra credit? I'm really not happy with the grade I got on the caddy assignment- I'm sorry I haven't been getting a hang of the techniques. If you give me something else to do, I promise I'll work hard and not do such a shitty job and-”

He cut you off with a slight raise of his hand combined with a light chuckle. “Woah, woah, slow down sweetheart, yer ramblin’.”

That simultaneously made you calm down and caused your heart to race.

He sat up slightly in his seat and pushed up his glasses. “How ‘bout this. I help ya make a simple cuttin’ board, and if you get all the techniques down, I'll give ya an 85 on tha’ caddy assignment. That sound fair?”

Honestly, you were ecstatic with his response. You had never expected him to say yes to your extra credit proposal, let alone him offering to personally help you with said project.

“Oh! Well, that would be very nice of you. Thank you, Mr. Dixon!”

He hit you with another smirk as he stood up and leaned on the side of his desk. “Ya don't have to keep up with all the professional shit. Call me Daryl. Now go on and grab one a those short planks a wood over there.” He motioned with a flick of his head to a table about ten feet away that had a bunch of leftover planks of wood from different students and projects sitting on it.

You turned to the side because you felt your cheeks heat up from him wanting you to call him by his first name. “Okay, Daryl.” You said, sounding amused but also sheepish.

You picked up a decent sized plank and turned to walk back. You were met with Daryl grabbing two pairs of safety glasses from his desk and meeting you by the table saw. He handed a pair to you and you thanked him quietly.

He even made safety glasses hot.

“I don't wanna risk going blind so I can't see my favorite professor.” You chuckled nervously at your poor attempt at flirting. He simply rolled eyes and huffed out a laugh.

“‘Kay. What I think yer mainly doing wrong is yer not goin’ slowly enough when cuttin’ yer wood, gives you those ugly, uneven edges. So. it's really important that ya go slow an’ ease into it.”

That comment made you think of other scenarios, but you pushed it out of your mind and nodded along. You needed that 85%.

With a flip of a switch, the table saw spun to life, and you gripped it firmly on both sides so they didn't slip, something that Daryl was very vocal about in the first class. You held it in position to cut it in half to make it cutting board size, but you briefly halted your movement when you felt Daryl step behind you, presumably to see if your cuts were precise. Not for the reason you hoped, at least.

“Remember, (Y/N), go slow. Take yer time.” His mouth was tantalizingly close to your ear, just enough so you could hear what he was saying over the buzz of the saw. Not only that, but his hands had traveled to the back of your arms to grip and hold them in place. Your breath hitched, but you remained focused, the loud whirring of the sharp saw snapping you out of your foul thoughts.

When you had finally guided the saw through all of the plank, you repeated the process with the corners, giving two of them a semi-rounded edge. Daryl released the grip he had on you to flip the switch to the “Off” position. He put the glasses up on his head, looked at the plank of wood in your hands, then back up to you.

“Better than th’ last thing ya made. Good job, sunshine.” He punctuated his sentence by taking the safety glasses off your face with a calloused hand.

You tried to keep your cool, but you let a stutter slip with that nickname combined with the sudden physical contact.

“Th… thank you, Mr. D- I mean Daryl. Sorry.” You let out a timid laugh, utterly intimidated while underneath his piercing gaze. You were met with another deep laugh that made your heart flutter.

“Yer good, (Y/N). Now go over to that empty table where the grit paper is. Ya need to sand it down. Don’t want ya gettin’ splinters.”

You did as you were told and strode over to the table that was free of any wood chips, with Daryl following suit. Taking the grit paper into your hands, you began sanding the left corner of your board, making sure that there were no jagged edges that could poke someone. You had expected Daryl to come into your field of vision, maybe he was about to suavely lean on a nearby cabinet that was next to the table to keep up the small talk. But to your confusion, you still felt his presence standing behind you. You didn’t question it. Maybe he was just checking his phone before continuing to critique you.

You had just finished sanding down the first corner of your board when you felt two hands grab your waist from behind, along with hot air hitting your neck.

“I can see what yer doin’, (Y/N.)”

You went rigid. Your hands stopped their sanding movement. You’re pretty sure you stopped breathing for a moment.

“Ya really think I don’t see the way ya look at me in class? So fuckin’ obvious.” His voice had taken on a new tone, one that you had never heard before in the several weeks you had his class. It was darker. Deeper. Hungry. You let out a pitiful, quiet whine at the sound alone as you put down both the wood and the grit paper.

Signaling he had heard your soft noise, he began to kiss and suck at your neck, and you could feel him smirking deviously against your skin. “I’m right, aint I? M’ voice doin’ somethin’ for ya, darlin’?” He rumbled the nickname right next to your ear and got back to working at your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise the skin, some already turning shades of purple. You nodded sporadically at the clearly rhetorical question, and breathed a small “yes.”

His teeth lightly tugged at your earlobe, then he purred, “Turn around. Wanna look atcha.” Wanting to fulfill his every whim, you immediately flipped around to meet his carnal gaze, leaning your butt against the edge of the table to try and steady your wobbly footing. It wasn’t working.

And he must’ve noticed, with the way he cockily raised an eyebrow while looking you up and down.

You're brows then furrowed in confusion when he turned to the edge of the table to where an armless wooden chair was sitting. He stepped over to the chair, easily picking it up with one arm while the other hand removed his glasses and placed them on the nearby table. He set the chair down a couple feet in front of you with a thunk. Sliding into the seat, he lazily spread his legs and set both his palms on his inner thighs, eyes half-lidded.

"I can tell yer knees are ‘bout to buckle, doll. C'mere and sit down." He beckoned you with two fingers, and again, you instantly followed his command like he had put you in a lust filled trance.

“Okay, Daryl.” You simply put it, not currently having the brain function necessary to come up with a more coherent response. You cautiously walked over to where Daryl was manspreading and swung one of your legs over to the other side so that you were straddling him. It took everything in you not to start grinding on his half hard cock.

“Y’know, yer good at doin’ what yer told.” You could feel his hand slowly snake around your throat and applying pressure, his way of demanding your attention.

“I think ya deserve a reward.”

Another whine spilled out of you, followed by a desperate, “Please.” Your hands looped around the back of his neck and settled on the back of his head to tug at his brunette locks. You were desperate for more of his touch. For him to be as close as he possibly could.

“Tha’ why ya stuck around till the end of class? Hm? Ta let me have my way with ya? I know it wasn't just ‘cause a that fuckin’ caddy.” His mouth ticked up in a triumphant smirk, knowing exactly what your sinful intentions were. His hand trailed up your thigh up to barely graze the place you wanted him most, all while keeping eye contact. You let out a pitiful groan and involuntarily started grinding softly.

He chuckled and disconnected his hand, settling it on your inner thigh. “So needy fer me already.” He rumbled in your ear in the same hungry manner he started with.

With his large stature, he was basically eye to eye with you, even with you straddling on top of his lap. In this case, you were on top only in technical terms. Daryl was truly the one who was leading and in control.

You squeaked out something resembling an “mhm” combined with a nod before ungracefully crashing into his lips. It was as if he had lit a fire inside of you, and the heat was reaching every part of your body that made contact with him. Another chuckle vibrated through your mouth, and it only made you more antsy. Daryl ran his tongue along your bottom lip, and you eagerly granted him access. Both your tongues were in a battle for dominance, and you were losing fast. Your hands were tangled in his hair and tugging lightly, and one of Daryl’s hands was on your hip, while the other was cupping your chin, seemingly to keep your head in position. It was wet, clumsy, and carnivorous. You couldn’t get enough.

But eventually, you had to pull back to get the oxygen that your lungs craved. Keeping your foreheads connected, you hungrily stared into his eyes while releasing rapid breaths, not currently having the energy to wipe away a small trail of drool that had run down your chin. His hand was still planted on the side of your face, and he used it to push it away from his forehead and to wipe the trail of drool away with his thumb, purposefully making the motion slow and teasing, gliding the pad of his thumb over your lips.

Suddenly, he grabbed your ass with both hands and harshly pushed you forward more onto his lap, and you gasped when you felt his full erection in his pants. He huffed out a laugh, enjoying the reactions he was getting out of you.

“Ya feel what yer fuckin’ doin ta me, girl?” He practically growled, the grip on your ass tightening while moving his hips up. This caused you to start consistently grinding softly, your breath turning into hushed moans due to the added friction. When he raised his eyebrows at you while huffing out rumbly breaths, you braced yourself by locking your hands around his neck.

He trailed his hand back to your groin, pressing harder on the clit and enjoying your squeaking and harsh gasps.

“You want this, hm? Want me ta fill ya up and fuck ya till ya can't think no more?” The continuous rubbing of your clit combined with his accent getting thicker had you speechless, the only thing coming out of your mouth being a whine, while you placed your forehead on his shoulder, overwhelmed with pleasure.

But your head was immediately and forcefully raised when Daryl lightly tugged on your hair, making you lock eyes with him. “I need words, darlin’.” His voice was coated with lust, but also combined with genuine care for you and your well being, wanting to know if you really wanted this.

You locked eyes with him, letting him know you were sincere. “Yes. Please, Daryl. Need you.” Your sentences were broken, but it was enough to get your point across.

He then leaned in to plant another kiss on your lips, but stopped a couple inches from your face.

“Tha's my good girl.”

Your eyes could've rolled back right then and there.

Hungrily, you latched back onto his lips, unhooking your hands from his neck to take off your baggy shirt, only disconnecting your lips from his long enough to pull it fully off over your head. You could feel his lips tick upwards at your needy actions. And as soon as he felt one of your hands grasp and tug at his collar, he followed suit, revealing his toned chest. You pulled away to marvel at the sight, your eyes going wide. You had only seen that chest in your dreams and now it's right in front of you. Shuffling down in the chair and leaning back, he teased, “Ya like what ya see, sweetheart?”

Another breathless “mhm” left you as Daryl started marking up your neck again working at the clasp of your bra. Once he got it unhooked, he immediately latched his mouth to your nipple, rolling the other with his fingertips. You yelped in surprise, but it quickly turned into soft moans from the stimulation.

He embraced you yet again, nipping at your lips, drawing out a surprised yelp that morphed into a moan. Soon, your moans got heavier as you felt his hands lift from your waist and you heard the high-pitched clattering of a belt buckle being undone. He lifted himself up to his pants down to a little above his knees, and you pulled back to shamelessly stare at the act. He had already started impatiently stroking himself.

In response, you ogled a bit more before shimmying your pants and underwear down to your upper thigh, Daryl watching with an unbroken gaze, grunting softly. His eyes then traveled down to his inner thigh that your cunt was currently riding, his mouth ticking upwards again.

“So fuckin’ wet for me already.” He trailed his free hand up to the back of your neck.

“Want you to fill me up, Daryl. Please. Been thinking about it all day.” Thoughts tumbled out of you with no filter, eager to feel his length inside of you.

He put two fingers to your slit, barely grazing the inside to tease you as much as possible. “Then get to ridin’, doll. Wanna teach ya a fuckin’ lesson.” You fought back a pitiful whine, a fast paced breath leaving your mouth in its wake.

Bracing yourself with your hands placed on his broad shoulders, you lifted yourself up, but stuttered your movement when you felt his already leaking tip touch your lips, intimidated by his size. Daryl cocked an eyebrow.

“Wha's wrong, sunshine? Thought ya were thinkin’ bout me all day.” He teased. You playfully rolled your eyes, both from the sarcasm, and a little from the pleasure.

Cautiously, you lowered yourself onto his length with a ragged breath. Daryl grunted at the squeezing contact and gripped the side of your hip in response, guiding you down. It took you a minute to adjust to his size, slightly grimacing from the lack of him stretching you out first. He noticed you taking your time and spoke up. “Y'alright? We can stop if y'wanna.” Your heart fluttered at him voicing his concern.

“M'fine. Just had to adjust.” You said between deep breaths, looking into his eyes to make sure he knew you were genuine.

Your legs moved up and you hooked your feet over his knees to easily move up and down, thanking your past self you put on a flexible material this morning. You tested the waters and moved up and down at the slow pace, and moments after moans started crawling out of you, getting lost in the feeling.

“Y'like that, sweetheart?” Both of his hands snaked over to your hips, rubbing his thumbs over your exposed skin. You could only muster an almost imperceivable nod.

“Then you best hold on, cowgirl.”

Your brows furrowed and you squeaked out a questionable hum.

The hum suddenly turned into a yelp as Daryl took your hips and guided you down in a swift motion, taking in almost the entirety of his cock as he bucked upwards. He did this at a consistent and steady pace, all while connected his lips to that sensitive spot on your neck. The moans that ripped through you were damn near pornographic, the sinful sounds of skin slapping echoed throughout the large work room. His name rolled out of your mouth like it was second nature.

“Fuck, feels so- feels… so good Daryl… fuck-” You breathed. A rumbly groan left him at the feeling of your tightness combined with hearing your pleasurable expletives. Teeth grazed your neck as he left marks all the way down to your clavicle, creating a trail of wet kisses and saliva down to your right nipple. He lightly sucked and bit on the sensitive flesh, rolling and teasing the other with his fingertips.

One of your hands was on his shoulder to ground yourself and have some stability, while the other was tugging desperately at his luscious brown locks. You were almost worried you were hurting him when he bottomed out and reached your g-spot, pulling his head in ecstasy. He moaned, but you had a feeling that it wasn't in discomfort.

“Bet y've been thinkin’ bout this fer weeks, huh?” He growled next to your ear in an accusatory manner, his breaths labored. “Gettin’ fucked by yer teacher all out in the open. Dirty little whore.” You felt your earlobe get harshly tugged by his teeth.

You didn't even have to think when you rambled out, “Yes… yes, Daryl. I have, I- fuck- I'm your whore. Only yours. Only yours.” He growled in approval, and somehow pounded into you at a more relentless pace. A familiar tightness in your core began to materialize, a feeling that only ever came to fruition in the dark nights of your dorm room, moans of his name getting muffled by the pillows beneath you.

“Fuck… ‘m close-” You slurred, your mind turning more and more to mush by the minute. Daryl was too, signaled by his thrusts getting sloppier and jerky.

“Cum on m’ cock, sweetheart. Wanna make a mess a ya.”

His consistent pounding combined with the gruff command sent you over the edge, painting his length with your slick. The sheer force had you seeing stars, and you had to put your forehead on his to keep you from collapsing.

Daryl wasn't far behind you, the feeling of you releasing around him being all he needed to reach his own high. With a few more pumps and a loud grunt, you felt him shoot inside of you, white and hot. A weak whine spilled out of you at the feeling.

“God damn.” He breathed out. “Yer gonna be the death of me. y'know that?”

He was met with silence, except for your ragged breaths. His brain raced with thoughts. Had he done something wrong? Was he too rough? Did he hurt you?

As gently as he could, he gripped your chin and lifted your head so you were eye to eye once more. “Y'still with me, darlin’? I didn't hurt ya, did I?” His voice was laced with concern, your well-being always being his first concern before anything else.

A dopey smile came over you and you caressed his cheek with your palm. “I'm fine, just got a bit dizzy at the end there.”

Pulling him in close, you stopped just before his lips. “It was perfect.” Your lips finally collided and, unlike the last kiss, this one was slow, but just as passionate. A kiss that conveyed feelings not yet spoken. Both of your lips were swollen and shiny by the time you pulled away.

He pressed a peck to your nose, then questioned, “Was I too mean? It felt too much. ‘M sorry if it was.”

“No no no! You're fine!” You assured. Suddenly embarrassed, you turned your head to the side and ducked it slightly. “That's uh… actually how I've imagined it going most of the time.” You ended your sentence with hiding your now hot face in the crook of Daryl’s neck.

“Oh yeah?” You couldn't see it, but you sensed his cocked eyebrow and shit-eating smirk. “I'll be sure to angrily insult yer work in class more often, then.” He felt you radiating heat against his bare shoulder.

“Asshole.” That comment couldn't sound more not irritated, an audible smile being picked up by Daryl.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and he lightly chuckled at the feeling of you nuzzling against the crook of his neck.

“Teacher's pet.”

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #professor!au #professor x student #sorry this took like several month

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curvykittyyssmutfics · 1 year ago

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corrupt!Satoru refuses to let go of his little sorcerer girlfriend when he becomes a vessel: Sure things have changed a bit.. Okay, a fucking lot. He's been put on a temporary leave by Yuji and the others till they can figure out a reverse. Which unfortunately for you means he's got all that time in the world to focus on your guy's relationship. "Y/n!" The unanticipated shout of your name almost makes you jump out your fuckin skin, quickly scarfing down a scolding hot piece of bacon so you don't choke. Dammit, you thought you could enjoy a nibble of breakfast before having to appease your master boyfriend. You pray to any God with a heart that Satoru wasn't too pissed at you for not being by his side when he awoke. From the goosebumps creeping down your neck and eerily sudden silence surrounding you, it's an obvious useless hopeless wish. "Why the fuck weren't you next to me when I woke up? Did I not say havin you by my side at all time keeps me from becoming.. Murderous?" The sudden presence and growled query compels you to spin around, starin up at him with wide frightened eyes. He's shirtless, gazing back with an unreadable expression as his magnificent morning wood bulges obscenely. "T-toru, I -" His hand damn near teleports to hold you firm around your slender brown neck. "Know what? I don't really feel like hearin whatever pathetic excuse is about to fall from those cute lips, baby. On your knees." He tells you, pushin you down with one hand while pullin his dick from his dark grey joggers with the other. You comply, eyes teary at how he glares down at you menacingly. "Better not disappoint me twice this morning, y/n. No tellin what I might do.." He warns, head falling back as he slips his dick into your mouth with a sinister smile on his pretty face.

corrupt!Gojo monitors the fuck outta who you talk to and where you go: If he can't have you near him 24/7, he NEEDS to know 1. Where you're goin; 2. Who's gonna be there; and 3. When the fuck you're comin home to him. "You're late. Fuck are you, little girl?" You're never gonna get used to the snarl that consistently stains his tone, even when he's not irritated. You're late coming back from what was supposed to be research on a curse, so Satoru calls you. "Just by a few minutes. I'll be there soon." You assure him, pullin your cell from your cheek briefly to check the time. "I didn't ask how late you are; I asked where you were." You don't waste a second droppin a pin. There's a bit of shuffling over the phone before he speaks again. "I'm on my way to pick you up. Stay where you are. Better be alone like you said, y/n." The line clicks dead as you heave a heavy sigh, makin sure not move an inch till you see Satoru pull up.

corrupt!Satoru doesn't do well with anyone besides himself being mean to you: Slamming your front door shut upon entering, you stomp towards your bedroom as tears of frustration leak from your eyes. You don't make it past the couch in the living room before Satoru's sittin down on it, perching you in his lap. "Who fuckin did it, baby? Huh? Tell me! I'll rip their fuckin head off." His gruesome words don't match the soft imploring look in his piercing eyes; you miss that look so much that the truth spills from your lips without a thought. "I thought I'd make it to Grade 2 today.. It didn't happen. They brought in someone new. Some jerk that failed me cause I wouldn't let him touch me." Your hands slap over your mouth, the last sentence accidentally comin out before you can think. That unreadable expression graces his features before you end up face down in the couch, panties swiftly pulled to your thighs as he eats your poor unsuspecting lil puss from the back. "What the fuuuuuck? Toru, ah! S-satoru, wait. Please just- ohmyGod!" Ofcourse he ignores you. Slurps ya cunt so good that you cum in under a minute. Only then do you get a response. "Get the fuck up. We're goin back up there. Gonna have a lil chat with Mr. New Guy." He commands you, landing one more lick up your slit and a harsh slap to your ass. You leveled up that day. And Mr. New Guy was gone by the next. Yuji and the others don't bother standing in Satoru's way.

corrupt!Satoru loves marking your body and staking his claim: He doesn't think a day should pass before he's adding a new one to the collection. So he corners you when you're in the kitchen doin the dishes. "Hey gorgeous. Wanna make you cum real quick.." He mumbles, pressin up behind you. His hard cock humps your backside slow and firm as he fingers you through your itty bitty shorts. The first swipe has you poppin your ass back on his dick, keening Satoru's name like a fuckin banshee. "That the spot, princess? Yeah it is.. Know all your spots. Just like Daddy should, huh?" His tone is so cocky but you know better than to disagree and nod to his question anyway. "Yeeees, only you can make me feel like this. Always make me feel so goood, Toru." He soaks in your praise and at this point it's a givin that you've completely abandoned your task. A damp hand slides to the back of his head for a handful of his soft snowy locks as he nips and sucks at your neck. His sensual lips are one of your weaknesses; never fail to make you whimper like a bitch in heat. "Satoruuuuu.. Daddy please. Want some dick.." He chuckles at you, wonderin if you can even handle it- not like that would stop him. Still, your knees are already so you weak he has to hold you up, arms slung around your waist to plaster your back to his front. "Fuck baby, so pretty when you beg for my cock. Look even prettier when you let me claim you like this." Fine, he'll give you what you want. But first.. He pulls his lengthy dick out, your small shorts down, and slips it between your plushy brown ass cheeks. Your boyfriend's eyes nearly cross at the tight warm hold of you. Satoru pants and huffs, quickly starting off with short strokes that numb his mind. "I'm gonna fuck this perfect fat ass one day, y/n. Thats right, and you're not gonna be able to stop me. You can beg and cry and scream all you want.. Mmmfuck- but Daddy's not gonna listen, baby. Not one bit. I'm gonna keep goin till you squirt all over me from the feelin of it." Precum assists him slidin back and forth with ease, but his filthy words aid the throbbing in your clit and flutter in your gushy cunt. You only moan back in response to his dirty admission. Its okay. Satoru knows you always get like this: speechless when you're about to cum. Goddamn you turn him on so fuckin much. He bites at the sensitive spot on your throat, locking his teeth and groaning like a wild man. It makes you clench around his dick, him in turn pressin his digits with an accuracy that forces you to cum so good. "Good fuckin giiiirl, baby! So proud of you. Takin my mark and cummin on my hand- fuuuuuck. I own you, princess." Your quick wordless whines spur him on, fingers still yanking his hair viciously as your arousal spills to the kitchen floor. The sting of the pull has Satoru howling while he cums buckets in you. He's licking messily at the fresh bite on your neck as he smears his nut all over your plump ass. Fuck, you always make him buss so fuckin so hard! He's breathing fast, eyes flickin between where he paints you, your new bite mark and how fucked out you look even though you haven't had his dick yet. Speaking of, why the hell is he still so goddamn rigid? But you.. "You're so fuckin wet.." Satoru spears you on his cock without a second thought, your loud stunned cry makin a warmth shoot up his spine. He doesn't know when your hand joined the other in his hair, just cherishes how tight you grip at him when he fucks the rest of his cock into you. Appreciates and adores any and everything you have to offer. 'Shit.. Guess its time to put a baby in you.' Satoru thinks as he holds you round your waist and drills your lil puss as you shout out in surprised pleasure. Christ, he loves you so fuckin much and he's never letting you go.

corrupt!Satoru In layman's terms: He shows you that he is very fuckin possesive and owns you in every conceivable way.

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broareweabouttoviberightnow · 28 days ago

Note

PLEASE WRITE THAT ONE SHOT FULL PERMISSION GRANTED

— @girlishwhimsies

TYSM @girlishwhimsies for the prompt this was SO fun to write!! fic under the cut!!!

Ponyboy has no idea how long he's been sittin' in front of the TV. Too long, Pony's sure Darry would think. But it doesn't matter because Darry's workin' a late shift and it's just Two-Bit who's watchin' the box with the same intent, vacant look. Hell, even Soda's curled up in a blanket creamin' Dallas in a game of poker 'n absently watchin' when Dallas spends too long scowlin' at his hand.

(Pony can see clearly he hasn't got shit and he only tears his eyes away every few minutes to shake his head at Soda that Dally is bluffin' harder then Pony claimin' he ain't got homework. Dallas hasn't noticed yet.)

When Pony hears Darry's truck pull up in the driveway he gets the sudden, violent feelin' that he's forgotten somethin'. Somethin' important. He furrows his eyebrows, looks over into the kitchen. Oh shit.

His heart climbs right up into his throat, does a flip, and dives all the way down to his toes. Oh shit, oh shit. Pony is on his feet in a millisecond, jarrin' Dallas as he confidently bets on a hand of shit.

"Look out, Pony's off to the races!" Two howls but pulls his feet up as Pony jumps straight over them. He's not payin' attention to anythin' but gettin' into that kitchen before Darry does. As he passes the door he flips the lock, wrestin' with it when it doesn't go smoothly. Damn Darry 'n his insistence on never lockin' the thing.

"Pony?" Soda half rises, startin' after Pony as he ducks his entire head 'n shoulders into the icebox. "Everythin'-" He cuts himself off when Pony reemerges with the frozen solid chicken they were meant to be eatin' for dinner in forty-five minutes. For a moment, they both just stare at each other, Pony in horror, Soda in amusement.

Then Dallas lets out a long, low whistle as the truck door slams and grins that smile that shows off his silver fang. "Oh, you're capital F fucked." Then Soda cackles so hard he plops back onto the floor.

"Don't laugh." And Pony would normally kick his ass for that but right now he's too worried about the imminent threat of bein' hung up by his thumbs or locked in the shed until he's thirty. "Soda get over here. How do I thaw it out?" And he's got that whine crawlin' into his voice he hates but there are simply bigger fish to fry. Or birds to thaw.

Soda slides across the floor in his socks, ditchin' the blanket 'n throwin' it over Dallas. He rips it off 'n tries to whap Soda with it as he goes by, missin' to Two's great delight.

"I dunno, Ponykid, blow on it?" Soda leans down 'n huffs hot air onto it. Pony throws his head back 'n doesn't even care about the whine that peels out of his throat. He's dead. Darry was gonna kill him.

"Blow on it? Soda that ain't gonna work!" Pony rips the chicken away from where Soda is still puffin' at it. The door knob rattles 'n they can all distinctively hear the aggravated sigh from Darry even through the wall. Bad sign.

"Wait, I have an idea!" Soda snatches the bird back, slips 'n slides his way back into the living room with Pony hustlin' behind him. "Two, get up." Two-Bit takes in Soda holdin' the raw meat by the plastic-wrapped leg like a fish and Pony's face like a man at the gallows.

"Boys, unlock this damn door!" Darry already sounds irate.

"Yeah, Dallas go let Darry in." Soda pipes and Pony whips around wavin' a hand at his throat and frantically shakin' his head. Dallas shoots him a shit-eatin' grin again and gets to his feet, pointing towards the door.

Pony does the only thing he can think of 'n jumps on him.

"Wait, is that-" Two leans away from Soda, who waves the chicken around again 'n makes a face.

"No, it's Darry's million-dollar check yes it's dinner. Now get your ass up!" Pony abandons Dallas, grabs Two by the wrist, desperately tryin' to haul him up. Dallas instantly gets back on his feet and goes for the door again. Pony chooses between the imminent of two threats and goes for Dally again.

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?" Soda takes up Pony's spot wrestlin' Two-Bit up. Soda is far more successful.

"Sit on it!" Soda drags Two up, throwin' the bird down 'n then pressin' on his shoulders to try to get him back into the couch on top of it.

"Oh, I see. You only want me for my hot ass, you dog!" Two arches up so his back is against the sofa but his backside is nowhere near. "I'm not lettin' you throw me under the bus for this!"

"We're not throwin' you under the bus- we're throwin' you onto the bird!" And Two snickers, thrown off his task of keepin' his ass off the couch. Soda tosses himself full force onto Two's lap, bucklin' him back down.

Dallas wrangles Pony off, finally, and throws the lock on the door. Darry scowls, knocks Dallas' gently up the head since he has the misfortune of bein' the one closest to him. Dallas opens his mouth to bitch but Darry shoots him a look and he settles for mutterin' under his breath.

"Now, what the hell is goin' on here?" He drops his keys on the table 'n takes in Pony sprawled on the floor, Soda across Two and Two still wrigglin' for all he's worth against the cold.

"Nothin'." Both Soda 'n Pony say in unison. Darry looks between the two of them once, twice.

"I don't think I have the energy for whatever the hell you four have goin' on so I'm gonna go fix dinner 'n y'all better be back to sorts by the time I'm done." Darry kicks off his boots 'n places them neatly at the door, disappearin' into the kitchen.

"Uh, Darry? About that-"

"Ye- ouch!" Two manages to roll Soda straight onto the floor, shootin' to his feet. When he turns around, his lower back is pink from bein' in contact with the freezin' chicken. "That shit is cold!"

Darry stops, turns back around, blinks once, twice, opens his mouth, shuts it, tries again. "Pony, is that the chicken I told you to thaw when you got back from school?"

"Uh, would you believe me if I said no?" Darry rubs a hand across his temple, looks at the chicken on the couch with bewilderment. For a moment Pony swears they're all holdin' their breath. Then he laughs. Head back, hand grippin' the doorway laughs.

"Goddamn, Pony, what am I gonna do with you?" He grabs Pony by the front of the shirt, ruffles his hair, drops a kiss to a temple. "Kid, did you try to thaw that shit out by puttin' it under your brother?" Pony pouts a little and shakes his head like he can't believe Darry would have thought somethin' like that of him.

"No, Soda tried to thaw it out by puttin' it under him." Darry howls again, grabs his side and then Soda, pullin' him in 'n givin' him the same kiss.

"You boys are gonna be the death of me." He shoots Dallas a grin 'n Two tries to look put out, rubbin' the cold spot on his back still, but he can't make it stick and he ends up smilin' too.

"C'mon Darry, you know you love us." Two sidles up beside Soda, tryin' to nudge him out of Darry's arms. Darry releases Pony solely to cuff Two up the side of his head but pulls him in, too. He squeezes Dallas' shoulder and he stops scowlin' 'n grins.

"Well, I don't think anyone's eatin' chicken tonight." Darry laughs and returns to the door, snappin' his keys off the table. "Who wants to go out for Dairy Queen, instead?" They all hoot 'n holler, even Dallas. Soda even turns a cartwheel right there in the middle of the living room and Darrys in such a good mood he doesn't even tell him off for it.

"And I'll tell you what, y'all can even get milkshakes. Dinner's on Pony!" Pony's jaw drops open 'n Two grabs Soda 'n they both make a break for the truck. Gleefully yippin' about orderin' half the menu. Dallas howls 'n follows them out, pullin' Soda straight out of the air when he goes for shotgun.

"Aw, c'mon Darry-" Darry ruffles his hair and chuckles.

"I'm kiddin', kiddo." Pony will swear he never feels relief like he does in that moment ever again. "Just promise me next time, remember to take the chicken out of the fridge, yeah?"

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ohbabydollie · 1 year ago

Note

MORE MUTUAL BREAKUP 🙏🤲🧎‍♀️

i need a break from trying to write smut 😔

moments of u two!!

a lil comp of silly scenarios, dialogue, etc. i think would apply to reader n schlatt

— — — —

a guy who asked to do a podcast interview with you obviously flirting while schlatt is sitting along side the camera man, sucking his teeth and biting his tongue, staying quiet

you ignore the flirting until you notice schlatt is getting jealous by the second and a few more flirty remarks away from punching the guy

so you do the only thing you can think of

“it’s a little cold in here” you say rubbing your arms

“really? i think it’s kinda hot” the guy says taking off his jacket about to hand it to you before schlatt sprints into action

he takes off his hoodie and hands it to you

“thank you honey” you say grabbing it and receiving a small peck from him and putting it on, completing the rest of your interview with the hoodie on, all warm and cozy in schlatt’s jacket

———

you held a volleyball tournament (very similar to the dodgeball tournament)

everyone showing up in shorts and shirts meanwhile you were in your highschool volleyball uniform, fitting you tighter in some places than it used to

everyone sees the way schlatt’s brows raise when you first arrive

everyone noticed schlatt not taking his eyes off your ass whenever you would bend over, go retrieve the ball, receiving and in general doing anything

during breaks he’ll take you into a corner when he thinks a camera can’t see and kiss you, parting with a smile and slapping your ass as you walk off with a dopey grin

———

“my favorite song right now? it’s probably that song from juno” you say smiling “here is the church and here is the steeple”

“we sure are cute for two ugly people” schlatt chimes in

“i don’t see what any one can see in anyone else but youu” you both sing smiling

“she plays it all the time, it’s so annoying” schlatt teases as you stick your tongue out at him

———

schlatt talks about you when asked or if you’re even referenced

“y/n, she is genuinely the best most incredible person i know, the way you see her on camera is the way she is in person, just that she’s softer and sweeter. I am her biggest fan, genuinely, she’s the most perfect person i know and i love being with her, not even just sex, i like being around her as a person, they make me a better person and it’s like every time i have to leave her, i feel empty. a piece of me is filled when im with her. She could ask me to get back with her in five minutes, tomorrow, fifty years in the future, i wouldn’t care, i’d get back with her in a heartbeat”

———

“my gum is out of flavor” you say looking around for a place to throw it out

“hand me it” schlatt says putting his hand out before you spit out the gum softly onto his palm, schlatt wastes no time putting it in his mouth almost immediately after causing you to look at him with wide eyes

“Schlatt! that’s disgusting”

“eh, i’ve had your tongue in my mouth before” he says blowing a bubble

———

“hello?” you ask putting your phone on speaker for the chat

“hey toots”

“oh hey schlatt”

“so, jambo has been cryin, sittin in the spot he always sat down next to you n he jus’ misses you” schlatt says sadly “i was wonderin’ if you could come over n comfort him since he jus wants his mommy” he asks softly

“yeah, i’ll be over in a few” you say before quickly ending your stream and going over to schlatt’s

“oh my poor baby jambo” you say picking up the mewing cat “you missed your mommy, didn’t you” you ask the cat softly, sitting down next to schlatt and giving jambo small kisses

eventually you fall asleep with jambo in your lap and schlatt carries you both to his bed, laying you down gently and he takes a photo

it’s his background for the next few months

———

“you got any sauce for this?” you ask schlatt as you bite into your fries before he goes into his pantry and fetches a new bottle of your favorite sauce

“schlattie” you chirp “you hate this sauce” you say opening up the bottle

“i know, i just had it left from when you lived with me” he lies

“i took the last bottle with me when i moved out” you say downwards smiling “you bought a new bottle for me”

“whatever” he huffs, knowing that you were right, he hated that stupid sauce but found your reaction to him having it adorable

———

“yeah, i’ve always wanted a surprise birthday party, but i’ve never gotten one” you say softly as schlatt makes note of it

a few months later on your birthday, you realize that very few people have said happy birthday, one of the few being schlatt

it’s a lonely day, you spend some of it alone before you get a text from schlatt at 2 pm

cat babydaddy: get ready, i’m picking you up at 5

you happily get ready, showering, shaving, everything

once he arrived he has a large bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear and a box of chocolate covered strawberries, smiling at you lovingly

“you look great toots” he says handing you your bouquet and bringing your gifts inside, you thank him with a few kisses before he tells you to hurry so you won’t be late for the reservations he made

you giggle the whole way there, holding his hand as the both of you talk before you notice that he’s going past a bunch of restaurants before he makes you put on a eye mask which you do confused

he leads you out of the car and in through some doors, gently he takes the mask off of you to reveal a beautifully decorated venue

your friends and family jumping out to yell happy birthday at you as you feel yourself tearing up, turning to schlatt with tears of joy

“don’t cry, happy birthday toots” he says wrapping an arm around you and planting a kiss on your lips

lmk if u guys want some more, i gotta feed my mutual break up lovers

#jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #mbu!jschlatt

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vintageshanny · 1 year ago

Text

Waiting for Love - Part One

He’s a Married Man

I felt inspired and started a brand new series! It’s a bit different from anything else I’ve done, and I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback! ❤️

Content: Story starts in summer of 1970, marriage problems, infidelity, smut (lighter in this first chapter but still there), fun Elvis-y things, 18+

Read the full series here!

Early July 1970

Vivien walked slowly past the Graceland gate on her way home from work. She always told herself that if she didn’t actually stop and wait, she wasn’t one of those crazy obsessed fans. She was just a normal curious person. Who walked five blocks out of her way every day in a pathetic attempt to catch a glimpse of Elvis Presley. There were a few other fans milling about, but it was too hot for a huge crowd. Right as she was about to cross over the driveway entrance, a big black car came roaring down the street, barely slowing to turn into the drive where the gate was starting to open. Vivien’s jaw dropped open as Elvis himself leaned out of the passenger window with a big smile.

“Hey, honey, didn’t mean ta scare ya. Got a crazy driver here,” he said, pointing a thumb over at the stocky man behind the wheel. Elvis gave Vivien a quick glance up and down and smiled again. “Were ya waitin’ for me?”

Vivien smoothed out her knee-length skirt and quickly glanced down to make sure none of the buttons on her short-sleeved blouse had popped open. She was always having trouble with that third one down. The one that would reveal the most, of course. So far, so good. “Oh, um,” she stumbled over her words. “I, um, was walking home from work, but it is nice to see you though.” Her face turned red as Elvis chuckled.

“It’s nice ta see you too, honey. It’s too hot ta be sittin’ out here talkin’, but why don’t ya come to the movies with us t’night,” he said it as more of statement than a question. “A group of us are goin’ to the Memphian. Just come in the side door at 10:00 and say Joe invited you.” The driver rolled his eyes at this, but neither Vivien nor Elvis seemed to notice.

Vivien tried in vain to keep her cool as she exclaimed, “Oh, wow, okay, I’d love to.” As she pushed her glasses up on her nose, she made eye-contact with Elvis right as he was also adjusting his own tinted glasses. They both laughed, and Elvis gave her a little wink.

“Okay, honey, I’ll see ya t’night,” he called out as the car continued up the winding driveway. Vivien was pretty sure her smile was lighting up the whole city as she continued her walk home.

As soon as she got inside her apartment, she picked up the phone. “Roxanne, I need you to come over right now. It’s a fashion emergency.” Ten minutes later, her best friend arrived at the door from her apartment two buildings down, panting and out of breath.

“I got here as fast as I could! What’s going on? Hot date?” Roxanne asked as she barged in and flopped on the couch.

Vivien bobbed up and down excitedly as she squealed, “I’m going to the Memphian with Elvis Presley!”

“What?! When?!” Roxanne exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and then sinking back down onto it in shock.

“Tonight! I told you my walking by the gate every day would pay off eventually,” Vivien announced triumphantly. “And you have to go with me! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind; he said it would be a big group.”

Roxanne’s face dropped a little bit. “I can’t tonight!” she wailed. “Michael made us reservations for this fancy anniversary dinner, and he’ll kill me if I bail on him. Especially for another man. I’ll just have to live vicariously through your stories about the night,” she sighed dreamily.

“Has it been one year already? I didn’t know you had it in you,” Vivien teased.

“Oh, very funny, goody two-shoes,” Roxanne retorted. “At least I’ve had something in me.” Vivien blushed at that dig. She’d always been holding out for something really special. “Speaking of that,” Roxanne continued, “are you gonna try to hook up with him tonight?”

“Who? Elvis?” Vivien asked with shock.

“No, the pope. Of course Elvis! He invited you personally, he probably thought you looked cute in your little secretary outfit,” Roxanne said with a knowing wink.

“N-no, he-he’s a married man,” Vivien sputtered out. “I’m just excited to be around him and maybe talk to him. I bet he’s so interesting to talk to.”

“Hmm,” Roxanne tutted disapprovingly. “Well, I think you should go for it. I heard that marriage has been on the rocks since the beginning anyway,” she said as Vivien shot her a look. “I’m just saying, you could be waiting in the wings. Now let’s find you something to wear.”

*************************************************

At 9:55pm, Vivien stepped off the bus two blocks from the theater, feeling severely overdressed in a low-cut sparkly cocktail dress and red kitten heels, her wavy dark brown hair pulled back off her face with a jeweled hair clip. Well, that’s what she got for asking Roxanne’s advice. She should’ve known she’d be sent out into the world looking like a good-time girl. Roxanne also told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was not to wear her glasses. Despite the fact that she wouldn’t be able to see the movie, or probably even recognize Elvis from across the lobby, she followed the advice and tucked them in her purse before heading toward the side door of the theater as instructed.

A red-headed man was acting as some sort of security guard right outside the door. Vivien told him she was invited by Joe and he held the door open for her to go in. She was surprised to find that the side door led directly into the darkened theater. Patton was just starting. She squinted down the aisle looking for any familiar faces but found nothing, so she nervously sat down in an empty seat, wondering if she would even see Elvis at all. Her nerves, plus the fact that everything on the screen looked fuzzy, made it hard to even focus on what was happening in the movie. She decided to sneak out to the lobby and see if the concession stand had anything that might settle her stomach, which had been doing flip-flops since she stepped off the bus. She rose and quickly scurried down the aisle, trying not to block anyone’s view of the movie.

Vivien pulled her wallet out of her purse to pay for her 7-Up and noticed she had brought a copy of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, one of her favorite books. She decided maybe she’d just find a spot to sit and read until the movie was over. Maybe she could catch Elvis’ attention on his way out. She wandered the little lobby looking for a spot to sit and ran right into Elvis coming out of the bathroom. His driver from earlier was standing next to the door. Vivien thought maybe she imagined it, but it looked like Elvis’ face lit up when he saw her.

“She is here!” Elvis turned to Joe and glared at him. “I told ya ta bring her ta sit with me when she got here.”

“I told Red to let me know when she got here! I said she had long dark hair and glasses…” Joe’s voice trailed off as he realized Vivien no longer matched his description.

Elvis started laughing as he realized what the problem was. “Why’d ya take your cute glasses off, honey? How’s anyone supposed ta find ya?”

Vivien smiled shyly. “Bad advice from a friend, I guess,” she said, fishing in her purse for her glasses. “Plus I didn’t know you’d be looking for me.”

“Hey, whatcha got there? The Prophet?” Elvis asked excitedly, noticing the book peeking out of her purse.

“Oh, yeah, I never go anywhere without a book,” Vivian admitted, feeling silly. Elvis looked at her, his eyes literally twinkling with delight.

“That’s one of my favorite books! You should come visit me tomorrow, I’d love ta talk to ya about it.” Elvis had now moved so close that their arms were touching. Vivien could hardly breath, so intoxicating was his presence.

“Are-are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, I’d love to talk to you more, but I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition, honey, I’m always up for some good conversation. Plus the guys’ll be busy tomorrow, right, Joe?” Elvis gave him a pointed look, letting him know they should make themselves busy. “I’ll be wantin’ some company. You don’t want me sittin’ there all lonely, do ya?” Vivien felt goosebumps raise on her skin as Elvis ran the backs of his fingers down her upper arm.

“No, of course not,” she whispered, suddenly unsure of exactly what he was asking. “I’d love to keep you company.” She felt embarassed at how flirty she was being with this married man, but she also couldn’t seem to stop smiling at him. It was all so surreal. Elvis pulled her in a for a tight hug, his arms wrapped all the way around her so that his fingers were brushing along the sides of her breasts. The affection he displayed had her weak in the knees.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow, honey. Come by around three. After breakfast,” he smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek. He started to walk away and then quickly turned back, asking, “What’s your name, dear? In case ya try ta go incognito again.”

“Vivien,” she said with a smile. “What’s yours?” Elvis tilted his head back and let out a loud burst of laughter before walking away. Vivien was floating so high that she almost didn’t wonder why he no longer wanted her to come sit with him. She supposed he’d found a new seat mate when he thought she wasn’t there. Maybe his wife?, she wondered. But then why would he be looking for me?

After the movies were over, Vivien hoped to say goodbye to Elvis again, but he was surrounded by fans, and she felt silly interrupting. She observed that he was affectionate with almost everyone, and worried she had read way too much into their conversation. Does he even really want me to come over? Since he had insisted, she decided it would be rude to not show up, but she tried to get her expectations in check. Plus, he’s a married man, she reminded herself.

*************************************************

The next day was Saturday, thank goodness, because Vivien had given no thought to her work schedule when agreeing to these outings. She wondered if Elvis even kept track of the days of the week like normal people had to. She had already decided not to call Roxanne until she got back from Graceland later. She didn’t want anyone else’s thoughts getting in her head; she was confused enough on her own. Unsure of what to wear or how fancy she should look, she decided to just be comfortable in some black capri pants and a red and white striped shirt that hugged her body in the way she liked. She slipped on some sandals, grabbed her book and purse, and headed out the door.

It was much more pleasant outside than it had been the day before, which was a relief. Vivien thought how awkward it would be to show up with sweat dripping down her face. Whoever was at the gate must have been expecting her, because they opened it right away and told her to just knock on the front door. Elvis answered the door himself, wearing crisp white pants and a satin-y red shirt with arm garters. His feet were bare, which made her heart flutter for some reason.

“Vivien! Perfect timing! I just finished gettin’ dressed,” he smiled. “Come on in.” He led her into a beautiful living room with a massively long couch. She noticed a framed photo on the coffee table of him, Priscilla, and their cute little daughter.

“You have a beautiful family, Elvis,” she commented when he noticed her staring at the picture.

“Oh, thanks,” he said, sounding a little dismissive of the compliment. “‘Cilla’s out of town right now. She went to visit her parents with Lisa.” He seemed to be answering a question that had been hanging in the air, unasked. Vivien just nodded and tried to look like this fact didn’t both excite and worry her.

“I brought my book. Is there any particular chapter you wanted to talk about?” she asked, hoping to guide the conversation away from absent spouses.

“All of it!” he said excitedly. She noticed he had a copy sitting on the coffee table as well. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, honey. You can take your sandals off and just set your feet here.” He indicated the space on the couch next to him. Feeling a little self-conscious, Vivien curled up so that she was leaning slightly away from him but her bare feet were next to him. While they talked, Elvis would occasionaly rest his hand on her ankle or rub his fingers absent-mindedly over the top of her foot. It was very soothing. He didn’t seem to be aiming for anything more, just a soft, gentle affection. When the phone rang, he excused himself and said he’d be right back. He seemed slightly agitated when he returned.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Vivien questioned, noticing his tense demeanor.

“Yeah, honey, ever’thing’s fine,” he drawled. The butterflies in Vivien’s stomach flew into overdrive at the way the word “honey” always dripped off his tongue like the sweet sticky substance itself. Elvis sighed and continued on without any prompting, unable to keep his frustration to himself. “It’s jus’ ‘Cilla, she’s always got-got-gotta be so suspicious of me,” he vented, his irritation clearly growing. “She c-c-can’t believe I’d jus’ be talkin’ ta someone about books and stuff that she’s not even interested in. It’s always gotta be somethin’...nefarious with her,” he emphasized each syllable of “nefarious” and rubbed the back of his neck as he leaned back next to Vivien on the couch.

She swallowed nervously and nodded, trying not to be distracted by the way his chubby penis flopped loosely against his thigh when he leaned back, clearly uncontrained by any underwear. She actually wasn’t sure if it was chubby, but it looked like it would be, and she’d been sneaking enough glances at it to feel like she had an idea of what it would look like if he exposed it to her…Vivien was pulled out of her less-than-wholesome thoughts by the realization that Elvis had followed her eyes down to his lap and seemed to be reading her thoughts as if they were comic strip bubbles showing next to her head. Instead of the bravado he sometimes exuded, Vivien was surprised to see him blush and rest his hand on his lap in a way that blocked her view.

“W-w-where were we?” he stuttered, thumbing through the well-loved pages of The Prophet, pretending not to notice the way Vivien’s racing heartbeat seemed to make the whole couch shudder with desire.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Vivien blurted out against her better judgment, causing Elvis to look up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape. “I mean,” Vivien began to ramble nervously, “if I were, um, if you and I, I mean,” she fought back at the tears of embarassment that were welling up in her eyes and started again. “If I had you, I wouldn’t probably like you talking to another woman much either,” Vivien cringed at her awkward wording. “I’d want you all to myself all the time, especially to talk about things you’re so passionate about,” she finished with a whisper, looking down nervously at her red-painted fingernails.

Elvis nodded his head slowly, considering her words. “W-w-well, ‘Cilla ain’t like that though. She ain’t interested in these things. Sometimes I feel we have nothin’ in common…” his voice trailed off sadly as he seemed to be contemplating all his life decisions in this moment. Then his soft lips tugged up into a crooked smirk and he looked over at Vivien slyly. “How often do ya think about havin’ me?” The bravado was back.

Sneaking just the tiniest peek back down at his crotch, Vivien racked her brain for a witty answer that wouldn’t sound ridiculous and came up with nothing. “It sure looks nice out,” she quickly changed the subject with a glance out the window.

“It sure does, honey,” Elvis chuckled. “We should take a break from the book and go for a swim.” Vivien flushed at the thought of seeing Elvis’ body in just some swim trunks.

“Oh, um, I don’t have a swimsuit with me,” she explained as he sized her up appraisingly.

“That’s okay, dear, I think I have somethin’ for ya,” he said, jumping up and hurrying upstairs. He came back five minutes later with a beaming grin and a little red and white polka dot bikini. “I bet this’ll fit ya okay.” Something in his cheeky grin told Vivien that he wouldn’t be too upset if it didn’t fit quite right. It looked very tiny.

“Oh, Elvis, I can’t wear your wife’s swimsuit,” Vivien protested, but he had clearly already made his mind up.

“It-it’s fine, honey, she ain’t gonna miss it. She had ten of ‘em up there, brand new, I jus’ cut the tags off.” Elvis grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the room leading out to the pool area. He nodded to the changing area and told her to just meet him out at the pool when she was ready. Vivien wriggled herself into the little suit and nervously eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. Everything essential was covered, but a soft little roll of skin was squeezing out from the suit bottom, her butt felt too exposed, and her breasts were spilling out slightly from the molded cups on top. She bit down on her lip, trying to make a quick decision. If she got right in the water, the ill-fitting suit wouldn’t be too noticeable. She decided it would be much more embarassing to have to get dressed again and go tell him that the suit was too small.

Elvis let out a low whistle from his lawn chair as soon as she stepped outside. So much for sneaking right into the water, Vivien thought as Elvis jumped up and circled around her. Her heart started racing at the sight of him in little red swim shorts and a striped shirt. She sinfully wondered if there was any chance of something flopping out the bottom of the shorts.

“Damn, baby, I like the way you fill that suit out,” Elvis murmured as his eyes stayed a second too long on her overflowing bikini top.

“It’s a little too small,” Vivien couldn’t stop herself from pointing out.

“Nah, honey, it looks perfect.” That crooked smile sent the butterflies on another flight. “Now the rule is, to enter the pool, ya have ta go off the diving board,” Elvis announced with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Vivien responded, thinking of all the body parts that could come flying out of her suit upon impact with the water.

“C’mon, Vivien,” he teased, giving her bare sides a little tickle with his long warm fingers. Her skin felt on fire from his touch. “Don’t be a party pooper. I’ll even go first!” He peeled off his t-shirt, causing a strange tingle to shoot through Vivien’s core, tossed it aside, and sprang into a messy dive, his long legs flailing a bit in the air. He surfaced, spitting water in the air like a fountain and beckoning her to come in. Vivien set her glasses on a little table by the chair, walked gingerly until her toes were at the edge of the diving board, took a deep breath, and plunged in, hoping for the best.

As she came up for air and pushed her dripping wet hair out of her face, she caught the flustered look on Elvis’ face that made her realize that her fear had come true. She glanced down to where his eyes were fixated on her chest, his lips hanging open slightly as his tongue subconciously slipped out and licked them. Vivien let out a little yelp when she saw that one of her nipples had escaped out of the bikini top and she quickly moved to tuck it back where it belonged. She covered her face in embarassment as Elvis swam closer to her. He pulled her hands down from her face and drew her into a gentle hug.

“Hey now, honey, ‘s okay. I wasn’t even lookin’...too much,” he said, trying to stifle a laugh as Vivien swatted at him.

“It’s not funny, Elvis, I’m embarassed,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye.

“Aw, honey, you ain’t never gotta be embarassed around me. And it’s jus’ us here, okay? Good thing all the guys had errands to run today, ‘cuz I want ya ta save that show only for me, okay?” Vivien finally smiled a little at that and nodded. “Would it make ya feel any better ta see my nipples?” Elvis joked, pushing his chest out in an exaggerated fashion. Vivien laughed and blushed as she eyed his torso, willing her eyes not to keep going down further, but that little trail of hair leading down past his belly button was just so enticing. “Hey, my nipples are up here,” Elvis teased, catching her under the chin with his tanned fingers. Vivien’s head was swimming at how flirtatious things had gotten since she’d admitted that she had thought of… “having him.” He’s a married man…hold it together, Vivien, she whispered inside her head. As if sensing her nervousness, Elvis quickly changed the subject, pulling her over to lean against the wall of the pool. “I’ve been talkin’ your ear off all day about my problems. Tell me somethin’ about you, honey.”

“Um, well, I’m 21, I work as a secretary at a law firm, I was named after Vivien Leigh,” she started out tentatively, wondering how much Elvis was really interested in anything about her life.

“Really? Vivien Leigh?” he exclaimed, his rapt attention giving her the confidence to continue.

“Yeah, my mom really loved Gone With the Wind,” she said with a laugh. As she talked about her family, Vivien took note of how Elvis’ eyes and nose crinkled up so cutely when he laughed, how the drying hair of his sideburns curled up and tucked into his ears, how the hint of gray at his temples sparkled in the sunlight. As he reached over and brushed a stray hair out of her face, a little shiver ran through her body.

“Is the wa-wa too cold, honey?” he asked, looking concerned. “Lemme help ya onto the ledge here so you can warm up in the sun.” He lifted Vivien onto the ledge and leaned in between her legs as he sat her down. “That better?” She nodded and her breath caught in her throat as she stared down into his sparkly blue eyes. “Vivien, you are beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in and pressed his pillowly lips to hers, slipping his tongue gently into her mouth. As he moved his lips down to the soft skin of her breast that was spilling out of the bikini top, her brain was screaming at her to stop him, but she couldn’t stop her body from responding to his every touch. He pulled the cup down a little bit, popping her nipple back out into the warm sunshine. Vivien let out an involuntary little gasp as he touched his tongue to her nipple and then sucked it into his mouth. As he rubbed his thumb over the saliva he left on it, he whispered, “See you ain’t gotta feel bad around me at all, honey. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He tucked it back into her top before leaning his head down and kissing her thigh. “Mmm, honey, you are drivin’ me crazy in this little suit. I see your cute little beaver wants ta come out and visit me,” he murmured as his fingers traced up Vivien’s inner thighs and rubbed gently at the dark wiry hairs escaping from the elastic of the bikini bottoms. Elvis hooked his long index finger into the elastic and tugged it to the side. He let out a groan as he slipped his fingers through the wetness. “You’re glistenin’ for me, Vivien,” he said with a smile.

“Elvis, I, um, ohhhh,” Vivien let out a load moan as Elvis slipped a finger inside of her. He tried to pump it, but her whole body seemed to tense up and his finger was meeting too much resistance. “Elvis, I’m sorry, um, I’m,” she started to explain her embarassing lack of experience, but Elvis shushed her gently. He straightened her suit out and pulled her back into the water, into his arms.

“Shh, ‘s okay, honey. You’re a good girl ain’t cha? I can feel it,” he whispered as he rubbed her back soothingly. “We ain’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“It’s, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just, um, I care about you Elvis. I don’t want to be something nefarious for you. I want to be something good.” Elvis looked a little shocked and - delighted maybe? - that someone would care enough about him to reject him, in a way. There was a warm glow on his face as he looked at Vivien tenderly.

“Can we jus’ be friends for now then? I really love talkin to ya, honey,” he said softly. “And, like I said, we ain’t gotta do anything you ain’t ready for. I jus’ want your company.”

Vivien nodded and looked up into his eyes. “I’d love to be friends. I think you’re a really special person,” she added, causing Elvis to blush.

After they were dressed and saying their goodbyes, Elvis promised to give her a call to come back and talk about the book some more. He leaned down and pressed a soft sweet kiss to her lips. “Not nefarious, just friendly,” he whispered as he pulled away with that lopsided smile. Vivien smiled and nodded, even as the gentle poke from something firm and definitely chubby below his belt told her that wasn’t quite true. And next time, she wasn’t sure she’d have the wherewithal to stop him from exploring her in any way he wanted. She walked away from the mansion feeling giddy, confused, thrilled, and terrified.

Tag List (please let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love

#elvis #Elvis fan fiction #Elvis fan fic #Elvis x oc #i love this man

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dabisbratz · 1 year ago

Note

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhh !!!! Dabi w/ a bf who's gotta oral and anal fixation!! (⁠●⁠´⁠⌓⁠`⁠●⁠) He just loves to keep ur mouth full with his fingies as he stuffs your desperate whore hole with his pierced to the nines cock it's so!! (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠) he fucking looses it to the sounds u make n all ur tearful crybaby pleading n he loves tellin u how pathetic n needy u are!! Ahhhh!! (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠) he can keep you on his cock all day if you'll just let him sink himself into you till you scream it's so so so!! AH (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥ CHEFS KISS !!

EEEE !! dabi def has jacob’s ladder piercins, got em pierced for his birthday n had t’listen t’you cry n whine over dick withdrawals shgshsgs but he made up for it !! you’re always in the way, followin him around n as cute as he thinks it is, there’s so much time wasted where he could’ve been feelin you squirm on his cock !!! whether he’s got you sittin by his boots with his fingers down your throat ( ‘you said you wanted me to finger you. not which hole.’ butthead . ), tears streamin down your cheeks cause he keeps randomly gaggin you with em.. orr has you sittin pretty, filled to the brim with his dick all sensitive n whiny, pushin out squeaks n moans every time he pounds up jus t’tease you.. he likes it jus as much as you do!! thinkin abt the way he hisses n groans, his cock twitchin n throbbin n leakin fat globs of cum over n over but stayin hard inside you.. or at pressed against your hot, wet tongue so ycan stay floaty n dumb with your mouth full n the tangy taste of metal n heat down your throat ໒꒰ྀི𖦹̀ ˬ 𖦹꒱ྀི১ need a minute..

#toybox—catgender-sasuke

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caramelcleopatraa · 8 months ago

Text

Golden Hour

word count: 1k

x: finished this short thing in an hour at work...... nothing else to say... enjoy :)

content: You sing “Golden Hour” for Roman Reigns at his wedding. Roman x Semeni, Roman x Reader, angst

You had been invited to sing at a wedding. You were excited. You think. You haven't gotten to sing at a wedding in a long time. Of course, this was different this time. Who’s wedding? Roman and Semeni, your longtime friends that have stuck with you since high school, despite you all pursuing different paths. A pro wrestler, a singer, and a model. Who knew you three would go on to be so successful. But that’s not the thought lingering in your mind, no, your heart as you clutch the microphone with obnoxiously sweaty hands.

It was just two lovers

Sittin' in the car, listening to Blonde

Fallin' for each other

Pink and orange skies, feelin' super childish

No Donald Glover

Missed call from my mother

Like, "Where you at tonight?" Got no alibi

I was all alone with the love of my life

You stood at the front of the shiny marble dance floor, accompanied by a shiny, immense grand piano, and a string quartet. You stood farther out in front of the instruments to be seen, but not too far to the point where you were distracting. Singing Golden Hour for the newly wed as they twirled across the dancefloor, love written across their faces. You could almost smile. Almost

She's got glitter for skin

My radiant beam in the night

I don't need no light to see you

Shine

It's your golden hour (oh)

You slow down time

In your golden hour (oh)

God, that annoying, unbearable pain in your chest as you sang the song to your best ability, not showing the state you were trying to desperately betray. Why weren't you happy? Your best friend is getting married. It's not new news. Neither is the widespread burning in your chest. But you thought you had finally gotten over yourself. Countless journey entries, therapy sessions, hour phone calls to your friend Gianna, who tried her best to console you and be with you every time you called. But seeing them together, hand in hand, dancing along to your voice with their love for each other pushing and floating them across the floor. It was unendurable.

We were just two lovers

Feet up on the dash, drivin' nowhere fast

Burnin' through the summer

Radio on blast, make the moment last

She got solar power

Minutes feel like hours

She knew she was the baddest, can you even imagine

Fallin' like I did?

The string quartet sang along with you, cheering them on into their new path in life. Something you should be doing, but you're not. Closing your eyes. That's what you had resorted to doing. Closing your eyes, singing the best you could. You imagined a wonderful white and blue room, adorned with ambient lighting and clouds everywhere. Fog covered the ground, but formed around your feet as you walked through. So captivating, but free at the same time. You wore a wonderful white gown, with silver accessories that shined bright in any room. And you looked up at Roman, wearing a designer black suit, with a silver clip with etched in diamonds attached to his suit, and a blue handkerchief.

For the love of my life

She's got glow on her face

A glorious look in her eyes

My angel of light

I was all alone with the love of my life

She's got glitter for skin

My radiant beam in the night

He took your hand as you two moved across the thick fog. No audience, no guests or family members, just you two. Sharing a special intimate moment with each other. Letting your love cloud your mind. Interfere with your judgment. Living in this beautiful moment. Your whole body tingled, feeling a gust of cold wind, dispersing your picture perfect daydream. They had glided past you like two flies in the hot summer heat. Her gigantic snow white dress brushing your toes as they smile stayed still. Well it was working until now. It's almost as if her snapping you out of your daydream made it worse. If only it was real

I don't need no light to see you

Shine

It's your golden hour (oh)

You slow down time

In your golden hour (oh)

A singular tear rode down your painted face. Staining the layers of makeup you had put on hours before the occasion. The camera man took a picture of you, probably mistaking your hot tear for a tear of joy. He couldn’t be more wrong. God, why were you here? Why did you even offer to do this for them? You should’ve known that you were going to break. It hurts. Seeing them together. In love. In a celebration and cheers to future happy memories, here you are. Questioning your placement here. Among these happy souls, as you stare holes into the side of their head. With anger? Disgust? Sadness? You didn't know. Maybe all three. Maybe none. The piano quiets and the string quartet fades. They take one longing look at eachother, and kiss. A loud explosion of head pounding applause followed. And you fakely followed suit. You wonder if you would have been more forward with him, that you would be standing in her place. All of these people would be clapping with you instead of her. If you would have told her to leave him alone, maybe they would have never gotten married. And you wouldn't be standing there, cursing yourself for being so scared. You looked at him with longing, and her with confused jealousy. As she stood there, and danced with your first love. They looked at you with unnerving happiness, their eyes and smiles thanking you for giving them such a special moment to remember. And you smiled too, wiping your tears to make things seem more dramatic. But Roman's face changed. Seeing right through your paper thin smile. And you knew he would ask you about it later.

Can they even imagine falling like you did?

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000

#caramelcleopatraa #roman reigns #wwe #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x oc #joe anoa'i #roman reigns x semeni #roman reigns angst #joe anoa’i #joe anoa'i x reader #joe anoa'i x black reader

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jellyskink · 2 months ago

Note

It's "bean" a while since we last had coffee

"Alright I'll have your drinks out in a couple of minutes! Please take a seat at one of the tables while we get to making your order."

It was another day of weirdness, annoyances, and surprisingly no work.

The cafe was a small, comfortable size, scented strongly by a different array of coffees, teas, and other desserts it offered.

It was worn down for sure, but I suppose the different houseplants that decorated the place along with the "unique" pieces of art displayed throughout the shop and on the wall definitely gave it a unique charm.

At the very least it was much warmer and comfortable than the freezin' cold outside.

The weather had shifted to autumn again, although based on the bone chilling air it felt like winter could creep up from behind like an adult tooth following the baby one.

"Thank you, please keep the change."

Irene said, handing the barista an additional three dollars ontop of what she had already paid for our drinks.

(I really don't see the point in tipping for a couple of drinks, let alone during a time when it was difficult to have the money to spend on little luxuries like this.)

Still, it was her money, and she was the one covering the bill this time, so who was I to complain?

I was visiting a local coffee shop with my "friend" Irene Oleander. Maybe "acquaintance" would be the better word, but I didn't really have any kind of friends outside of the guys from the bar.

Irene herself wasn't the worst to be around, I'd say she definitely was one of the least annoying people to be around.... usually at least.

Today to my surprise she was wearing a different outfit besides her usual "t shirt and jeans" look when she wasn't off work.

From what I could see, she was wearing some kind of high-low cut orange boho-chic dress with black tights and knee high brown boots. Layered over her upper body was a dorky dark orange oversized sweater. On said sweater there was a picture of a cat wearing a cowboy hat and cartoony mustache with the words "Meowdy Partner" knitted on it. Covering everything was a dark brown overcoat which reached to her mid calf.

To top it all off, she was wearing a black greek fisherman's cap, with a big golden cat shaped pin attached to it.

Besides her usual glasses and earrings I hardly recognized the woman in front of me.

(I'm surprised she looks so... nice today. It's rare to see her look so put together on one of her days off. It almost makes me regret wearin' my t-shirt, jeans, and jacket combo... almost.)

"Alright Yusuf, is there anywhere in particular you'd like to sit?" Irene asked.

"As long as we aren't sittin' anywhere near the door I'm happy wherever."

"Alright then, how about over there near the window?"

Before I had a chance to respond further Irene promptly walked over to a table nearby the counter and plopped herself down.

"Eh why not?" I replied.

With that I followed suit and made myself comfortable as sat down and took off my jacket and gloves.

Irene took off her coat as well, although it did take her a couple of minutes to realize she was still wearing it.

"So... this is new for you. Is there any special reason why?"

"No, I've been wanting to try out different fashion styles lately. I'd have tried this sort of thing out sooner, but you know how work is for me."

(Boy did I ever know that, when she wasn't talking my ear off about how her work-life was, she was either talking about her cat or that weirdo patient of hers, Ford Pines.)

"What do you think about it by the way?"

(Honestly I'm surprised, Irene was really good at dressing professionally, but when it came to anything outside of that she usually struggled a lot to not look like a hot mess most of the time.)

"It's nice, it definitely fits you. Down to the cat stuff that I'm sure you couldn't live without" I teased.

"Well I'm glad my hard work paid off, and for your information the cat accessories was a personal touch of mine as they say. I read in many fashion magazines that doing that personalizes an outfit and makes you enjoy it even more, I'd definitely say there's truth to it!"

(It was really funny to catch her off guard sometimes, I enjoyed doin' it whenever I could.)

"Alright, alright, I get it. Ya look nice okay? I'm sure your "boyfriend" would say the same." I said with a snarky tone in my voice.

It took Irene a couple of seconds to realize who I was referencing. Her cheeks flushed a tomato red as her lips pursed together so tightly her lips almost disappeared.

"Shut it! He's NOT my boyfriend and you know it! I don't like him like that at all!"

(HA! I knew I'd get a reaction out of her with that comment.)

"How would you like it if I said Dr. Pines was YOUR boyfriend? He definitely seems to take a liking to you in a different way than me!"

(Oh she did not just say that. Sure, Ford Pines definitely did look handsome sometimes, and once in a blue moon I thought about him from the corner of my mind like an annoying tune from a commercial, but I did NOT like him like that! I hated his guts, it was just an unfortunate fact that he was the worst but was gifted with good looks and was occasionally, stupidly, charming.)

(I felt my face tingle with heat as I looked away from her. It was something a kid would probably do, but I'd be damned I'd let her see how well she used my own words against me.)

"Well I wouldn't say bein' gifted vermin is anything to be excited about Irene!"

(Wait a damn minute, FUCK we're TALKING WAY TOO LOUD RIGHT NOW.)

(Irene seemed to be on the same wavelength as I was because we both glanced around the room before turning back to facing each other with embarrassment.)

(Geez, we ended up arguin' like schoolgirls. Good one Yusuf... just hope it wasn't as embarrassing as it felt.)

It felt like ages before Irene cut the growing tension in the air.

"Haha, well I guess that was a bit childish of us both..."

(Ugh, there she goes again. She's taking responsibility for something that wasn't her fault.)

"Yeah... anyway I just want to get this outta the way but I'm sorry for teasin' too far."

"No, no. I know you don't mean it. I've just have a lot on my mind regarding that subject..."

Course it was, when it wasn't worrying about her cat lately Irene was working herself to the bone learning about that Stanford Pines.

(I really hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass...)

"What's been buggin' you lately?"

"Well... lately things have been going pretty well with you know who, but that's what's worrying me. During all of our sessions it's always kept a pattern to an extent. Mainly in the pattern of he'd have his ups before some pretty heavy downs. I'm worried about what kind of problems he'll be hit with when those patterns of good times eventually end for him."

(Bleedin' Heart Dr. Oleander is worrying about her patients to a personal level? You're kidding.)

"I think you're just bein' paranoid. Besides, it's been an ease off of both your shoulders and mine, you should really enjoy it while it lasts.

"That's true I suppose. I just really wish I wasn't hitting so many roadblocks when it came to him and just LEARNING about his background to begin with."

"Eh, you've gotten this far yeah? I doubt you'll be stuck forever. You're always persistent when it comes to work."

(It was one of your biggest strengths, and one of the things that was most annoying about you.)

"True..."

Our conversation was soon interrupted by the barista from before.

"Sorry for the wait, I had to fight both the coffee machine AND the espresso machine to get your order done. Literally."

Saying this they held up their arm, showing some burn marks from presumably the machines themselves.

"It's been interesting working with living machines now, but I think it's been an interesting experience! Weirdly enough the drinks have been tasting even better now that the machines are sentient. Anyways, please enjoy!"

With that the barista happily placed down our drinks onto our table, afterwards heading back to the counter. From what I could see they were bandaging up their burn marks while chatting with the next customers in line.

(I... eh nevermind. It was easier to just accept that some weird things were going to happen and some people were just weird enough to adjust to it quickly.)

Placed onto our table was a tray carrying two cups. The first was an average cup of coffee, the beverage was poured into a rustic looking coffee cup adorned with a checked pattern.

The second was a much cuter looking cup filled with a pumpkin spice latte, the coffee cup had a thematically fitting pumpkin design to it, with whipped cream on top and a cinnamon stick stuck into it.

I took the pumpkin spice latte while Irene took the normal cup of joe.

Say what you want about me picking a girly drink at a coffee shop, but goddamnit I wasn't going to deny myself a treat when quite literally the end of the world could be tomorrow.

As we enjoyed our drinks, we heard the bell of the front door ring as some guy walked in.

He was a tall, weedy, lookin' fellow who looked like he'd seen more than his fair share of troubles. His clothes looked as old as he did, looking like somethin' you'd find a cowboy from the old west wearing.

I wasn't sure what kind of glasses he was wearing, I think they were called Windsor glasses? I don't know, I've always called em' the old grandma style glasses.

(Was that... A rifle on his back?? Eh... I'm not gonna worry about it. That sounded annoying, not to mention you didn't exactly go around askin' someone if they had a gun.)

As the cowboy ordered something at the counter, I found myself looking torwards Irene with a smile.

"I didn't know pioneer day was so soon." I joked to her.

"Yusuf Ibis you cut that out!" Irene scolded in response, although I could tell by the tone of her voice she was muffling a chuckle.

(It was it's own reward to see Irene struggle to keep her usual professionalism.)

I'm not sure why, but after I pointed out that particular man, Irene couldn't help but look in his direction for a minute.

"What's up Irene? You know the guy or somethin'?"

"No... But I can't help but feel like I've seen him before... No, it's probably nothing."

"Whatever you say."

With that we enjoyed our drinks and sat at the table afterwards. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do after Irene and I's little coffee run.

A phone ringtone consisting of cat meows rang out, Irene immediately reached into her coat pocket to pull out her flipphone. She flipped it open and checked something for a good minute before closing it with a sigh.

"What was that?"

"Just a surge of emails I recently got from a bunch of different people regarding my Cat and Dr.Pines."

"Really? Your cat AND Mr.Pines have gotten people interested in you?"

"Yes, it's strange. I'm getting quite a few requests from one blog in particular about talking with them about my dear little Calamari in particular."

"Are ya gonna respond?"

"I think so, at the very least I'll thoroughly check the emails later. Although I can't shake the feeling that something bad might come from it."

"Heh like what? It's not like you'll be playing a part in starting a war or somethin!"

"I suppose that's true..."

With that, after some awkward chatter Irene and I parted ways. It was nice having some time off from working or talkin' about our certain little patient.

As I began to walk down the sidewalk from the coffee shop, my mind began to wander. Aside from the usual dread of returning to work, figuring out what I was goinf to do when I wasn't AT work, I couldn't help but worry a bit about Irene.

(She was so concerned about that one six fingered weirdo, but I didn't really get why she was aside from her usual bleedin' heart thing. She really needed to take a page from my book and stop involving yourself so personally with your work.

But convincing her of that would be like convincing a certain someone to NOT be obsessed with a certain demonic triangle.)

*Sigh* (I just hope that besides not dragging me down with her she knows when to quit.

Because after all, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.)

(I hope this more fluffy focused fanfic turned out well! I had a lot of fun writing the more angsty Stan one I rushed to write, but I'm just a sucker for hurt/comfort or pure fluff fics personally!

Hopefully the winging I did with Irene and Yusuf was fun as well! I may or may not be having a lot of fun writing blunt opinions of different characters from the viewpoints of our lovely sour apple Dr.Ibis!

(Is he too mean though or not mean enough? I'm worried about him being too "mean girl esque" without the sweet side to balance it out as the Tsundere I'm headcanoning him to be lmaoo.)

I'm seriously excited that another anon was super inspired to write angsty fanfiction as well! That Ford fanfiction they wrote that was like a counterpart to my Stan one was HEARTBREAKING and I knew I had to try and tie it into this silly little fanfiction side-story thing I've been having a ton of fun writing for Jellyskink!

(Girl by the way in case I didn't mention it before I'm totally blown away from the love you had for my stan fanfic, I absolutely laughed my a** off when I saw the silly little doodle you drew for it! Would you be alright it I used it for a profile picture? I'll be sure to credit you if it's okay!)

That fake Internet flamewar you're having with is-it-cute-gf-au-edtion is totally hilarious and I'm definitely keeping a close eye on it while sending in some hopefully fun asks for it. (Personally I'm also a #TeamCalimari person. Sorry #TeamFord, I just think Calimari is my favorite option between the two.)

(Did Fiddleford do the very healthy, very normal thing of stalking and investigating these two doctor's after getting his coffee order? Will Calimari still continue to be an adorable menace to society? (Spoiler alert for that, most definitely.) Will the anons eventually team up to write more random fanfiction for Jellyskink?

Who knows? But tune in next time anyway for whoever's post follows this!

Yusuf is a sour apple Tsundere, for sure!! And of course, feel free to use that Stan pic! :D

I'M A FORD PINES BELIEVER! HE CAN WIN ONE SINGLE PET SHOW! I BELIEVE IN HIM!!!

Thank you so much for writing again!! 💕

#domesticated ford #fan fiction #ask fiction #dr ibis #dr oleander

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animationnut · 2 months ago

Text

Holiday Sweater Exchange

My PnF Secret Santa gift for @danvillecheese

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!! Hope you enjoy your gift!

...

When Isabella stepped out of her house, it was to be greeted by her favourite kind of snow—thick, puffy snowflakes that drifted lazily to the frozen ground. She paused for a moment to admire it, holding out her mitten-covered hand to catch one. The snowflake was about the size of a nickel, the crystals glinting in the thin rays of sun that peeked from amongst the grey clouds.

There was a slight nip in the air, sharp enough that she had to tug up her purple scarf so it would cover her face. It was only a short walk across the street, but she hated when her cheeks were numb with cold.

She looked both ways before she crossed the freshly-salted street. The driveway to the Flynn-Fletcher residence was just as pristine, not a chip of ice or clump of snow to be seen. She ducked through the backyard gate and followed the path to the sliding glass door, which she wrenched open with one hand.

“Happy holidays!” she chirped, kicking the slush from her boots before stepping onto the Santa Claus mat.

“Happy holidays!” Phineas returned with enthusiasm. He grabbed a mug of hot chocolate from the tray sitting on the coffee table, and once Isabella was free of her winter gear, passed it to her. “We’ve got the works, so jazz it up however you want.”

The coffee table had been turned into a hot chocolate bar, with glass canisters of sprinkles, gingerbread, candy canes, and chocolate shavings lined up beside cans of whipped cream. Isabella added a squirt of whipped cream to her hot chocolate and a healthy dose of red and green sprinkles.

Baljeet and Buford arrived a few minutes later. Buford took enough time to kick off his boots before beelining for the hot chocolate, wrapping his fingers around the warm ceramic mug. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said with a sigh, dropping with a heavy plop beside Isabella on the couch.

“I told you fingerless gloves were completely impractical,” Baljeet chided, taking more care in shedding his winter coat and accessories. “But no, you had to wear them, because they are ‘cool’.”

“Shut up,” Buford growled. He added a tower of whipped cream to his drink, and when he tilted his head back to spray some directly into his mouth, Ferb snatched the canister from his hands.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Once his friends were settled with their drinks, Phineas clapped his hands together, his eyes glinting with excitement. “Okay! Who wants to kick off the homemade holiday sweater exchange?”

“I do!” said Isabella brightly. She thrust out a shiny, red-wrapped package. “Merry Christmas, Buford.”

Buford set his candy-cane striped mug down and took the gift, eyeing it warily. “If this has something adorable on it—”

“Open it and find out.”

“Because I swear, Princess, I explicitly said nothing cute or fluffy or—”

“Buford, just open it!”

Grumbling under his breath, Buford ripped off the paper, revealing a beige wool sweater. He unfurled it and, when his eyes caught sight of the design, he let out a disbelieving snort. “This is so stupid.”

Buford flipped the sweater so everyone could see the front, which displayed three fuzzy white kittens wearing reindeer antlers. Each kitten was wearing a black sweater featuring a skull wearing a Santa Claus hat.

“Those are certainly two things I did not expect to see together,” remarked Baljeet.

“It’s clever,” said Phineas with a laugh. “It suits Buford. Appears hard on the outside, but super soft on the inside.”

Buford narrowed his eyes. “If Ferb wasn’t sittin’ right there, I’d smack ya for that.”

“I know. That’s why I said it.”

Shaking his head, Buford refolded his sweater, sending Isabella a raised brow. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

“Pretty clever,” Isabella said with a nod. Her lips turned downwards slightly. “You don’t completely hate it, right?”

Features softening, Buford reached out to ruffle Isabella’s hair, causing her to squeak. “I’d hate it if you didn’t try to mess with me somehow.” He picked up a rumpled, blue snowman-wrapped gift. “Ferb, you better like this.”

Smirking, Ferb took his gift and peeled off the paper. He held out a dark green sweater, which was covered with Christmas-themed patches; festive Stumpleberry Finkbat characters from the harshly-panned Christmas special, red candles in brass holders, vintage Santa Clauses, nutcrackers, and mice wearing tiny mittens.

“I didn’t knit the sweater, but I sewed on the patches. That counts, right?”

“Sure does,” confirmed Phineas. “It looks awesome, Buford.”

Ferb nodded in agreement, lightly running his fingers over the patches. He sent Buford a curious look.

“Your parents helped me out,” Buford said. “Turns out they had a whole bin of old patches at their store. They tracked down the Stumpleberry Finkbat ones for me, too.”

“Thank you,” said Ferb with a soft smile.

“You’re welcome,” mumbled Buford.

Ferb twisted slightly, so he was facing the armchair. He smiled as he handed Phineas a teal-wrapped present. Phineas laughed. “This doesn’t count as my Christmas present, right?” he joked.

“You’ll see,” Ferb said simply.

Phineas eagerly ripped away the paper, revealing a knitted sweater that was the same colour as the wrapping paper. He gave a delighted whoop, excitedly displaying the sweater for his friends to see. Perry’s silhouette, including reindeer antlers, was stitched on the front with white thread. Above, in delicate cursive stitch, read ‘We Wish You a Perry Christmas’.

“Okay, that’s perfection,” declared Isabella.

“I kinda want it,” spoke Buford. “Wanna trade?”

“Not at all.” Phineas happily wrangled the sweater over his head. “This is mine forever.”

“I’m taking a picture of you and Perry later,” said Isabella.

“That would be awesome! Good idea, Is.” Phineas picked up a lumpy package wrapped in sparkling blue paper. “Merry Christmas, Baljeet!”

“Thank you.” Baljeet took his gift and carefully pulled apart the paper. His eyes went wide at the red dashes and dots pressed to a green sweater. “Does this…does this say Merry Christmas in morse code?”

“It sure does!”

Baljeet hugged the sweater to his chest. “This is the best sweater ever.”

“The best nerd sweater, maybe,” said Buford with a scoff. “Jeet, not a single person is gonna know what those dots and dashes mean.”

“Someone will,” Baljeet countered. “And when someone comments on it, I will know they are my kind of people. Thank you, Phineas.”

“You’re welcome! I’m so glad you like it.”

Baljeet nervously picked up a small, pink bag with pastel purple trees printed on the plastic. “Okay, this is really bad,” he said weakly. “Very terrible. I am not adept at arts and crafts, so I am very sorry if this disappoints you.”

“It’s not going to disappoint me, Baljeet,” said Isabella gently, leaning over Buford to rest her hand against Baljeet’s knee. “You put your heart into it, and that’s what matters the most.”

“If you say so,” said Baljeet dubiously.

Isabella removed the white tissue paper and pulled out a scrap of blue fabric about the size of a tea towel. A menorah had been stitched with thin gold thread, and ‘Spoiled For 8 Days’ was spelled out in clumsy stitching.

“Is…is this a sweater for Pinky?” Isabella asked slowly.

“Yes,” Baljeet said anxiously. “I could not do a human sweater, so I thought—”

He recoiled as Isabella let out a shriek of delight. She sprang to her feet and dashed to the door, sparing enough time to shove on her boots. She vanished into the snowy afternoon, leaving her friends to gape after her.

“Does she like it?” asked Baljeet frantically. “That was a sound of joy, yes?”

“Pretty sure she just ran off to get Pinky, so yes, I think she likes it,” said Phineas in amusement.

Phineas was correct, for three minutes later Isabella returned, holding Pinky aloft with a beaming grin. “Look at him!” she cooed. “It fits perfectly!”

The sweater did not seem to do much to calm Pinky’s shaking, but the dog did not seem to mind his new item of clothing. Isabella hugged him against her chest as she took off her boots, once more settling down on the couch.

She plopped Pinky into Buford’s lap before embracing Baljeet tightly. “I love it so much, Baljeet. Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” said Baljeet with relief.

As the others changed into their new sweaters, Phineas set up the television for their annual Elf viewing. Ferb came down with Perry, and neither boys noticed the way his eyes softened with affection when he spotted Phineas’ sweater.

The group of friends clustered together on the couch, elbows digging into sides and legs splaying over laps, but no one minded. Pinky stayed in Buford’s lap, sneaking licks of his whipped cream when he wasn’t looking. Isabella tucked her chin against Phineas’ shoulder, her feet resting in Ferb’s lap. Baljeet was sandwiched between Ferb and Buford, the former’s arm stretched leisurely over his shoulders. Buford pressed his socked feet beneath Baljeet’s thighs, carefully balancing Pinky in his lap.

Bathed in the multicoloured glow of the Christmas tree, the warmth that filled them had nothing to do with their newly acquired sweaters.

#phineas and ferb #pnf #pnfsecretsanta #holiday fic #phineas and ferb fanfiction #holiday sweaters #friendship #fluff #I work all day tomorrow so I figured I'd post early

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1lostsoul0fishbowl · 6 days ago

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Have a snippet of Gone Away, my love letter to uncle Wayne, featuring eight-year-old Eddie and the debut of a very tiny fabulous-haired friend.

(This was not written with any particular ship in mind, obviously, since they’re little kids. But if you want to imagine it as the elementary school beginnings of That Popular Ship, you’re certainly more than welcome to. 😉🫶)

***

Wayne gets out of work a little earlier than usual on the Friday before Thanksgiving. He was hoping the weather would be nice enough to take Eddie to the playground, but the temperature has dropped since that morning and a steady drizzle of rain is turning everything damp and gray. Well, never mind, he thinks; they can invite Grace to come over early instead. Maybe she’ll make them her famous hot chocolate. He has no idea what she puts in it, but it’s addicting.

He’s hunched into his jacket as he heads toward the school, still idly daydreaming about hot chocolate, and he almost walks right past a small figure huddled pitiful and alone in the parent pickup area until a little noise catches his attention. It’s the unmistakeable noise of someone crying and trying to hide it.

Wayne turns to look. It’s a little boy, smaller than Eddie, with luxuriously thick brown hair. It’s so fluffy and nice that Wayne actually does a double take. The kid’s got more hair than Eddie does. Good thing it isn’t curly like Ed’s; combing it would be a nightmare. His face is pale under a scattering of freckles, and his eyes are red-rimmed and so sad they break Wayne’s heart a bit. “Hey, little one,” he says softly to the boy, “whatcha doin’ out here all by yourself?”

The boy sniffles, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Nobody came to get me,” he says quietly. “I’ve been waiting and waiting but nobody came. I’m cold.”

“Let’s get you inside.” Wayne holds out his hand, and the little boy immediately takes hold, following him into the school. “They got an after school thing where you can wait, so’s you don’t have to sit out here in the rain. I’m pickin’ up my boy from there now.” He leads the kid over to the teacher in charge. “Found this little guy out front. He said no one came to get him. I reckoned he’d be better off in here with y’all than sittin’ there all by his lonesome.”

“Your mother hasn’t come yet?” the teacher asks, and when the boy shakes his head no, she sighs. “Janet,” she calls across the room to the other teacher on duty, “can you try calling the Harringtons again? They were supposed to be here forty minutes ago.” She turns back to Wayne. “Thanks for bringing him in. Honestly,” her voice lowers, taking on a here’s some juicy gossip sort of tone, “they’re always late, by now he should know not to bother waiting outside.”

Wayne frowns at her. What is she spreading stories about this poor baby’s folks for? He’s about to tell her it’s none of his business when he hears Eddie shout.

“Leave him alone!“

His eyes snap instantly to the sound. Eddie is standing protectively in front of the little Harrington boy, glaring down a tiny blond kid who’s got a smug smirk on his face. “Why are you so mean to everybody?” Eddie demands.

The smarmy kid shrugs. “I’m not being mean, I’m just telling the truth. Steve’s a crybaby.”

“He is not. And you are mean.” Eddie crosses his arms, scowling, and a look of surprise crosses the blond boy’s face. He instinctively takes a couple steps back. Wayne doesn’t blame him; that scowl reminds him a bit too much of his brother, and he hopes he’s not about to see a display of the temper that went with it. “I’ve seen you,” Eddie continues, stepping closer, as the blond kid backs away even more. “Every day I see you being nasty to someone. What’s wrong with you?” He doesn’t quite make a fist, not exactly, but he sort of flexes his fingers experimentally and that’s enough to tip the little blond punk over the edge.

He bolts, shouting “I’m telling my mother about you!” over his shoulder, scurrying to safety next to the teacher. Eddie ignores him. His face softens into a friendly smile as he turns to the Harrington boy— Steve, according to the nasty blond— who is staring at him in openmouthed astonishment.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, and Steve manages to nod. “I’m okay,” he says after a moment. “That… that was really cool. Thanks.”

Wayne breathes out an incredulous laugh. He’s never seen this much drama at the day care before. The teachers must eat it up like daytime soaps. He did notice the gossipy one didn’t make any sort of attempt to stop the boys from arguing. Thank the lord Eddie didn’t actually hit the little punk, no matter how much he probably deserved it. They might’ve actually brought out the popcorn instead of breaking up a fight.

A weary looking woman in a prim lilac pantsuit has arrived; the nasty kid’s mother, Wayne guesses, by the way the blond races over to her, babbling and making exaggerated faces and pointing at Eddie. Why, that little snitch. Wayne pastes a pleasant smile on his face and walks over to introduce himself to the woman. He drops some innocuous nonsense about ‘kids these days’ before mentioning rather pointedly that he’s glad his boy is brave enough to stand up to bullies. The woman looks at her son, then back at Wayne, who meets her gaze steadily. She’s clearly putting two and two together. She mumbles something about letting his father know, as she hastily gathers up her son and departs.

He already knows the kid won’t get in trouble; that kind never does. But at least his mama won’t go blaming Eddie for the trouble her own son caused. Shaking his head, Wayne turns to collect his nephew, more than ready to get out of this place and relax at home.

Eddie and Steve are sitting at a table together, chattering away and building something huge and complicated out of Lego, when he calls out, “C’mon Ed, let’s get going.”

Eddie rushes over to tug at his sleeve. “Uncle Wayne,” he whispers, “can we take Steve home? He said his mom forgot to come get him.”

“That’s real nice of you, little darlin’, but no, we can’t take him. I can’t just take a kid that don’t belong to me. Imagine what his mama would say if he was gone when she got here.” He looks over at Steve. The boy’s despondent face tugs at his heartstrings for sure, but Wayne knows the name Harrington and he’s not about to get himself accused of kidnapping by that guy. Poor kid’s just gonna have to wait.

Eddie has other plans, though. “Then can we stay with him til she comes? Please, uncle Wayne? He’s so sad. I don’t wanna leave him here all by himself.”

Wayne sighs. This boy is giving him gray hair already, he can feel it. “Lemme check with the teachers. If it’s okay with them, we can stay a bit longer.”

The teachers don’t seem to mind. So Eddie and Steve go back to their Lego, and Wayne settles down at one of the tables with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. Other parents stop in to collect their kids over the next hour, but still nobody comes for little Steve, and soon he and Eddie are the last ones left. Wayne yawns, standing up to stretch. Maybe he should’ve just taken the kid home after all. This is getting ridiculous.

“Uncle Wayne.” Eddie’s tugging at his sleeve again.

“You ready to go now?” Wayne yawns again.

“Um. No. Can you help?” Eddie whispers. “Steve’s crying again and I can’t get him to feel better.”

He shakes his head. Where did this kid get such a big heart? Must take after his mama that way. “What d’you want me to do, little darlin’?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you could read to us?” Eddie’s big brown eyes plead with him. “I always feel better when you read to me.”

Now how is he supposed to say no to that?

“Alright then,” he agrees, and next thing he knows he’s sitting on the floor on a pile of cushions in the ‘book nook’ with two little boys leaning up against him, one on either side. Eddie insisted that Steve choose the story, and he’d picked one called Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. By the time Wayne finished the first chapter, Steve had stopped crying, and he’d crawled into Wayne’s lap and snuggled down and didn’t seem inclined to move. Eddie didn’t appear to mind; he simply reached over and took the book, holding it out and turning the pages as Wayne read so he could hold onto Steve. Wayne rubbed the smaller boy’s back, just the same way he did to soothe Eddie when he was upset. It worked the same way, too. Steve was half asleep by the end of the second chapter.

He’s midway through chapter five when at last the classroom door bursts open and a frazzled-looking young woman hurries in. She dashes over to the teachers, frantically telling them a story complete with wild hand gestures.

Eddie gently nudges Steve. “Is that your mommy?” he whispers.

Steve yawns. “No, that’s Anja. She’s our housekeeper.”

“What’s a housekeeper?”

“She cleans my room and stuff,” Steve informs him, and Eddie looks impressed. He doesn’t ask any more questions though, and Steve breathes out a tiny sigh of what Wayne is fairly sure is relief. Lord have mercy, he thinks, there’s an awful lot going on beneath the surface here.

The young woman hurries to his side now, holding out her hand to Steve. “Your mom asked me to come get you, liebchen. Sorry you had to wait so long.”

Steve ignores her hand, reaching for his jacket instead. “Where is she this time?” he asks in a resigned voice, sounding much older than his can’t-possibly-be-more-than-seven years.

Anja shrugs. “Ach, you know they never tell me where they’re going. Let’s get you home, ja?” She turns to Wayne. “Thank you for keeping an eye on him.”

“It was a pleasure, ma’am,” Wayne says honestly. “He’s a good boy.”

Steve shyly thanks him, then turns to Eddie. “Hey, um, is it okay if I look for you at recess on Monday?” he asks. “Maybe we could play together?” He sounds timid, afraid of rejection maybe, but Eddie gives him a big smile. “Sure!” he says immediately, easily. “I’ll be over by the tetherball poles, okay?” And Steve grins back, nodding happily.

In the car, driving home at last, Wayne says casually to Eddie, “So how long you been friends with the Harrington boy?”

“I just met him today,” is Eddie’s unexpected answer. Wayne snorts a laugh. Honestly, nothing about his boy should surprise him anymore.

***

#wayne munson #uncle wayne #eddie munson #eddie and wayne munson #steve harrington #guest starring already-a-bully jason carver #losty writes: gone away

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bellaxgiornata · 2 years ago

Text

Safe Haven [Chapter Twelve]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.6k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: This is a long one where we finally get their first date! And there's angst at the end of it, too... Also big thanks to @loveroftoomanyfandoms for figuring out what Michael is actually reading in Kin! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky @the-nursery @lionalsowrites

Drawing the warm ceramic mug to your lips, you drank down more of your vanilla latte. The hot liquid was surprisingly not too sweet, the bold taste of the roast actually coming through as it passed over your tongue. You decided you liked this coffee shop, and not just because it was now going to hold the memory of your first date with Michael, but they apparently knew how to make a good cup of coffee.

Across from you at the table, Michael’s fingers were tapping against the side of his steaming mug of coffee, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand. His eyes were locked on yours, crinkles forming at the corners of them and that dimple visible just beneath his beard on his right cheek. He sat there silently, continuing to simply smile at you.

He had just been contentedly watching you as if that alone was enough for him for the past couple of minutes. You swore if he kept looking at you like he’d been doing ever since you’d both sat down, you’d end up throwing yourself over the small table separating the pair of you and crushing your mouth to his. Just that look of enraptured interest he had for you so plainly written across his face was alone increasing your arousal–or maybe it had just been vastly too long since either of you had last had sex. Either way, you were getting turned on and you could feel the sexual tension increasing to a palpable level in the air around the pair of you. Didn’t matter that you were both in public in a coffee shop and Michael was wearing a bulletproof vest under his sweater and jacket. Somehow that only added to your increasing desire.

“You just going to stare at me for the duration of this date?” you asked him, lowering the mug back to the table and wrapping both of your hands around it. “Or do you actually want to talk to me?”

Michael chuckled, that intense look of fondness never leaving his face. “Well I have a beautiful woman sittin’ across from me, and it’s quite early in the mornin’. Maybe I’m a bit distracted?” he teased.

That also didn’t help you control the desire to jump him publicly.

“Laying it on thick, I see,” you joked, unable to fight the smile on your own mouth.

“Well I told ya it may be a bit before I can take ya on another proper date again,” he explained. “And it did take me two times to get ya to say yes to me to begin with.” He shrugged. “Maybe I just want to make sure it won’t take ya six times before ya say yes next time?”

You laughed, surprised at how funny he actually was when you got a little bit past the awkward, brooding, mysterious exterior. Shaking your head at him, your eyes dropped down to the mug of coffee before you. On your walk to the coffee shop this morning Michael had been noticeably more comfortable with you than he had been the last time the pair of you had taken a walk together. Although there had unfortunately been no kissing or hand holding, he had somehow still managed to slip in a bit of overt flirting despite the main topic of conversation.

As you’d both walked to the shop for your date, Michael had been explaining how he really shouldn’t be out of his house because of the feud that had been started between his family and their supplier–this Eamon character that Birdy had initially accused you of getting close to Michael for the Serpents for. Apparently anyone selling for Eamon that had a gun was going to be on the lookout for a Kinsella or anyone working with the family. There had been a very high bounty put on Michael’s head and it wasn’t exactly safe for him to be out–even in public. Which didn’t exactly surprise you, considering how he’d walked into a crowded bar himself a few nights ago and shot the man who’d been responsible for Jamie’s death. But Michael had repeatedly assured you the bounty was still such early news that there wasn’t a high risk of anyone tailing him yet. He’d made sure no one was before he’d come to get you from your sister’s this morning.

To you, it sounded like this feud was more of a war. Especially with the way he was wearing a bulletproof vest under his clothes and occasionally scanning out the window to make sure no one suspicious was watching the pair of you. He’d even intentionally picked a table near a back exit in case the pair of you needed to bolt, and he’d positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the door and still be between you and it. Which was a detail you hadn’t missed.

“So you’re a writer, yeah?” he asked.

His question drew your eyes back up from your mug and to his face. He’d sat up straighter in his chair now, his chin no longer resting in his palm. You watched as he drew his mug to his lips, your eyes momentarily distracted by the movement–and his mouth. It had been too long since you’d last had the opportunity to kiss him, and you really had wanted to pick up where you’d left off the other morning.

“Yeah, I am,” you answered, your eyes finally meeting his again.

“What’s that like?” he asked next.

You shrugged a shoulder, mulling over the question. “It’s nice, I suppose,” you told him. “I get to work from wherever I want–clearly,” you said, shooting him a small smile to which he returned. “Other than making deadlines there’s not too much daily stress during the writing part of things. I mean, besides the pressure I put on myself to actually, you know, write.”

Michael chuckled, leaning his elbows onto the table as he drew himself closer towards you. “And what exactly do you write about?” he questioned.

“I uh, have a series about a family,” you began awkwardly, your eyes dropping down to your coffee mug. “And they do…nefarious things to make money.”

“Such as…?” he prompted curiously.

“Drug trafficking,” you answered, eyes still averted. “Money laundering. Blackmail. Murder.”

“Well that’s…rather dark,” he mused.

Your eyes slid up towards his, one of your brows arching back at him. The corner of his lip twitched upwards in response.

“I am aware of the irony,” he replied, grinning. “I take it ya took inspiration from your life?”

“Something like that,” you admitted.

Michael’s dark brows pulled together on his forehead, a crease forming between them. “I’m surprised your ex-fiance allowed that. He knew that’s what ya wrote ‘bout?”

Nodding, you drew your mug back up to your lips for another drink. You swallowed down the coffee before you answered.

“He knew,” you simply said. “My sister had actually gotten in with one of the Serpents back in the day–before I’d ever met Victor. He’d gone by the nickname Lucky. He actually had epilepsy and was the reason why I knew what to do that other night when I…met you.”

“Mmm,” Michael hummed out, his gaze still intently watching you. “Wondered 'bout that.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes dropped back down to your nervously fidgeting hands. Your fingers began to drum along the ceramic mug as you spoke; you didn’t particularly like to think about the outlaw MC.

“I’d started writing the series back then,” you told him. “My sister and I, we didn’t exactly have a great childhood. I’d stayed behind and forwent college just to make sure she’d been safe and taken care of until she graduated. I worked two jobs just trying to pay the bills while our mom just…” you slowly trailed off, shaking your head. “But Megan she–she fell for Lucky when he was still a prospect for the Serpents, right before she graduated high school. She was really serious about him. And I started hearing these stories–in the news and from my sister–and I just…I don’t know, I started writing,” you finished lamely with a shrug.

“So ya published them before ya met your ex?” Michael asked.

“The first one, yeah,” you said, your focus returning to his curious face. “The series name The Road to Hell was a quiet nod to the Serpents of Hell MC. Even though it's not actually about a motorcycle club and doesn’t specifically mention any real crimes they committed–because I’m not an idiot and wasn’t trying to get myself killed. But I was apparently good at it. At writing. And I needed the money because a high school education wasn’t getting me shit. So my publisher picked it up. They loved it and contracted me for more and well, that’s what I do, I guess.”

“I’m assumin’ somethin’ happened to this Lucky considerin’ Megan isn’t with him now?” Michael asked.

“Killed,” you answered with a nod. “He’s the reason why Megan went to school to become a nurse.”

Michael frowned at your response. “’M sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged, bringing your coffee back to your mouth for another drink. Swallowing the warm liquid down, you eyed his handsome face across the table from you. This wasn't exactly what you wanted to talk about.

“Not a very light topic for a date,” you mused as you lowered the mug. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? Something not depressing unlike what I just told you.”

A small smile returned to Michael’s face, one of his hands sliding across the wooden table towards yours. He reached up, gripping onto your right hand and pulling it away from your coffee mug down to the table with his. The gesture instantly stilled your nervous fidgeting, your eyes dropping down to watch as he slowly entwined his fingers with yours. Your heart beat a little harder in your chest.

“What d’ya want to know?” he asked.

Eyes slowly making their way up towards his face, you felt your breath coming in shallower. That look from earlier had returned to his face, and in turn, so had your previous state of arousal.

How fast can I get you home and in my bed?

Bottom lip slipping between your teeth, you tried hard to fight that question from accidentally falling out of your mouth. Michael’s gaze had inevitably dropped down to where you were chewing your lip, his own tongue slowly sliding out to wet his lips as his eyes lingered.

If you didn’t get ahold of yourself soon you’d be dragging him out the back door behind you and seeing how far you could get with him before your mind brought reason back to you. And as tempting as that sounded, that’s not what you were doing here. Blinking hard a few times, your eyes darted out of the window beside you, trying to break whatever trance his eyes had somehow put you into again.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “Any hobbies?”

Michael huffed out a laugh, the sound catching your attention again. He was shaking his head as he raised his mug to his lips with his other hand. You watched as his throat bobbed while he drank the coffee down, your tongue running along the back of your teeth as you shifted in your seat, all too aware of the heat from his hand wrapped around yours.

“Ya know where I’ve been the past eight years, yeah?” he asked, lowering his mug back to the table. “Didn’ exactly have the opportunity for hobbies.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So you go back home after this and then you do what? Sit on your sofa and stare into the void? There’s got to be something you enjoy.”

He chuckled as his hand not holding yours rose up to scratch at his beard. Your left hand curled around your mug, desperately trying to ignore the way your fingers itched to feel the rasp of it beneath them.

“So I’m goin’ home alone after this?” Michael teased. “That what you’re sayin’?”

Your own brows rose onto your forehead, lips parting in surprise as you gaped back at him. “I–I wasn’t saying that, exactly,” you stammered out.

A slow smile spread along Michael’s mouth, his hand rubbing along his chin as he continued to watch you from across the table. There was definitely some sort of look in his eye, something that had your pulse at a consistent, increased pace again.

“I enjoy readin’,” he said. “‘M not really into watchin’ shows, but I read.”

It took you a moment to realize he was answering your question about his hobbies. But as you sat across from him, your coffee almost finished, you’d found your brain was still stuck on one thing. Shifting again in your seat, you tried hard to focus on the conversation and not how badly you wanted the man you were talking to. The fact that he enjoyed reading was only adding to his attractiveness.

“And uh, what exactly do you like to read?” you asked, the question coming out unintentionally a little breathless.

Michael seemed to catch the change in your tone, his head tilting to the side as he quietly studied you for a moment. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting to keep yourself from inviting him back to your place right here and now. Though it was beginning to feel like a losing battle. You felt like you might combust if you sat here much longer with him staring at you like that and you pretending like you weren’t dying to do more than just talk.

Clearing your throat, you tried to shove those thoughts away again.

"Actually, let me guess," you began, trying to focus on the conversation. "You don't seem like you'd be into horror and suspense."

"Get enough o' that in my life already," Michael agreed, nodding.

Your eyes narrowed as you examined him closely. "Not romance, either. Or science fiction," you ruled out, noticing the way his smile grew. "Nonfiction?"

Michael shrugged a shoulder. "Dependin' on the topic, yeah."

Becoming interested in this guessing game, you rested your elbow on the table and leaned forward, your right hand still entwined with his. Michael copied the gesture, that flicker of something still in his eyes, his mouth seemingly permanently drawn up into a grin as he lessened the gap between the pair of you at the table.

"Historical fiction?" you asked.

"On occasion," he replied huskily.

Pressing your lips together, you wondered how the hell he was making this conversation so hot. The way he’d gripped your hand a bit firmer in his wasn’t helping.

"Mmm, not a mystery reader," you continued, watching as he shook his head. "Classic lit?"

Michael’s grin widened further. "I enjoy some, yeah," he answered.

Resting your chin in your hand, your index finger absently tapped against your lips as you thought. You only became aware of the gesture when Michael’s eyes dropped down, staring at your mouth yet again. That's when you'd intentionally began running your finger back and forth along your bottom lip slowly, enjoying the way his eyes followed the movement. Apparently you weren't the only one thinking about that right now.

"I'm guessing you're not into bodice rippers," you teased, intentionally directing the conversation towards sex.

Michael’s brows shot up onto his forehead, his eyes returning to yours. "Bodice rippers?" he asked with a laugh. "Is that what I'm thinkin' it is?"

You grinned, nodding. "Yeah, you know, smut. Those books with the overly buff men on the cover and a woman who's heaving bosom looks like it's about to pop out of her top?"

Michael cracked up, his eyes creasing as he tried to contain his laughter. "No Grace," he answered, his shoulders shaking with his barely contained mirth, "I can't say that I read… bodice rippers . But now ya got me wonderin' if you do."

A large smile drew wide across your own face. "Oh I have an entire series of them I wrote," you told him enthusiastically, fighting down your own laughter when his mouth dropped open in shock. "About a pirate and a virgin–well, I guess she's not a virgin anymore. Not with everything they've done with the buried treasure they've found…"

Michael continued to gawk at you from across the table and you swore you saw pink tinge his cheeks. When you saw him struggling to form a coherent thought, you burst into a laugh.

"I'm kidding," you assured him. "I don't have a smutty series about a pirate–but I bet you I’d make a fortune if I did."

He visibly relaxed in his seat, a laugh falling out of him. "Ya definitely had me there," he said. "Wasn't sure if ya were serious and how I was s'posed to respond to that."

"Yeah, I could tell," you said with a laugh of your own. "Pretty sure I made you blush, Mr. Kinsella."

His hand squeezed yours as he chuckled again, his eyes falling back down to his mug. “I don’ know ‘bout that,” he muttered.

“So what are you reading?” you asked him finally.

“Currently?” he asked, continuing when you nodded. “ East of Eden.”

Eyebrows raising onto your forehead, you hummed out a curious noise. The corner of his lip twitched.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said innocently with a shrug. “You seem like you’d read Steinbeck is all.”

His eyes narrowed playfully at you. "And what's that s'posed to mean?" he asked.

"That you should probably find something lighter to read," you teased.

You picked up your coffee mug and downed the rest of your latte, enjoying the bemused expression on Michael’s face as he watched you. Setting the empty mug back onto the table, your eyes dropped back down to your enjoined hands. His thumb suddenly brushed a light stroke across your knuckles and you felt that excited, giddy feeling wash over you. Yet again you found yourself wishing you weren't in a public setting.

“D’ya want another coffee?” he asked, head gesturing to your now empty mug.

“Actually,” you began slowly, eyes gradually returning to his face, “Do you…maybe want to head back?”

Something flickered across his face at your question, an expression so fleeting you barely just caught it before you saw him quickly control his reaction. He cleared his throat, picking up his almost empty mug of coffee, his focus on the remaining liquid as he spoke.

“Already wantin’ an end to this date?” he asked.

“I was thinking more like…moving the date back to my place?” you suggested. “Megan isn’t home and well, you wouldn’t have to keep glancing out the window and being on edge.”

“If that’s what ya would like to do,” he said casually, his eyes still almost nervously avoiding yours as he downed the rest of his coffee.

“And is that what you would like to do?” you questioned back.

Michael paused, his gaze very gradually drawing up from his mug to meet yours. That flicker of something was in his eyes again as he stared back at you for a moment. You felt a heat rising up to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment this time. You wanted to see where this was going to go, and you certainly weren’t thinking about stopping things like last time.

“I’d like that, yeah,” he eventually answered.

You tried to fight back the smile on your lips as Michael released your hand finally, grabbing your empty coffee cup along with his and telling you that he’d take care of them. Your eyes lingered on Michael’s back as he stepped away to deposit them on a nearby cart. Rising from your own chair, you slipped your jacket back on and mentally prepared to face the chilly morning air that seemed to be a constant in Dublin.

When Michael had made his way back to you, your heart skipped in your chest at the sight of his offered hand. Eagerly you slipped yours into it, smiling when you saw his own smile light up his entire face. He led the pair of you out of the coffee shop, his head darting around looking out the shop windows as he walked, clearly keeping an eye out for anyone who looked suspicious.

He’d held the door of the shop open for you, only releasing the hold he had on your hand to do so until you were outside on the sidewalk. His hand swiftly grasped back onto yours, entwining his fingers through your own when you both fell in step beside each other. Biting your lip, your gaze dropped down to your feet as you walked, your shoulder brushing alongside his with each step.

For a few minutes the pair of you had walked in comfortable silence, your mind on the things you’d like to do to him back at Megan’s place. Though you found yourself wondering what he was thinking about right now and if it was something along the same lines.

“I hope–hope ya had a good time,” Michael said nervously, finally breaking the silence.

Your hand squeezed his reassuringly as you glanced at him beside you over your shoulder. His head turned, a small smile on his mouth as he took in the look on your face.

“I did,” you assured him. “Wouldn’t be inviting you back with me if I hadn’t.”

“Quite bold of ya, too,” he mused.

A coy smile spread along your lips in response. “And quite bold of you to assume that’s what I meant,” you countered.

Michael’s expression quickly shifted to something sheepish, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. He looked absolutely adorable as his pace slowed beside you and he grew further flustered.

“Oh, I–I just thought–I mean, you’re right, I shouldn’ have–” he broke off, clearly trying to find the right words.

You laughed, shaking your head and watching his expression slightly relax at the sound. “I did mean that, actually,” you told him. “But you’re cute when you get flustered.”

Michael breathed out a laugh, his head ducking down as his other hand came to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’ think anyone’s called me cute before,” he muttered.

“Well I just did. And I think you are,” you pointed out, eyes still lingering on his handsome face. “Among other things,” you added, the words spilling out of you before you could stop them.

Michael looked up at you from underneath his lashes; there was something undeniably hungry in his eyes as he held you in his stare. That desire you’d been feeling all morning was only steadily growing within you as you saw his eyes scanning your face in the silence that followed, searching for something that you sincerely hoped he found there. But something caught his eye just past your shoulder, his focus shifting as his lips thinned. His expression quickly became serious and your eyes narrowed curiously back at him.

Michael straightened beside you, his posture going rigid as his head spun forward. His hand tightened around yours as he quickened his pace. You were forced to increase your stride to keep up as he pulled you along beside him.

“What–”

“Can’ tell if we’re bein’ followed,” he responded in a hushed tone. “Just keep your head down, pet. Act normal. Don' want somethin' happenin' to ya."

Your heart sped up in your chest for a different reason now, adrenaline flooding you at his words. Someone was following you? Someone looking for that bounty on Michael’s head he’d told you about this morning? The familiar cold prickle of fear rose the hairs along the back of your neck, your jaw tensing as you grit your teeth together.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone on the other side of the street. There was a black hood pulled up over their head, making it impossible to make out their face. Their hands were stuffed in the pockets of their sweatshirt, but with them so far across the street, you couldn’t tell if there was a gun in one of their pockets or not. It looked as if they had turned their head towards the pair of you across the street before focusing back on the sidewalk before them.

Were they following Michael then? Here to shoot him and claim the bounty Eamon had put out?

Michael abruptly tugged you sideways, startling you as he pulled you down a small side street. You willingly followed after him, still practically being dragged behind him until he suddenly stopped and turned, grabbing both of your shoulders in his hands. He pushed your back up into the brick wall of the nearby building without warning, a surprised gasp falling out of you at the impact. Michael's arms were soon caging you in between them, the front of him coming to press against the front of you. His face was just inches from yours now, panic and fear written plainly in his eyes as yours met his.

"Just stay right there, pet. I got ya," he murmured, his left hand moving from off the wall to gently cradle the back of your head, easing it down to rest against his chest. "'M so sorry. Didn' think anyone was followin' us when we left."

You didn't respond, too busy trying to control your own increasing panic. Your hands fisted the material of his sweater as your heart thundered loudly in your own ears. Eyes snapping shut, you tried to focus on the smokey cinnamon scent of him, letting it fill your nose as you buried it further into his chest. Michael pressed himself more firmly to the front of you when you'd exhaled an audible, shuddering breath.

"'S'alrigh', I got ya," he whispered, his cheek resting along the top of your head, his other hand still firmly cradling the back of your head to him. "Won' let anythin' happen to ya."

Seconds later you felt Michael tense against you, his entire body going rigid as he covered you with himself. Your fingers curled tighter around his sweater, the solid bulletproof vest underneath it reassuring you in this moment that he would be alright–he had to be. You heard his breath catch in his throat with how closely you were burrowed against him as you waited for what felt like the inevitable, tears pricking at your eyes.

But nothing happened.

The moment felt like it dragged on for minutes, time slowing down, but no gunshot ever rang out. Very slowly Michael raised his head from the top of yours, but he didn't release his hold on you so you remained latched to the front of him. Whoever had been across the street must’ve passed by already now, but Michael was clearly trying to wait them out to make sure they really weren’t about to double back and shoot him. It was a few minutes before he finally broke the silence, your body feeling like it was stuck in a state of panic while you waited.

"I–I think they're gone," Michael whispered. "Musta been nothin' after all."

His hand on the back of your head gently smoothed down your hair a few times, the comforting feel of it drawing a shudder out of you. Gradually you pulled away from his chest, finally releasing the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Michael was looking down at you, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Ya alrigh’, Grace?” he asked softly.

Nodding, your hands continued to keep a firm hold to his sweater underneath his open jacket. Michael’s hand on the back of your head slid forward, gently cupping your cheek and tilting your face up towards his. That sorrowful, regretful look was back in his eyes again as they held yours. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest from a mixture of the residual fear and adrenaline, along with the admiration at how easily Michael chose to shield you with himself in the heat of the moment.

“‘M so sorry, Grace,” he repeated. “Fuck, I shouldn’ have taken ya out this mornin’. I didn’ think it’d be a worry today because–”

You lunged forward, closing the brief space between the pair of you and cutting him off when you pressed your mouth to his. Hands releasing the death grip you’d had on his sweater, they came up to grab either side of his face, holding him firmly to you. It took Michael a second to recover from the shock of your action before he was kissing you back, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other gripping your hip. You gasped into his mouth when he pushed you back into the brick wall, his tongue slipping inside when you did.

You moaned next–a loud, throaty sound that only spurred him on. Michael’s tongue was feverishly lapping at yours, the feeling leaving you breathless as your hands made their way back into his hair, gripping the dark strands firmly in your fists. You didn’t know if it was due to the fear of being shot, the flirty, lustful thoughts you’d been having for the duration of the date, or a combination of the two, but you found yourself needing him.

Without thinking, completely forgetting that you were still in public, your hips pressed forward into Michael. His tongue slid back out of your mouth, his teeth biting down on your lip and tugging in response. He rumbled out a noise from deep within his chest as he nipped at your lip. You whined at the sound, pulling at his hair and trying to urge him to continue. Releasing your lip from between his teeth, Michael shook his head briefly. The pair of you stood there on the side street, clinging to each other and breathing heavily.

“Not here,” Michael panted out.

Eyelids falling shut, your head rolled back against the brick building behind you. He was right, now wasn’t the time. Reluctantly you released the grip you had on his hair, your hands instead coming to land against Michael’s chest. You took a moment, trying to catch your breath and calm your body down–from the kiss and the panic–as you felt both of his hands coming to rest along your hips. You could hear the way he was breathing heavily before you, just as out of breath as you were.

After a minute you finally opened your eyes, focusing back on him in front of you. Michael’s shoulders were heaving a little less visibly now, one corner of his mouth curling upwards at you. Licking your lips, you tried hard to push those thoughts aside for the duration of the walk back to your place with him.

“Why don’t we just–just continue this when we get back?” you suggested.

“Probably a better idea,” he agreed.

Michael extended his hand towards you and you easily slipped your hand back into his. The pair of you made your way down the side street and towards the sidewalk, but Michael had come to a stop just before it, making you wait behind him while he surveyed the area. When he seemed satisfied you were safe, he gave your hand a little tug and the two of you continued on your walk.

The entire walk back felt like it had taken forever with every flirtatious look the pair of you kept sending each other. You’d both tried to make conversation, but it seemed only one thing was on either of your minds, making it difficult to keep a topic going for long. By the time you’d reached your street, Michael had already convinced you to come back to his place instead because it was always empty, unlike your place where Megan could theoretically show up unexpectedly.

That was how the pair of you found yourselves once again wrapped around each other. Michael had been reaching for his house key in his pocket to unlock his front door. Unable to wait, you’d grabbed onto the edge of his jacket and pulled him towards you. He didn’t hesitate to respond to you this time, his mouth diving straight down towards yours.

He was kissing you feverishly again, clearly still as worked up from earlier as you were. His hands flew back to your hips, gripping them tight as he walked you the handful of steps backwards until you’d hit the stone fence behind you. Your own hands slid up his chest, wishing you could rip the vest off of him now that you were back because you wanted to feel him beneath your hands instead.

His mouth soon broke from yours, his lips making their way down to your jaw. His beard lightly tickled against your skin as he trailed a few open mouthed kisses along the length of it, a moan vibrating in your throat. The moment he sucked a patch of your skin into his mouth, your eyes rolled back and your head landed against the brick wall behind you. Your arms wound around his neck, fingers digging into the thick material of his jacket as you sighed out a noise of pleasure. His mouth felt so goddamn good.

As he continued to focus on your neck, one of his hands slid down from your hip, making its way around to palm your ass over your jeans. His large hand squeezed and the sound that it drew from your throat would’ve been mortifying if it hadn’t caused him to suck another patch of skin along your neck into his mouth.

“ Fuck, Michael,” you breathed out.

You could feel the wet heat building between your thighs when he drew back from your neck, his plush lips damp with his saliva. His face was slightly flushed, that hungry look in his eyes again. God, you needed him badly.

Throwing all thought out, you pulled him towards you with the arms you had wrapped around his neck. Your lips crashed onto his, kissing him with every bit of that urgent hunger you felt burning inside of you. The pair of you were panting for air against each others' mouths, the kiss a mix of teeth and tongue as you gave yourself over to your desire. When you’d sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, your tongue dancing along the length of it, Michael had let out a groan that had your cunt clenching around nothing.

Releasing his lip from your mouth, your heated gaze locked onto Michael’s. The pair of you were still wrapped around each other, lips swollen from all of the kissing. Michael’s hand was still slowly kneading at your ass over your jeans as your lips parted, the words ‘I want you’ about to fall from them, but then an irritated voice rang out from just behind Michael and the pair of you froze.

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me, Michael!”

He immediately broke away from you, taking a few steps back as your hands inevitably fell to your sides with him now out of reach. Breath still coming in shallow pants, you felt a sharp pang hit you in the chest at how quickly he’d broken apart from you at the appearance of Amanda.

“I've been callin' ya all mornin', Michael," she continued bitterly. "I came over here to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’ important and I find ya over here pawin' at her? Ya shouldn' even be draggin’ an outsider into our shite with everythin' goin' on!” Amanda snapped.

"Amanda," Michael began, his tone placating.

“What if somethin' had happened and I couldn' get ahold o' ya, huh?" she barreled on. "Somethin' like what happened to Jaime? Because ya were too busy lookin’ for a quick fuck with the neighbor?”

Michael ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he eyed her. “Now’s not really the time for this, Amanda,” Michael shot back.

For some reason the fact that he hadn’t immediately clarified that you weren’t just a quick fuck had your chest tightening uncomfortably. Surely you meant more to him than that, even if you two didn’t know each other quite that well yet, right? It had seemed like you’d had a good date, and Birdy had said he seemed interested in you. Yet still, it hurt all the more that he’d not corrected her because you knew that Amanda had certainly meant something to him in the past, considering he’d had an affair with her despite her being married to his brother.

Did she still mean something to him?

“It’s important, Michael,” Amanda said, her eyes taking a moment to rake you over with a look of disdain. “Certainly more important than whatever is goin' on here.”

“Can’t it wait?” he pressed.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed back at Michael. “ No, Michael, it can’t. Your family needs ya. More than your neighbor needs ya for a fuck,” she growled, gesturing a hand at you. “ She’s not important. Family is.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at her words and the blatant disrespect in them. Gaze flying towards Michael, you expected him to say something–anything at all–but all he did was sigh, his shoulders sagging as he did. Slowly his head turned over his shoulder back towards you, a sad, apologetic look in his eyes.

“Grace,” he began, “I’m gonna have to deal with this right now.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. Was he serious? He was going to let her talk about you like that and then just ask you to leave? As if that’s all you really were was a quick fuck at what was now becoming an inconvenient time?

Eyes hardening back at him, you felt anger and jealousy beginning to burn inside of you. How had you misread this situation so badly? You thought there was more going on between the pair of you, but apparently that was one-sided. Of course he’d just want a fuck fresh out of prison, and you were easy pussy next door, weren’t you? Seemingly desperate yourself.

Michael’s brows drew together at the change in your expression, confusion slowly drawing across his face as he turned towards you more fully. His mouth opened as if he was going to say more, but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it, Michael,” you retorted coldly, beginning to make your way past him.

“Grace–”

“And don’t call me, either,” you added.

“Grace,” he tried again.

You saw Michael reach out to grab your arm as you passed by, but you pulled it out of his reach. At the end of the driveway, you saw a faint smirk spread on Amanda’s lips as she watched the scene unfolding before her, crossing her arms over her chest as you neared. When you walked past her, it took every bit of your strength to resist smacking that pleased look right from her face.

You rounded the stone fence and made your way back to Megan’s house, ignoring the sound of Michael’s voice behind you. He only stopped calling your name when you heard Amanda tell him to–as if she apparently still had some pull over him.

Drawing the house key out of your coat pocket, you bit the tip of your tongue as you unlocked the front door. You didn’t want either of them to hear you crying; you were waiting to do that after you’d locked the door behind you and buried yourself in your sister’s couch cushions where no one could witness the tears.

Because of course he must still want her, even after eight years in prison. What an idiot you were to think you were more than easy sex to him. You were just a distraction from her.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella #kin amc #kin fanficiton

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 6 months ago

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“Sittin’ pretty”

(Gage X SoSu)

This is going to be short, to the point, absolute filth.

———————

“Aww, what’s wrong? Afraid someone’s gonna see you?”

That voice. That fucking voice. He had no right to use that deliciously low, gravely voice of his right now. Not now whenever you had to will yourself not to rear back and headbutt him out of frustration. Of course, his little tease hadn’t gone unpunished- you had every intention on chewing him out but the words, regardless of how venomous they might’ve been, died before they even reached the tip of your tongue.

He had one thing right though, the prospect of anyone seeing you like this would be absolutely mortifying.

Your faithful right-hand man, your ever so trusty advisor..he had you splayed out on his lap- your skin littered with the evidence of the rough grabs and tugs of his calloused hands and fingertips, even a speckling of bites and vibrant red marks from his teeth were scattered about your flesh like shameful constellations. Every bit of you was exposed to him, the clothes you had adorned having been shredded off with the old blade he usually kept in his boot the instant the elevator brought the two of you up to your usual bunking on the Fizztop Grille balcony. Much unlike your partner who had only exposed himself enough to torment you in the ways he was now.

Thankfully, he had shed that horrid cage of armor he typically donned- that much you were grateful for more or less because it allowed you to at least find comfort in laying your sore upper half back against his firm chest. However it leant you no greater satisfaction seeing as he refused for you to see him- one large hand pressing into the space between your teeth through your cheeks as he forced your head to look out at the sunset painting the sky in its kaleidoscope of color.

At least he let go and spared a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck before spearing you on his cock, his hands now much more busy with kneading the plushness of your rear, occupying his grasp more or less with the task of making sure you stay absolutely still. Why? Well that wasn’t something you really understood. Sure, it was hot in its own right..feeling him swell within you, feeling the restraint he just barely contained in the form of twitching muscles and gritted teeth..but perhaps this was just the way he felt the most comfortable being so intimate and vulnerable?

Oh well.

Whenever minutes began to drag on however, the discomfort of being so full without stimulation drove you mad. The sticky, cooling sensation felt between where you found yourself conjoined coupled with the cold metal of his pants zipper rubbing against your inflamed core became far too much while your nerves were simmering.

“Gage..” Was your breathless urging, eyebrows furrowing close. Unfortunately your hips began to shift forward, leaving you no time to even acknowledge your error before you heard that dumb voice of his again in a dry, amused chuckle..that’s when you knew you were done for.

One of the hands that had been busy giving you tender affection retracted only to come crashing back down, your body jolting involuntarily with a cry as the cold stinging pain traveled from your rear all the way around. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

In an instant, your thighs were suddenly heaved up into his grip- spreading you further out and pushing your back against his chest once again. Perhaps out of cruelty, he gave a slight shuffle in his seat that for a moment gave you hope he might finally take pity and move like you desperately needed..but instead he just settled back into that rickety plastic chair and sighed with his head resting between your shoulder and jaw.

“Now why’d you go on and do that? That desperate for me to fuck you? That it?” He grinned, obviously enjoying every last little whine or gasp you gave with that sly glimmer in his one good eye. “You’re gonna stay right here, right like I gotcha for as long as I say, sugar.”

“Please…” You knew better than to beg..you really did.

“Mmh, keep asking like that in a bit and I’ll think about it. But for now..be good, ‘boss’” He rumbled, his voice more or less muddled by his lips against your neck- which soon revealed itself to just be him setting up to give you a curt nip right by your pulse point, just to keep you on your toes..of course.

As silly as it sounded- you knew this meant it would be a while before he decided to give you what you wanted and because of that, tears began to prick your eyes and it was all you could do to brace yourself with your hands on his clothed thighs, fingers finding purchase in the coarse material and eyes turning to the rapidly fading light in the sky to try to get your mind off the increasingly painful burn.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 companions #gage #maybe I got a little angsty?#gage X sole #nsft

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hellishjoel · 4 months ago

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Hi my lovely!

I have 3 things: first and foremost, I came here to check in and to say that i hope you’ve had a lovely, restful weekend, and that the week ahead is good to you! 💕

Second is that I then discovered your Pedro characters as Taylor Swift albums like how did i miss this???? Javi as 1989 and Oberyn as Lover was a sensational choice.

And lastly, I was wondering how my favourite linecook is doing, what they’re up to, is life treating them well? I’ll die for ‘em! (No pressure, just curious!)

I’m running away now! Hope you’re good!

hello hello meg!!

thank you so much for checking in! it's been a little hectic and I've been writing a little less because of that BUT whatever energy I do have I have been putting towards the new chapter of Table for Two!! they are literally doing so well, so hot, so sweet, they are forming something really strong!

I put a sneak peek down below - how do you think Frankie's gonna react to this?

Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables.

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table.

You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t.

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family.

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough, you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-”

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #fic: table for two

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allzelemonz · 2 years ago

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Priorities: Micah Bell X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: M/Near sexual encounter Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, Dutch is a dad, Bill is annoyed as usual, Guarma is its own warning, mentions of slavery Summary: Seeing Micah with his shirt undone brings on something that’s been building since you met him. The timing isn’t great though.

To say Guarma is hostile is an understatement. If it’s not the slavers, it’s the sun. The heat and the burn is a slow death, most would prefer being shot. Arthur’s face is a solid red. He’s burnt the worst, but everyone is so hot that they might as well be cooking over a fire. The attire isn’t helpful either. All of you were wearing suits to blend in with the city for the heist. Now half of the clothes are shed in favor of avoiding heat stroke. With Dutch working to retrieve Javier, Arthur helping the locals, and Bill stomping around grumbling about nothing, you’re left to the quiet of camp with Micah.

Micah who has unbuttoned his dress shirt to alleviate the heat and looks more like a washed up sailor than a gunslinger. Before the bank heist, you’d seen him in his suit. The white and gold reflected his taste, it was like he’d been placed in a different world. You’d been far too busy to stare, too much happened and far too fast. But now there’s not much to do. Micah is standing, leaning against an old column, with a rifle in his hands. Dutch told him to guard, so he is. You have nothing to do except look over the rifle you were given and steal the occasional glance at Micah. You’ve never seen him without a shirt, and this is likely the closest you’ll get. He’s not built like a lot of the men in the gang, his stomach protrudes a bit and the hair on his chest is a light blond. Even with the sea salt in his hair and the ever-reddening skin from the sun, he’s handsome.

“These damn bugs!” Bill yells, stomping into the camp. “I’m gettin’ eaten alive!”

Micah lets his head lull back against the stone. “Shut up, Bill.”

“I have been scouting, Mister Bell. Doing actual work instead a’ sittin’ around doin’ God knows what!”

“He’s guarding the camp, Bill.” You sigh, putting down your half-cleaned rifle.

“Oh, sure!” Bill stomps over to you. “And you’ been starin’ at him for hours. Get over yourself, all high and mighty just ‘cause you pulled me outta the water!”

You tense for a minute, Bill sold you out, but then you refocus on putting him in his place. “If you get any louder, you’ll tell those slavers were we are and you’ll a lot more than bugs to worry about.”

“You ain’t better than me.” Bill says through gritted teeth before stomping away.

His superiority complex has become much more evident here, only taking orders from Dutch and only working when Dutch is around to see. Everyone in the group has their problems, but Bill has been getting worse since the job went bad.

“Starin’, huh?” Micah says, his head tilting to look at you.

“Bill’s losing it in the heat.” You turn back to your rifle, continuing its cleaning.

Micah chuckles. “It ain’t the heat.”

He stands upright, turning to face you. He watches for a moment as you run a rag over the rifle, his eyes on the motions of your hands. Then he leans his rifle against the wall and comes closer. You’re sitting on one of the makeshift beds and you can see him from the corner of your eye.

He leans down, close to your face. “I got ya all hot n’ bothered, cowpoke?”

You swallow what little spit is in your mouth as the heat in your body spreads. Your hands grip your rifle a little tighter and you try not to look at him as he chuckles. He reaches out and pushes the rifle down until you let it go and it lays flat on the cot. You stiffen as his eyes wander from the rifle and to your hands resting in your lap.

“Hell of a time ta be thinkin’ like that.” He says, tilting his head to catch your eyes. “Maybe it’s you that’s losin’ it in the heat.”

You glance at him. He’s not as close as he feels. The heat must be playing tricks, just not to your mind. Still, it’s closer than you’ve ever been. You can see the scar that crosses his chin, the dark circles under his eyes, and the frosty blue irises that brightens his face. Even with the peeling sunburn taking over his skin, he makes your heart rate pick up and the air not quite reach your lungs. When he meets your eyes you can feel the skip in your chest and a tightening in your stomach.

Then he leans in, connecting your lips. His are chapped, yours are too from the heat and dehydration. He puts his hand on your cheek as he tilts his head a little more and presses more into it. You return the pressure, a hand resting over the one he has on your cheek.

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me!”

You pull away from each other, turning your heads to look at Bill.

“Fuck off, Williamson.” Micah says, turning back to you.

His thumb strokes your cheek lightly as his eyes look over your face. Then he kisses you again, pressing even harder against you.

Bill groans. “I thought you was supposed to be guardin’ camp!”

Micah ignores him, his other hand slowly moving your shirt up to rest on the bare skin above your ribs. You can hear the faint grumbles and footsteps as Bill storms off. Timidly, you reach out and rest your hand against Micah’s bare chest. The heat on his skin against your fingers is only half from the sunburn. He pulls away about an inch, just enough to see your eyes.

“That’s it, cowpoke?” He chuckles. “Sexy without a shirt, am I?”

You hold his gaze and let your hand run over his skin and down to his stomach. “You’re usually sexy, Micah.”

He presses his lips to yours again, his hand moving to the back of your neck to hold you in place. He slowly pushes you back onto the cot, breaking the kiss to move the rifle onto the floor, then returning with more force. You settle your hands on his sides, under his shirt, as he leans over you and grips at your hair.

“Oh, come on, boys!” Dutch yells.

Micah groans as he stands. You follow, looking at Dutch standing there with his hands on his hips. He looks like a disappointed father, he usually looks like a disappointed father but this time it’s a little different.

“You pick now?” Dutch sighs. “All that pinin’ and you pick now? With Javier gone, all of us stranded, and you pick now?”

Behind him you can see Bill in the trees and plans of murder swim through your head.

“Sorry, boss.” Micah sighs, clearing his throat.

Dutch puts his hands up. “Now I am happy that I ain’t gonna have to deal with the tension anymore, but can it wait until we’re home?”

You nod, not quite able to meet your boss’ eyes.

“Good.” Dutch sighs. “Now I am gonna go and get Javier. Micah, actually guard the camp this time.” He turns to Bill. “And mind your own damn business, Mister Williamson.”

“Sure thing, boss. I was-”

“Why don’t you go see if our generous hosts need any assistance, Bill.” Dutch waves him off.

Bill huffs and wanders away.

“Mind the camp, boys.” Dutch says firmly.

The look he gives you makes you feel like a teenager being scolded for sneaking your boyfriend into your room.

Micah nods. “Will do, boss.”

Dutch gives you both one last ‘disappointed father’ stare before he departs, leaving you and Micah alone again. You stand there for a moment, an odd energy between you. Then Micah turns and pulls you close again, his hand resting on your cheek. He kisses you softly, not as needy as before.

“We ain’t done, cowpoke.” He says, resting his forehead against yours.

You stand there for a moment, eyes half closed and just resting against each other. Then Micah pulls away and saunters back to his post, picking up his rifle and leaning against the wall. You pick up your rifle and sit back on the cot, continuing the cleaning process and stealing the occasional glance. Sometimes you’ll catch him doing the same and your eyes will linger for a second.

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