#i can probably make a one-shot out of this idea
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
huntingingoodwill · 2 days ago
Text
civil. (j.m.)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
masterlist
desc: you can’t stand joel miller, and he can’t stand you.
pairing: enemies to lovers! joel miller x gn! reader
a/n: this is my gift for the pedrostories secret santa 2024 event!!! i had so much fun writing this for my giftee, @adora-but-ginger. thanks so much for introducing me to the absolute bop which is never let me down by depeche mode which inspired this lil fic. i really hope you enjoy it babes <3 happy holidays!
Tumblr media
“You’re an idiot. A big, hulking idiot.” 
“You think I’m big and hulking?”
You could hear the smirk in Joel’s voice, which made equal parts of anger and embarrassment flare up inside of you. You could admit he was… well-built. Sickeningly, disgustingly so. And right now, you wanted to snap his well-built body in two. 
“I’m going to kill you.”  
“I’d like to see you try, but we’re a little tied up at the moment,” his tone was sardonic, his meaning literal - the two of you were in the bed of some raiders’ truck, tied up and blindfolded, being driven to who-knows-where. It was probably for the best, as the restraints around your wrists were the only things stopping you two from choking each other out. 
“And whose fault is that?” you hissed. 
“I’m glad you asked. Yours.” 
“Mine?!” you exclaimed, the anger pulsing through you growing stronger by the minute. “I told you we should avoid the cabin and you still dragged us right into this mess.” 
Joel had insisted the abandoned cabin would be a safe place to rest. The raiders had the same idea, and were quick to pounce on the both of you after coming across your horses outside. They had ambushed the two of you, deciding to bring you back to their camp to figure out what to do with you later - probably nothing too pleasant. They had left your horses behind, and you had overheard them saying they’d come back for them later. 
“Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep when you were supposed to be on lookout, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Joel muttered. 
You sighed, a dull knot of ache forming behind your eyes. It was true. You had fucked up. But he had fucked up too. If it were anybody else with you, the two of you may have been able to admit that, kiss and make up. But you and Joel never got along. You bickered and fought on every patrol you were forced on together, and this was your last straw. You were livid, and he was too. 
“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you didn’t-“ 
“Enough with the goddamn lover’s quarrel!” one of the raiders yelled out from the cab. 
That shut you and Joel up sufficiently, but that word tinged the silence with a shy awkwardness. 
“Lover’s quarrel,” Joel scoffed. 
“Yeah. ‘Lovers’,” you mimic his veneer of nonchalance, poorly veiling the flustered tone in both your voices, “in your dreams.” 
“In yours,” he shot back, immediately rolling his eyes at himself. 
He was too old for this shit. Everytime he was around you, he acted like a petty teenager. You just ignited a flame within him, one that he mistook for the bitter burn of loathing, not knowing it was something else entirely. 
“So, how are we getting out of this one?” you whispered. 
“Why are you asking me? I thought I was an idiot?”
“I wish you could see the look I’m giving you right now, Miller.” 
He lowered his voice to a whisper, unheard by the raiders up front over the rumble of the engine. 
“Admit I’m not an idiot, and I’ll get us out of here.” 
“Oh, come on-“ you started, gritting your teeth with exasperation.
“Or, you can always spend the rest of the day with our new friends here.”
“...You’re not an idiot.” 
“And, who’s in charge?” 
“Oh, fuck y-” 
“I can always let you hitch a ride with these guys and see how you fare on your own,” his voice took on an annoyingly laissez-faire quality. You hated him.
“You’re in charge,” you assented.
“Correct. I hid my knife in my pocket. They missed it when they took away our weapons.” 
Maybe you didn’t hate him.
“Maybe you’re not as big of an idiot as I thought,” you smiled.
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Get it out of my pocket, then cut my ropes. Then I’ll cut yours.” 
You shimmied close to him, trying to ignore how the proximity made the heat rise in your collar. You tried to convince yourself it’s a physical reaction to your hatred for him. Like an allergy. 
You managed to slide the knife out, only almost stabbing him in the ass once on a bumpy stretch of road. 
“Hands!” He had grit through his teeth.
“Please, there’s nothing back there to cut. You’re as flat as a board,” you had whispered, immediately blushing and following your words up with a quick: “Not that I’ve been looking or anything.” (You had looked. A couple times. But you’d die before telling him that.) 
Unable to see, you fumbled around a little, careful not to cut him as you sliced through the ropes binding his wrists together. Once free, he lifted his blindfold with careful, quick movements, sure to not let the men in the cab see him, before cutting off the remaining ropes keeping his legs tied together then doing the same for you. 
With the ropes loosened in heaps around your wrists and ankles, you whispered: “What now?” 
His voice was determined, but grim. “We pray.” 
“I gotta take a leak.” One of the raiders mumbled a mere 5 minutes later, after you both had replaced your blindfolds and were acting like two good kidnapees in the back of the truck, in hopes that the men wouldn’t look too closely at the both of you and discover you had freed yourselves. 
“Let’s hope our prayers have been answered. Do you trust me?” Joel asked.
“No.” 
“You’re gonna have to. 3…2…1.” 
The two of you ripped off your blindfolds. 
The scuffle was over in a few minutes. Joel’s chest heaved from the exertion of the fight as he cleaned the bloody knife off on his shirt. He had subdued one of the men pretty quickly, which gave you enough time to grab your gun from the cab and deal with the other. 
He had done a pretty good job, you had to admit, with hiding his knife and handling the raiders. Without him, you would have been royally fucked. You felt a twinge of gratefulness, and a pang of something else as you watched him, the slope of his nose and hardness of his jaw as he wicked the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He had saved you. 
Then, you looked down at the two dead raiders, and what glimmer of heroism that you saw in Joel’s figure distorted into frustration. 
You aimed your gun at Joel. 
“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?!” he yelled, the bullet whizzing past his head. 
“Cool it, Texas,” you huffed, “Now, hold still this time.” You aimed again. 
“I just saved your ass, and you try to shoot me because of it?!” 
“I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the cabin-” 
“Look who’s talking, sleepyhead!” 
You started to walk. 
“Where d’you think you’re going?” he called after you, his voice already receding into the distance. 
“Jackson. Back to the village of which you are the idiot of!” you screamed over your shoulder. 
“A bit of a convoluted way to put it, darlin’.” 
You refused to dignify that with an answer. 
You had only made it a few metres down the road when you heard the roar of the raiders’ truck, and the heat of the thrumming engine as it pulled up beside you. 
You stared straight ahead, feeling Joel’s gaze rove over you from the driver’s window as he cruised alongside you. 
“Get in,” Joel called out to you.  
“No.” 
“D’you know where you’re going? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.” 
“I do. I think. I tried to memorise the turns they took while we were tied up.” 
“Well, you aren’t getting back to Jackson anytime soon on foot.” 
You ignored him, marching forward. The next few moments were clouded in silence as you stormed down the road, Joel driving slowly beside you all this while. 
“C’mon, get in. Please?” Joel’s voice was startlingly soft, a flash of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected that stopped you in your tracks. He said his words slowly, like it was difficult for him to articulate. It definitely wasn’t easy for someone as stubborn as him to seek help from you. “I can’t leave you out here alone, and I need your help to navigate.”
You turned to look at him, not expecting to find the sincerity scrawled over his face. It softened you. But you liked to make him suffer. 
“Who’s in charge?” you said. 
“Oh, c’mon…” 
“Miller. Answer me. Who is in charge?” 
“You are. Now get in.” 
You smiled in satisfaction, clambering into the passenger seat. 
“You’re in charge of navigation, I’m in charge of driving,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 
You chuckled at his comment. Suddenly his snarkiness, though annoying, seemed like a harmless dig after the events of the day. That laugh was utter release, a reprieve from the loathing for him that had been boiling your blood all day. 
Peeking over at you, you watched his confused face turn into one that mirrored yours. One of cathartic happiness. He let out a laugh, unable to help it. You had never noticed his laugh, his smile. Like a silver lining. You liked it. 
The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, save for your directions, though the air between you was different. Still electric in its energy, but not because of anger, or frustration. It was strangely warm.
The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and with a satisfying click, he flicked on the headlights, making a turn. The lights illuminated the cabin and your horses. Your heart soared. 
“Well, shit. You did it,” he whispered. 
You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and more laughter bubbled from his lips. Laughing with Joel seemed so foreign after spending every patrol together arguing or in heated silence. It was pleasant.
From here, the two of you would be able to find your way back to Jackson, no question. The two of you mounted your horses and started your way back. He turned to watch you, the delicate turn of your head as you gazed up at the vast sky, drinking it all in. He felt that same pang he always felt around you, what he always thought was annoyance. It hit him with that same ferocity, but it was charged with a different energy. It felt kind of nice. 
You turned to lock eyes with him. 
“I’m sorry,” the both of you said in unison. 
You both dissolved into laughter. 
“Well, I’ll go first,” Joel chuckled, “I’m sorry. I really am. I should have listened to you-”
“No, I’m sorry!” you said. “If it wasn’t for me falling asleep… and I guess trying to shoot you wasn’t very nice.” 
“Wasn’t polite, was it?” he snorted, his smile reflecting your sheepish one. “Still, I fucked up. And the way you helped us find our way back… you saved our asses.” 
“I fucked up too. And if anyone saved us it was you. There was no way we would have gotten out of there without you thinking ahead and hiding the knife.” 
“I guess we make a pretty alright team, huh?” he said, the smile he shot you so hopeful and sweet you felt that hot, molten feeling in your gut again, though it definitely was not hate. 
“Yeah, we do,” you sighed. “I guess if your brother’s gonna keep insisting on putting us on patrol together, we could at least be civil to each other. I think we work together better that way. Deal?” 
“Deal,” he said. “You still drive me a little crazy though.” 
“Ditto,” you smiled at him, and the smile he flashed back made you feel strange and floaty, a similar sort of light-headedness from when you used to get so mad at him on patrols you wanted to scream. You were starting to realise that feeling may have been motivated by a different emotion entirely. He was definitely driving you a little crazy. 
“Where the hell were you guys? You missed the bonfire,” Tommy called out to Joel as the both of you arrived at the centre of Jackson, a dying bonfire crackling behind him. 
“That’s the least of our problems,” Joel huffed, dismounting from his horse as you followed suit, thrusting the reins into his brother’s hands. “You deal with that.” 
Tommy shrugged, leading the horses back to the stable. 
The two of you stood side by side, staring into what little was left of the bonfire, now a flame that licked up to around Joel’s knee-height. The crowd that was surrounding it earlier that night had fully dispersed, leaving just you and Joel alone before the fire. He turned to look at you, the fire glazing your eyes with orange and red hues, setting your gaze alight.
“I have an idea,” you said. Your smile meant trouble. “Let’s jump over it.” 
“What?” Joel asked, eyebrows shooting up incredulously. 
“I read it somewhere. It’s an old tradition, supposed to bring about good luck and new beginnings,” you smile at him, a smile that instantly wins him over. “We need all the luck we can get. C’mon Miller, indulge me. Be civil.” 
His laugh was hesitant, but when you reached for his hand he knew he could do it. 
“Do you trust me?” you grinned. 
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to. 3…2…1!” 
There was a moment there, with his hand in yours, at the very top of where the flames swirled, where it felt like the two of you were flying, suspended against the dark sky. 
Then, you hit the ground. 
You were lying beside each other in the dirt, panting in between gasps of laughter, the cuffs of your pants and the soles of your shoes singed. That electric warmth fired through the air, boiling your blood - definitely not anger. Something else. Passion and anger possess that same fiery quality. 
It burned so brightly within the both of you that he couldn’t help it. He leaned over to kiss you. The fire was warm by your side, the sky dark and electric above you as a storm gathered. The two of you were definitely going to be more than civil.
170 notes · View notes
galaxy-fleur · 2 days ago
Text
⋆Midnight Rendezvous⋆
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairing: Post-RE4R!Leon/gn!reader.
Summary: It's only natural to miss and long for the one you love, regardless of how accustomed you are to being apart from them. One lucky phone call can mean so much more when it's an unexpected surprise. For you and Leon alike. Or: Quick smutty drabble for @thatpyramidthing that turned into a one-shot, which then turned into a full-blown fic. Oops!
Word Count: 4k words.
Notes: Established relationship, phone sex, mutual masturbation, smut with feelings. Suspension of disbelief because people were not using their phones like this in 2000's lmao.
Credit: Divider by @/saradika-graphics
For you and Leon, spending extended periods of time apart was not an exception but rather a tried-and-true routine. That was just the nature of his job, and it couldn't be fought or challenged, only accepted and adapted to accordingly. The only thing you could do was cherish what time you did get to spend together.
This particular assignment of his was the same as any other. While you had no expectations for him to call, you can't help but beam once you see his name appear on your phone screen. Waisting no time at all, you quickly fall back into bed and answer the phone, feeling a little bit too excited for what is likely going to be a brief check-in given how busy he is normally when he's gone. Still, him calling at all is enough for your heart to race, and although it was late at night, you didn't mind at all.
For him, you'd jump up at 4 am if you had to.
"-Hey."
It's painfully obvious he has no idea what to say, probably just wanting to hear you speak more than anything else. The sound of his voice ringing in your ear makes you smile a little, even if his greeting was almost comically abrupt. Then again, you did not expect him to make a lovey-dovey speech for you or anything. That's just not the type of man Leon was, and you had no qualms with that. Moreover, he was probably very tired, anyway. You weren't about to complain over him not sounding joyful enough when he already made the effort to call you in the first place.
"Hi," you reply, shifting to lay flat on your back, your gaze staring up at the ceiling. Without his warm body here to cuddle up to, your bed felt a bit too large for your liking. However, expressing such a thought outloud was way too sappy-sounding, even for you. So, you kept the sentiment to yourself. "Did not expect you to call. Did you get a free moment?"
An ocean away, Leon slouches into his own hotel bed, cluttered with belongings haphazardly thrown abound with not much care for hospitality, his phone in his hand. What he does know, however is that he wanted, no, needed you to be over here, with him, right now. But, alas, that's a wish too ambitious to be granted. So he settles for the next best thing. And hearing your voice is definitely no reason to complain about.
He takes a deep breath, almost feeling as if his physical distance from you is the main cause of the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He missed your voice, touch, even your scent. It wasn't until he spoke to you again that he realized how much he had missed you.
"Yeah, I was surprised, too. The job's done, but they can't take me back to base yet because of the weather. So I'm just stuck here until further notice." He hesitates for a moment before adding, his voice taking on a more softer tone: "…Are you in the mood to keep me company?"
"-Is that even a question?" You laugh slightly, shaking your head, although he obviously couldn't see it from a phone call. Your reaction causes him to smile and chuckle to himself as well. God, he missed hearing you laugh. "How your mission went, by the way? Everything okay?"
Really, mission talk? His expectations were slightly higher than that.
"It was fine. Same bullshit. A bunch of bastards getting what they deserve." A part of him almost wants to act as though he's not truly alone in this dimly lit room, so he lets out another breath and turns over to lie on his stomach. It was hard to feel cozy when nothing about this place felt like home. Your voice helped with that, though. "I'm more interested in talking to you."
He hears you laugh under your breath again at his unenthusiastic answer. It wasn't necessary for him to say it outloud for you to understand that he was not interested in discussing work. Not that you blame him.
"The feeling's mutual, trust me," you murmur, a small smile audible in your voice. "Not to rush things before they happen, but I've been planning on making that braised steak for you when you get back. You know, the one you liked on Thanksgiving."
The notion of some homemade food instantly makes him feel a little more excited. The mere thought causes his tired eyes to light up a bit and his mouth to water. Guess men really don't need much to be happy, huh? What can he say, few things bring as much joy as a homemade meal from the one you love. Especially when he compares it to quick tasteless meals he got by with on the job.
"Oh really now?" His voice now has a somewhat lighter lilt to it, his words gradually regaining some of their emotion. "-Because that sounds like you're trying to butter me up for something."
He teases, but the excitement in his voice is very much genuine. You laugh, this time a muffled giggle, and the sound promts a small, warm smile to make its way onto his lips as he closes his eyes and concentrates solely on your voice through the speaker. This was nice.
"Is it so odd that I want to treat you to something?"
"-No, it's not odd. It's sweet. I appreciate it. I really do," he corrects softly, quietly expressing his appreciation. For a man who has endured far too much hardship for his age, it was refreshing to have someone care for him in such a simple yet meaningful way. After a brief peaceful pause, he speaks again in a somewhat quieter voice, nervously drumming his fingers on the bedsheets: "...Hey, can I ask... can I be a bit selfish with you for a second?"
The way he fidgets and murmurs out his request is almost bashful; it's a part of him that, all things considered, feels a little strange even to him. But he can't help it. You make him anxious, but not in the stuffy, claustrophobic way he's accustomed to. This type of anxiousness feels good. Exciting. A welcome contrast to the blood-curdling anxiety that was his unspoken partner on the job.
"How so?" You inquire, curiosity evident in your voice. You were oceans away - literally - so it's not like there was much for you two to do except talk. A part of him was honestly just going to ask you to stay on the phone with him until he falls asleep. It's a kind of a dumb request, which makes him embarrassed, but he doesn't really want to back down from it anyhow.
Leon bites his lip, slightly perplexed on how to go about it without just asking you upfront. He wasn't good at this whole 'subtlety' thing.
"I, uh… I just wanted to ask you to talk to me a little more. For a while, I mean." He pauses, lets out another sigh, and then shifts in his bed into a more comfortable position. To hell with this, he might as well just spill the beans to you now. "My mind's just filled with… crap. I’m tired. The 'I could sleep for a week straight' type of tired. But I know I’ll just end up tossing and turning for hours instead. I just... your voice would help."
You chuckle at that, the sound uplifting, as at least you're not bewildered by his request. He knows you'd gladly do a lot more than just talk for him if you were actually here. Which makes the whole separation even more difficult to deal with. He shifts onto his back, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling as he lays his head back against the pillow with a soft sigh.
"Well... I wish I could have you laying on top of me so I could play with your hair, but... I guess us just talking on the phone will have to do for now."
He feels a small, enjoyable shiver from the mental picture you conjured up for him. The sense of contentment he's always felt when you did that is something he knows by heart now. His brain always seemed to just shut itself down, nothing for him to focus on except for the sensation of your soothing touch in his hair. God knows he'd kill to have that right now.
"Yeah. You really know what to do to make me feel all better… I hate being apart like this." He shifts again, feeling a little restless due to your words and his own thoughts making him long for you ever more. He hesitates for a moment, his heart racing as he imagines your touch. If he tries hard enough, he swears he can nearly feel the ghost of your fingertips combing through his hair. "Keep going. Tell me something else."
His voice comes out a bit muffled, and he is inadvertently tightening his grip on the phone a little, almost as if it'll bring him closer to you, somehow.
"Like what?" You ask without hesitation. Well, it's better than you playing a guessing game with him, at least. You were notoriously horrible at those, anyways.
Leon takes a deep breath while he clumsily mimics your touch by idly running his fingers through his hair. His hands are not comparable to yours at all. They're rougher and completely different in size. He drops his hand back onto the sheets with a small, frustrated huff.
"Anything. Just... keep talking. Your voice, it’s…" He clears his throat and considers the precise words he should use here. He's sure on where he is going with this, either. He simply knew that he needed to hear you, and that this need was gradually developing into a full-on craving that was desperate to be satisfied. "I want to hear more of it. And... what you’d do to me if you were here."
That's subtle enough, he thinks. He's fine with you being the one to decide on the way to interpret him. He just wanted to listen to you.
But, admittedly, his brain had other ideas.
As Leon closes his eyes, his mind is racing with countless ideas, none of which are as innocent as a simple cuddle or a hand stroking through his hair. He imagines your weight settled on top of him, steadying him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your bodies mold and move together, skin to skin, with nothing but your presence there to fill his head with. Your sweet voice whispering all the things he wants to hear, your warm breath waffling over his ear.
All the ways in which you hold him, touch him, want him.
Your voice, which sounds nearly muffled through the pleasant fog buzzing in his head, jolts him out of his fantasy.
"Oh. ...Ohhh," you draw out, the realization clear in your voice. He almost snorts in endearment. Well, at least you caught on. His heart flutters in his chest with wordless excitement as the thought causes heat to rush to his face. Nearly subconsciously, he reaches for the other side of the bed with his free hand, almost as if you would be there. Which, of course, you're not. Much to his disappointment. "We're not... talking about cuddles here, are we?"
The tone of your voice changes, and Leon's breath catches a little. He can imagine how flushed your cheeks probably look, how your heart is beating a little faster at the realization. At this point, he was too worked up to restrain himself. Besides, the cat's out of the bag now. Not much point in walking back on his own words. Biting his lip, he lets his fingers slowly slide down his abdomen as he contemplates your words. Would you be up to what he has in mind? He hopes you would.
"No. No we’re not." He reaches for his belt and slowly starts to unfasten it. The button on his jeans is next. Then the zipper. The release of some tension causes him to inhale sharply, feeling the cool air against his skin, a small shiver running up his spine. He closes his eyes. "Keep. Talking."
His tone is direct, curt, rough. It's the same one often uses on the job, perfect for giving out clear orders in the heat of the moment, but using it under these circumstances definitely hits a little different. Especially for you. He can hear your breath quicken just a tiny bit, wordlessly reassuring him that you are, indeed, just as into this as he is. He smiles a little at the thought, feeling both relieved and little amused. He can imagine you lying there, your mind running hundred miles an hour to come up with a response while holding the phone up to your ear. He wonders if your other hand is wandering south now, too.
"Well I'd, uhm..." He lets you take your time and get your bearings, not hurrying you further. Hell, he's perfectly fine with you pulling out of this if it just wasn't clicking for you. He made his intentions clear. Now it was up to you to make the call, whatever it was. On any other day, he'd be the one getting all awkward over talking of these things outloud, but today, his mind is focused solely on your voice coming through the speaker. He hears you sigh, a sound steadying, and he feels himself smile. There you go. "I'd... want to kiss you. Long. Until we're both out of breath. And you get that dazed look in your eyes. You look so beautiful when you get like that. And just from me kissing you, too."
Leon listens to every word with keen interest, his eyebrows raising as you create a vivid picture in his mind for him to mull over. It was relatively tame, but it was a good starting point. Not to mention genuine. He can almost sense the warm touch of your lips against his, the taste of you on his tongue. You calling him beautiful was a nice cherry on top, making his breathing quicken in turn.
With his movements jerkier and clumsier than usual due to the excitement that was now steadily flowing through his veins, he quickly pulls his shirt over his head. He doesn't really look where it lands, just throwing it somewhere to the side with zero regard for decency. Not like it matters.
With his eyes still closed, he moves his hand slowly down his bare chest, grazing each ridge of his abs with his fingertips before lowering it further. He tries to mimic the manner in which you would touch him from memory. It's not a flawless attempt, bit it's good enough in his books. He can't help but groan softly, finding himself wanting to press into his own touch, if only to feel even the fraction of how your affection would feel like upon his battered body.
"And then?" He prompts, his voice lower now, charged with underlying tension hanging in the air. He knows full well that you can probably sense the hunger and anticipation he's not trying very hard to conceal. He wishes he could actually see you right now. But, alas, this will have to do.
"-What are you doing right now?" Your voice breaks him out of his momentary fantasy, his heart picking up speed in his chest as he focuses on you: every little change in your breathing, the dip in your tone, the words you choose to say to him. He hears you swallow before continuing: "What would you have me do if I was there? I could... y'know, go from there."
His heart swells with affection as he laughs a little. You weren't very slick. Then again, you never were. He liked you for that. It was painstakingly clear that you were just eager to hear exactly what he was up to. He was happy you were enjoying yourself.
He moves again, lying on his side, and switching the phone to loudspeaker while resting it on the cushion next to him before sitting back up to get comfortable. His own breath comes out shakily now, charged with rising arousal. Slowly, his other, free hand moves up his stomach, stopping at his chest. He huffs softly as he imagines your touch.
"I’d… I’d have you sit here." He moves his hand up to one of his pectorals and squeezes slightly as he pictures your fingers squeezing at his flesh instead. The action, along with his imagination, makes him bite his lip again, sucking in a breath through his nose. "Right in my lap."
He can’t help letting out a quiet 'fuck...' as he imagines you on top of him, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him, long and deep. Oh, what he wouldn't give just to have you close and to feel your lips against his again. He misses you so much that it's a little humiliating, but his mind is too hazy to care. No, all he cares about is you touching his bare skin with your hands, stroking the rising flames of his desire with every cares. Lost in the fantasy of your hand taking the place of his own, his hand slides higher up and touches his chin, causing sparks to bloom on his skin as he tilts his head back. He'd be just as pliant with you here, if not even more so. Just to feel wanted by you.
His mind is buzzing from the faint sounds of your own breathing coming through the speaker, which he can hear stuttering and quickening through the delightful fog filling his head. He doesn't push you into talking if you dont want to. However, he is well aware that you are not merely listening to him while innocently laying in your bed. He knows you well enough now to catch onto your state of arousal through the change in your breathing alone. He likes the thought of you doing the same as him right now. He hears some muffled shuffling on the other end of the line, something akin to bed covers being tousled around before you reply to him.
"On your lap," you repeat, almost as if testing out the idea in your head. Your tone is tight, and he can hear you take a single steadying breath before continuing: "I'd like that."
"Good," he finds himself responding, a faint smile on his lips. It's a small encouragement, just to let you know he's very much enjoying himself. To his surprise, you continue without any further promting from him.
"-I'd love to treat you after you get back. Just have you lay back and feel good while I take care of everything. Relax. You deserve it."
Your comments cause Leon's breath to catch abruptly, and he lets out a small, trembling gasp. He was not ready to hear something like that front you right now. In the best way possible. He is able to practically sense your presence and the grounding weight of your body upon him. As he runs his hand back down his chest and over his abs, they begin to tremble slightly.
"Fuck…" He groans lowly again, his brows drawing together in concentration as he pictures you in his lap. Your warmth against his hardening length, the way your hips would push against his.
His other hand mindlessly slides down as he palms himself through his jeans, his breath stuttering at much-needed stimulation. His hips jolt to press up firmly into his touch, imagining it's your hand instead of his own. He visualizes your fingers moving slowly down his chest. You kissing him all over as you usually do, leaving a trail of warm kisses down his hips and abdomen. He shivers and curses under his breath as the heat coiling in his gut only gets stronger.
"Leon?" It takes all of his inner strength not to whimper in response to your voice, which sounds both uncertain and needy. God, you just had to say his name of all things, huh?
"Keep going. Tell me more," he pants out softly, his voice rough with need. "Would you touch me?"
You laugh at that, and the sound makes him chuckle in response, his heart strangely light in his chest despite the intimate mood. You both sound so breathless. He likes that.
"Is that even a question?" You repeat the same thing you told him just minutes prior, and he can't help but snort. You got him there, he'll give you that. Though, your lighthearted playfulness soon shifts back into hushed arousal. "...Everywhere. Would love to touch you all over."
He swallows.
"Oh yeah? Seems like we both have the same idea."
You pause for a long time, and just as he's about to encourage you to speak your mind or reassure you, you beat him to it. And, boy, do you catch him off-guard.
"Just... Imagining riding you slowly. Make us both really feel all of it, every touch. I want to kiss at your neck, too... taste your skin, feel you shiver. And have my hands roaming all over you, too. Want to treat you right. Feel you."
...Oh, damn.
Leon moans at your words as he squeezes his length through his jeans a little. You just set his mind into overdrive. It's everything he wants and more. Your hands on his skin, your lips trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, making him forget anything and everything but you and your touch. The way your hips would move against his, slowly and sensually, drawing out the pleasure until it becomes unbearable. At this point, his dick is practically aching to be touched, throbbing in the confines of his jeans.
"Jesus," he breathes out, a small, breathless chuckle following suit. Needless to say, you have him wrapped around your finger, even miles upon miles apart. He wouldn't have it any other way. "Keep talking like that and I'll lose it."
"Maybe I want to hear you lose it," you suggest to him softly, almost like you were testing the waters with what you could say to him. The idea makes him want to laugh. You didn't need to worry about a single thing with impressing him.
He quickly reaches for the waistband of his jeans and tugs them down just enough to free himself from the stiffling fabric. He exhales a shuddering breath as cool air hits his heated skin, a sense of relief accompanying the movement. He wastes no time wrapping his fingers over his cock, slowly stroking himself, still imagining your hand in its place instead of his own. Meanwhile, his other hand slides back up his chest, following the trajectory your touch would follow according to his memory. As he imagines you playfully nibbling at the side of his neck and whispering more sickeningly sweet dirty things into his ear, he shivers and gently rolls his thumb over his nipple.
"...Wish you were here," he exhales. He's losing himself in a fantasy that you two have created thus far, and it's getting easier and easier for him to just speak without hesitation or embarrassment. "Want your hands on me. Hips, stomach, chest, cock… everywhere."
In response, he hears you whine, and his mind generously conjures up a variety of possibilities for what you may be doing at the moment, each one more provocative than the last. What he wouldn't give to touch you right now, God. To be the reason behind those lovely sounds you are making.
"-So touch yourself," you instruct, your words barely above a whisper, your breaths coming out in small, shaky puffs of air, each one shooting straight to his groin. "Touch yourself like I would touch you right now. God, I would love to feel you under my hands..."
Leon shudders at your words, his cock throbbing in his hand as he instinctively bucks up, his breath faltering. A low groan leaves his lips, in equal measure in response to you as well as his touch. This time, he imagines you watching him, your own hand on yourself as well. Your lips parted and your cheeks flushed with arousal as you look at him dutifully.
"Fuck… I am,” he pants out, his hand moving a tad faster over his length. He senses himself leaking, the tip of his cock slick with precum. He spreads it around with his thumb, squeezes at the base, and then draws his hand back up. He bites his lip to stop another moan from slipping out, though, at this point it seems to be a futile effort. He's surprised he hasn't tasted blood yet. "Your hands would feel so good right now… so much better than mine…"
"Leon..." He hears you moaning out his name, and he swears that he almost came right then and there from the sound of it alone.
His free hand slides back up to his chest, gently squeezing at one of his nipples with the tips of his fingers. He pulls at it lightly, his brain picturing your teeth instead of his fingers. His back arches up towards the touch, a low groan leaving his lips.
"Tell me… where would you touch me?" He asks, his voice strained. "Be direct."
Your breath catches, as though you're taken aback by his question. But he was greedy, and he wanted more. He could feel his insides twisting and turning in the pit of his stomach, and not in a bad way. His spiraling brain almost couldn't handle the mental image of you touching yourself while on the phone with him, even though he was doing that exact same thing.
"Your chest," you murmur breathlessly, almost like the words were stealing your breath away as you shared them with him. And yet, you went on: "I want to touch your chest. Caress you all over... Squeeze at you, play with your nipples while I kiss the side of your neck and listen to you gasp and whine. Just like you like it."
Leon instantly visualizes your touch on him and lets out a deep wanton moan.
"Yes," he exhales. "Like that. Miss you..."
"-Miss you, too... so much." His head reels as you echo those words back to him in that breathy, almost whiny tone, and his hips automatically buck up into his hand in an attempt to feel what he perceives to be your touch.
He groans softly, running his hand over his chest, more to tease than to touch. Just as you said, he circles his nipple again and rolls the hardened bud under his thumb. Squeezing it just the way you would for him if you were here. Even if it's a poor substitute for the real thing. "Your mouth, too. Want it all."
Using his precum as lube, he begins to stroke himself quicker, rougher. He moves his hand up and down his shaft, squeezing a bit at the tip before returning back to the base in a familiar technique. Seeking the increasing pleasure coiling in his gut, he thrusts his hips up into his hand.
And as he hears every tiny sound of pleasure coming from your end, his desire for more only intensifies. You seem to be enjoying yourself just as much, stuttered breaths and muffled whines flowing through the receiver. He is saddened by the fact that he cannot see you in person at this moment in all your glory. But, this will have to do.
You exhale.
"Yeah," you encourage softly, your own voice breathy and hushed with arousal. "I'm right there with you."
"-Wish you were," he gasps out, his eyes shut tight as he wills himself to somehow bring this fleeting fantasy to life, however briefly. "Would feel so much better with you here."
"I am. Just close your eyes and focus on my voice. My hands stroking you, my mouth on your skin... Whatever you want. I'll give it to you. You deserve it."
Leon's already thin breaths come out in unsteady gasps as a result of your sweet encouragements. Your breathy and needy voice is somehow making him even more aroused than he already is, if that was even possible. His free hand descends to roam over his abdomen, primarily to visualize your hands mindlessly stroking his flesh. It's maddening.
"Fuck, you are too good at this…" He pants out, his hips thrusting up into his hand. Instead of continuing to trace over his lower abdomen, his hand reaches up to comb through his hair, just like you would, the delightful sensation sending jolts of pleasure directly to his cock. "Too good to me. Want to touch you, too. Whatever you want."
In order to give himself greater room to move around without experiencing any discomfort, he spreads his legs somewhat wider. He inadvertently starts to imagine you in a position between them, your head bobbing up and down as you take him in. His cock throbs at the mere thought, another droplet of precum dripping from its tip. Oh, he's lost it completely.
He listens to you groan quietly, and the realization that his words have the same impact on you as yours do on him makes him feel proud. The sound of your pleasure creates a fuzzy sensation in his head, blocking out all thoughts but you, you, you. His mind creates a fairly realistic image of what you are doing at the moment, even while he is itching to actually see you. And, God, was that picture irresistible.
"I want that too... Want to make you feel good."
Leon slightly squeezes the base of his cock at your whispered wants, another shudder rippling through him. He is acutely aware that he is getting close now, his balls drawing up tight and a growing coil of tension simmering deep in his gut.
"-Shit, I'm so fucking close," he pants heavily, his hips thrusting up into his hand steadily. He imagines you straddling him, riding him with all you have until you are both a gasping, trembling mess. Your hands wrapped snuggly over his neck and your lovely eyes on him the whole way through. The moan that comes out of him at the thought is borderline obscene as his head falls back, hot pleasure coiling in his gut until it's borderline unbearable. He does have enough sense in him left to warn you, though, however clumsy. Or maybe ask for permission. He isn't sure, and he is far too dazed to figure it out. "Jesus, fuck, going to cum-"
"That's alright, let go, I want to hear you," you coo at him softly through shaky puffs of air, a hint of urgency laced in your words. You were obviously getting impatient yourself while listening to him enjoying himself, whether that meant you were getting close or not. Either way, it was hot. "Cum for me, Leon. Please."
He didn't need to be told twice.
It only takes him a couple more rough strokes before he comes to a halt and shudders, his cock spurting ropes of his release into his hand and stomach, a broken gasp of your name leaving his lips in a desperate mantra before the pleasure slowly subsides. He's left panting, catching his breath from the pleasurable high of his orgasm as he plops back down on the bed, letting his body relax and gather its bearings.
"Jesus Christ, that was... wow..." He exhales, his voice ragged. As his mind gradually clears from the haze of pleasure that clouded his senses moments prior, he laughs softly, his voice full of tiredness and a hint of sheepishness. He turns his head to the phone, almost like he'd see you there. "You okay? Did you...?"
...He didn't even check if you came or not. Now he kind of feels like an ass.
"Y-Yeah. Just now." Because of your stuttering breaths, your words are a little unsteady. Whether you came with him or moments after, he doesn't really care. He's just glad you were left satisfied, too. Somewhat. Really, this was still more about him than you. He should fix that next time you do this.
He lets out a soft and warm chuckle at the thought. Next time. He was already thinking of next time, huh? Either way, that familiar subtle tremor in your voice makes him smile to himself, wishing he could reach out and stroke your cheek with the back of his hand right now.
"Good. I'm... I'm glad. Got worried there for a sec." He reaches over and grabs a tissue off his nightstand to quickly clean himself up. After tossing the tissue away, he leans back against the bed, feeling completely relaxed. "That was... something. Definitely needed that. Thank you."
A pleasant sense of calm washes over him as he sighs, closing his eyes. The subtle ache in his muscles and post-organasmic bliss is a welcome contrast to the constant tension he was dealing with lately.
"Happy to hear that." While he's unable to see you, he can still hear the smile in your voice, which makes him smile in turn. You take a deep, steadying breath, some rustling following suit as you probably clean yourself up and get comfortable. He didn't prod you. It didn't feel awkward at all when you were on the line with him. Despite his wish for you to actually be here.
"...I can't wait to see you again. To actually hold you, kiss you, make up for lost time," he promises, his voice unusually soft and intimate. "Tell you what, once I get back, we'll spend a whole weekend in bed, just the two of us. No phones, no work, no distractions. Just us."
His wistful smile is accompanied by the image of you in his bed, warm and cozy as you nuzzle up to him. God knows he didn't need anything more to be happy.
"That sounds lovely. I might just hold you to that," you giggle, those same familiar playful notes making their appearance again as you both come down from your highs.
"Hey... Do you mind staying with me on the line tonight? I don't... really want to hang up," he confesses, a bit embarrassed, but unwilling to just part with you so quickly. He can't help but feel a bit clingy.
"Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."
He laughs at that, shaking his head.
"God, I love you."
"I love you more."
117 notes · View notes
menofprogress · 6 hours ago
Text
I saw someone say that Viktor constantly reaching out to Jayce and trying to get him on his side after he initially left him and after Jayce fought, rejected and shot at him makes no sense but i disagree.
Imho jayce and viktor are incredibly, INSANELY codependent, they were each others closest contact for nearly a decade, saw each other every day, single mindedly worked towards the same goal, etc. Their lives immediately take a nosedive once theyre even slightly separated from each other (viktor nearly dies, jayce kills a kid, viktor atomises sky and then nearly kills himself, jayce lands in apocalypse land and viktor starts a cult). They instinctively always act like theyre still partners, even when theyre clearly supposed to be enemies because not being together feels unnatural to them.
Jayce doesnt act consciously when reviving viktor using the hexcore and YES viktor is hurt and distressed bc he was essentially turned into rio and he feels like he needs to leave, but then what? He probably finds out about jayces disappearance a few days later and is like "oh no, oh fuck, i know I left HIM, but i didnt want this" i mean he probably thought jayce was dead.
So for a few months he builds his commune and deliberately integrates sentimental things about his and jayces partnership (his 'home' looks like the hexgates, hes still wearing the blanket, for some reason theres a forge in the commune) which, imho, shows hes mourning and missing jayce in his own way. (A special personal hc of mine is that he grew out his hair out of grief). And in the pit we have jayce sobbing and crying bc he misses both mel and viktor so much.
So jayce reappears and viktors like "heeeyyyy bestie, oh my god, i missed u come visit me!!!" And jayce is rightfully confused like "didnt YOU break up with ME?" and viktor is like "nooo, hahaha, i was crazy back then, just forget about it, pls visit me?" And is only mildly concerned by jayce killing one of his followers (and then hes also mostly concerned about jayce, not salo lol)
Then jayce arrives and shoots him and its very painful bc viktor fully didnt expect jayce to hurt him! Hes so shocked 😭
Anyways after that Viktor "attacks" (more like "does a mating dance for") jayce in the council room and AGAIN asks him to join his emo band and is AGAIN shocked and hurt when jayce genuinely fights back and rejects him. Viktor is temporarily hurt and gives singed the ok to start the process.
And then as the fully transformed herald he STILL talks about how happy he is to see jayce and doesnt really put any effort into neutralising him. Like he could have just shot him hbxhnxgkhfj
All the while we have jayce talking big talk about stopping viktor, but when it comes down to it?? He doesnt manage to take him out and still talks to him. And then he sees Viktor in the astral realm and once there is a SLIVER of hope hes immediately like "oh thank god i can stop trying to kill him, this was never going to work"
All of this isnt contradictory to me. It means that both of them actually know that they should be on opposing sides now, they start acting according to the idea that the other one is now an enemy, they make plans accordingly, but when it comes down to it theyre reluctant to actually follow through bc that would mean a life without the other and thats worse than staying enemies forever.
Viktor kept reaching out, hoping to be partners again after MULTIPLE rejections and jayce couldnt bear to kill viktor or to let him die alone. Being apart from each other is quite literally the worst thing for either of them, so the instinct to reach out to each other will always take over.
86 notes · View notes
saveyourblood · 1 day ago
Text
Roll the Dice (Buddie x Reader)
Summary: Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.” You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” “Give someone a lap dance.” The one where you're best friends with Buck and Eddie, the three of you are drunk, and the topic of lap dances comes up.
Tumblr media
Word Count: 2.4k Prompt (from @happyhauntt): buddie and reader are hanging out and drinking maybe and maybe they're watching magic mike as a joke or they had a call to a strip club earlier that day and buck asks reader who they think would give a better lapdance, buck or eddie, reader bluescreens and they both give a demonstration. A/N: This was such a fun write! Thanks for letting me steal your idea, Ollie! You can find their work on AO3 too. :^) Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays everyone! Warnings: Spice (not smut), drinking, mentions of vomiting
It started with beer. 
Well, it started with the boys drinking beer. 
You’ve never been a big fan of beer. You’ll occasionally indulge in something on tap at a fancy bar, but other than that, it isn’t your drink. And that cheap shit that Buck buys at the corner store? Absolutely not. 
So, it started with the boys drinking beer and you drinking a canned cocktail. 
See, Buck may have bad taste, but he has a good heart. He always has a 6-pack of cheap beer in his fridge, but since you started coming over, you notice he always has a 12-pack of ready-to-drink canned cocktails. You know he doesn’t drink them; he buys them for you. 
You really don’t drink that much, in terms of both frequency and amount. It takes a singular drink for you to feel a nice buzz, and really, that’s all you need. You’ve never had the desire to get blackout drunk, and more than three drinks gives you a raging headache in the morning. 
You were only going to have one, maybe two drinks, just like you usually do. 
But then Eddie found the fucking tequila. 
“Where’d you even get that?” you giggle. You'd be embarrassed by the sound if you were even a little bit sober. Thankfully, you’re halfway through your second can, and any sense of embarrassment is filled by the warm pool of alcohol in your stomach. 
“Maddie made margaritas the night I moved in,” Buck says, raising his beer bottle to his lips. 
The boys are both on their third beers, but between the lower alcohol content and their stronger tolerances, they aren’t as drunk as you are. Hopefully, the tequila will even the score. 
“Where did she buy it?” Eddie laughs as he inspects the bottle. 
It’s cheap: you can tell that much by looking at it. It’s a 1.75 liter plastic bottle — not exactly top shelf. You expected nothing less from Maddie, since she doesn’t strike you as a girl who sips high-end tequila. No, she’s more like the girl who makes way too strong margaritas and bullies her brother into taking shots in the kitchen. 
Buck shrugs. “Grocery store, probably.”
Eddie starts looking through the cabinets. “You got a blender?”
Buck snorts. “I have shot glasses.”
“I’m not doing shots,” you laugh. “Tequila shots and I have… a bad relationship.” 
Eddie gives you a look. “What type of relationship?” 
“Whatever type ends in me throwing up in someone’s sink.”
Buck tips his head back and cackles. “You did that?! You?!”
“I just graduated from the Academy and went out with some classmates to celebrate,” you explain, cheeks flushing as you smile. “It started with bar hopping and ended with tequila shots at someone’s house.”
“Sounds like it actually ended with you throwing up in someone’s sink,” Eddie points out. 
“And you’re trying to make it happen again!” You accuse as Eddie continues scouring the kitchen. “Shame on you, Diaz!”
“Hey, it would be nice to see the most professional member of the 118 get a little crazy,” Buck says. 
You snort again. “I’m the most professional member of the 118?”
“Professional isn’t the right word,” Eddie says, finally finding a cocktail shaker. 
“Formal?” Buck proposes, looking to the other man. 
Eddie hums in consideration as he fills the shaker with ice, leaving the tequila on the island. “Classy?”
Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s not it either.”
Eddie sets the shaker, now filled with ice, on the island. He then opens the fridge door and comes back with lime juice. “Proper?”
“Proper,” Buck agrees, leaning his hip on the island. His body is turned towards Eddie, watching him as he pours the ingredients into the shaker. 
“Proper,” you echo, your lips wrapping around the word as you say it. “How exactly am I proper?” 
���I don’t know,” Buck says after taking another sip. “Just… the way you carry yourself, I guess.”
“How specific.”
Buck flicks a beer cap, previously sitting on the island, at you. You try to catch it, but it slides off the table before you can catch it. You flip him off. 
“Not so proper anymore,” Eddie remarks. 
The tequila takes you by the hand and leads the three of you into Buck’s living room. You’re on your second margarita on the rocks, courtesy of Edmundo Diaz. The boys decide to take two shots each, back to back, and simply watching them kind of made you sick. 
“You are so full of shit!” you yell. 
You don’t know much at this moment, other than the fact that you’re completely and entirely drunk. Not wasted, not blackout. You’re in that sweet spot where you’re sober enough to know that you’re being obnoxious but too intoxicated to care. As someone who normally presents as ‘proper’ (apparently),  it’s a combination akin to fire and kerosene — absolutely ruthless. 
“I am not!” Buck laughs.
Buck claims he’s never had a lap dance, and you don’t believe him for a second. 
You’re not entirely sure how you got on this topic. It definitely didn’t start like this, that you’re almost entirely most likely probably sure of. It had something to do with the ‘old partners’ discussion. Or maybe the ‘craziest night out’ swapping of stories. It’s hard to tell — you’ve cycled through several topics tonight, and you’ll be lucky to remember half of them. 
“Eddie, do you believe him?”
Eddie chuckles as he raises his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”
Like you or Buck would let that happen.
“What about you, hotshot?” Buck asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You ever had a lap dance?” 
Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly, almost like he’s sizing up Buck. It makes the alcohol in your belly burn a little warmer. 
“Once,” Eddie eventually answers. 
You turn your head to the side like a curious dog. “Oh?”
“Do tell,” Buck says, leaning forward. 
“It was at my shitty excuse of a bachelor party,” Eddie explains, taking a sip of his fourth beer. “One of my friends in Texas insisted. We went out to a strip club, he paid for it, and… that’s it.” 
“He paid for it,” you echo. “What a gentleman.” 
Sitting in the armchair, Eddie gently kicks your leg on the coffee table. You giggle, pulling both your legs back onto the couch. Buck, at the other end of the couch, puts his feet in your lap. 
“You’re being awfully quiet,” he observes. “Have you?”
You snort. “Have I ever had a lap dance?”
“Or given one.”
You press into the nailbed on one of Buck’s toes using your thumb. He yelps and pulls his legs back. 
“Half an hour ago, you were calling me ‘proper.’ Now, you’re asking if I’ve given someone a lap dance,” you recall. You turn to Eddie. “Can you believe him?”
“Absolutely not,” Eddie says as he shakes his head. “...Have you, though?”
Buck cackles as you kick Eddie’s leg. 
“I’ve never given anyone a lap dance,” you answer loudly. “I almost got one, though.” 
Both the boys raise their eyebrows.
“Do you remember that call we went on a few months back? To a male strip club?”
“Yeahhh,” Buck says. At some point, he replaced his beer bottle with the tequila bottle, which he’s now cradling like a baby. “What was that place called? Thirsty?”
“Just Thirst, I think,” Eddie remarks. “The one where a dancer rolled his ankle, right?”
You nod. “One of his buddies offered me a dance for being such a great first responder.”
Buck smiles and takes a swig of the tequila, wincing as it goes down. You nudge his knee, then pull your fingers towards yourself, gesturing for the bottle. Buck’s smile looks a little more cocky, but he hands the bottle over anyways. 
“You didn’t accept, huh?”
You sip a  little more of the tequila than you should. You can’t help it — it goes down so easily, leaving nothing but fuzzy warmth in its wake. You’ll regret it tomorrow, but for now, you’re basking in it. “Not really my thing.”
“Not even for the story?” Eddie asks. 
“You don’t get to be the ‘proper’ one by doing something ‘for the story,’” you counter. 
Eddie makes a face of contemplation as he reaches for the bottle. “Fair.” 
“You are really hung up on that word,” Buck notes. 
“It was… surprising, that’s all,” you chuckle. 
Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.”
You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” 
“Give someone a lap dance.” 
You can feel your face get hot. You swallow the lump that suddenly took residence in your throat. 
Meanwhile, Eddie laughs. “You’ve never gotten a lap dance, but you think you can give one?” 
Buck shrugs, leaning one elbow on his knee. “Why not? I’ve seen Magic Mike.” 
“You’ve seen Magic Mike but never gotten a lap dance,” Eddie continues after taking a swig of liquor. “That makes sense.” 
You reach for the bottle, which Eddie grants you. You take a long drink, gulping a few times. Pulling the bottle back, you use your thumb to wipe your bottom lip. “Do your worst, Buckley.”
He turns his head to stare at you. He huffs out a laugh, looking at you the whole time. “What?” 
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you continue, leaning back in the couch. You prop one arm on the back and the other on the armrest, the tequila bottle hitting the end table in the process. “You’ve never given a lap dance, I’ve never gotten one. We’ll pop each other’s cherries.” 
You’d never say any of this sober. Shit, you’d never say any of this two drinks in. You’re in so much deeper than that now; between the margs and the sips, you’ve had at least 6 shots. You can practically feel the alcohol in your blood. It’s hot, thick, and wanting. 
You're 100% throwing up in Buck's sink tomorrow.
You blink, and Buck is on top of you. His hands press into the back of the couch, holding his weight so he can be face-to-face with you. If the booze in your veins is hot, then his breath on your lips is fucking scalding. 
He lifts his hips and brings them back down in a rippling motion: he’s grinding on you. You giggle, high-pitched and shameless. You move your hands to cover your mouth. You can’t wrap your head around the idea that this is actually happening. 
Buck sits up straighter in your lap. He’s careful to keep his weight on his knees, which are on either side of your legs. He puffs his chest before rolling his shoulders forward and his ass backwards on your thighs in a fluid motion. You can feel the friction of his pants on your bare legs. You thank your past self for choosing to wear shorts. 
He gently takes your wrists, moving your hands from your mouth to his chest. He’s fully clothed, so you’re dragging your hands down his sweater. Still, you can feel the rippling of his muscles under his shirt. You throw your head back in laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it, but you know the burning in your stomach is no longer entirely thanks to the liquor. 
“Not bad,” Eddie critiques from his seat. 
You laugh harder. 
“What, you can do better?” Buck challenges. 
Eddie narrows his eyes again before smirking. He pushes himself out of the chair, shooing Buck away with his hand. 
Buck raises his hands in surrender, turning on one knee before flopping on the couch beside you. 
“This isn’t happening,” you laugh, shaking your head like you’re trying to wake yourself up from a dream. 
You’ve had a crush on both of them since the first time you saw them. How could you not? They are completely and utterly gorgeous men. When you realized how funny and caring they both are, it just sealed the deal. You never, in your wildest imagination, pictured yourself in a situation like this with either of them, let alone both of them. 
Not that you’re complaining, of course.
Eddie takes Buck’s place, only he’s towering over you since he’s standing instead of sitting. He puts his hands on your sides, trailing down to your thighs. You shudder under his touch, hoping it isn’t noticeable. The way the corner of his mouth turns up tells you that it’s definitely noticeable. 
Eddie’s hands reach your knees, which he loops his fingers under. In a swift motion, he pulls your legs up and presses his body against yours. You yelp in surprise and wrap your legs around his back, somehow pulling him closer. 
His hands move to your back, and he picks you up. You yelp again, astonished by the ease he can lift you. You shouldn’t be so shocked, considering his career. When his grasp moves from your back to your ass, though, he’s no longer Firefighter Diaz; he’s Eddie, the man you have a crush on. And the man who’s currently holding your ass. 
Eddie turns on his heel and carefully lays you on Buck’s coffee table, which makes you cackle again. Your laughter dies in your throat when Eddie places himself over you again. Your chests are touching, as are your noses. 
You look into Eddie’s eyes, and it’s as if you can suddenly read his mind. “Dancers aren’t supposed to kiss the clientele.”
Eddie smiles again. It’s the kind where only one corner of his mouth curls up, and his lips shift to the side. “Good thing I’m not a dancer.”
His lips meet yours, and it’s nothing but heat. He tastes like a mix of cheap beer and tequila, and if you weren’t already, you could get drunk off of it. Your tongues meet and separate like lovers on a dance floor. When you’re out of breath, you wonder if you could suck the air out of his lungs, just to keep you connected to him for a little longer. 
Eddie pulls away first, his chest heaving desperately for air. 
“You lose,” Buck remarks. 
“How did I lose?”
“It was a competition?” you interject. 
“It’s called a lap dance,” Buck points out. “That wasn’t in her lap.” 
Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. They eventually settle on your mouth. “Eh, I think I won.” 
78 notes · View notes
five-and-dimes · 2 days ago
Note
Kitties 😸 and adpotion....please?! 🙏🏽
Yessss this is the one I'm trying to finish before the new year 🤞 so thank you for making me work on it lol
Eight days later, Hob’s one “heavy” cat has turned into five. Hob is currently crying, and he has no idea why. He’s not *sad*, he doesn’t think. He’s… overwhelmed, he supposes. He is sitting cross legged in front of his closet, staring down at his cat, J2 (Johanna II, much to human-Johanna’s dismay, but the fact was his cat was a bit of an asshole and it just fit too perfectly), and the four tiny, squirming bodies curled up by her belly. The sweater she had pulled off the hanger and chosen to give birth on is definitely ruined forever but Hob doesn't care. All Hob can think is that if he had *known* he would have gotten her something better. He literally had an appointment to take her to the vet to get a checkup and all her shots *tomorrow*.  He’s afraid to touch them. They’re so *small*. So small and fragile. Hob had wanted something to take care of but he was realizing right now, crying on the floor in front of a litter of kittens that were probably an hour old, that this was absolutely too much for him.  Sniffling, Hob allows himself to flop backwards. He lays on his back with his hands over his face as he cries and listens to the soft little mewls coming from his closet. He’s not sure how long he lays there, but his tears have slowed by the time he feels his hair being tugged. Moving one hand away from his face, he is met with the sight of J2 sitting beside his head, licking his hair.  Hob giggles, “Hey,” he reaches out to scratch under her chin, “I know I’m acting like a baby, but you’ve got *actual* babies to take care of.” Her only response is to start chewing on his fingers. “Ouch! Augh, okay, okay!” He pulls his hand back, trying to pout but only laughing.  Sitting up, he watches J2 slink back to her kittens, curling around them in a soft, protective wall. Hob was still overwhelmed, but he was also smiling. He could do this.
45 notes · View notes
nuggeteri · 1 day ago
Note
hello hello i see you are a flower ranchers enjoyer, i am The flower ranchers guy would you like to talk abt them :>
Oh my god I was writing you a one-shot and my fucking website just fucking glitched and erased all of it. Welp. Back to writing I go (another concept though because I am not rewriting the same shit twice)
Also my DMS are open if that's what you meant :333
.
"Are you sure?" Jimmy asks, looking from right to left---almost worried to be getting caught.
Scott doesn't know why he even bothers. They're in the BamBunker and it really wasn't that big. It could all be seen from one look. He guesses it only emphasized on how anxious Scott was about the idea.
Scott doesn't think it should be against the rules if it's his power. He nods.
"Well, okay, but you can't say I gave you permission, alright?" He warns and Scott knows that Jimmy wouldn't do anything even if he didn't listen. Scott agrees anyway. "Yup. Sure. Now let me."
With only minimal sounds of protests, Jimmy turned around, back facing Scott, which the shirt the blond was wearing having two rips, allowing golden small wings to pass through.
Scott knows he could've stolen Grian's wings. They were bigger and would probably get him more success. Pearl would've let him without a second thought. He could probably coherse Martyn. While Lizzie's were fake, they could certainly do the job. But if he chose anyone other than Jimmy, then they wouldn't be getting all red, hot and bothered and Scott having his hands in their wings.
"You've grown some blue feathers." He remarks as he passes a hand through them. Jimmy hiccups, gasps and chirps before managing to answer him--- "Yeah..- I guess? I mean, look at me! Still standing!" He wasn't a canary anymore,Mumbo and Skizz are indeed dead. Scott can give that to him. "Proud of you, Petal."
He passes his hand through a few more of the new feathers before activating his powers. He's not even entirely sure if it would work, but at least, trying it gave him an excuse to pass his hands over Jimmy's soft wings.
It does work. It's not painful, per say, more of uncomfortable to have his back torn off to let wings pass through, but oh well.
It also ripped his shirt and jacket--oh well. He could always ask Cleo to sew it back together afterwards. She wouldn't say not to her soulmate.
"Did it work?"
Scott chirped---it didn't come as a surprise for him, he remembered how being an Avian was from Empires season one-- and it was all Jimmy needed to get his question answered. He chirped back, and oh gosh, not only had Scott missed these Avian instincts, but it made him feel fuzzy to have his partner respond.
He doesn't show it, though. That's Jimmy's thing, as he got redder and redder by the second.
"Aww, Jimmy, are you flustered?"
"Go and catch Tango!"
Right--- because this was also what it was all about. While Scott wanted to run his hands through his boyfriend's unused wings, he also wanted to catch up on his other boyfriend who had been running all around the server not to get caught.
He knew, logically, that Tango would stop for him if he asked. After all, he was still green, and therefore not allowed to attack him. However, that wouldn't be fun.
"I'll send kisses from you his way, then!" He says before flapping his new wings and getting out of the bunker without using the ladders--which he could hear his boyfriend complaining about.
He doesn't care--- he has a mission. Find Tango.
It's not that hard. The Bamboozlers' mountain already gave a good overall view of the server--flying slightly higher made it incredible.
Tango was running circles around Spawn.
Scott dipped and glided all the way over there.
"Hey, snowbug!" He called out.
"AAAH!" Tango screams---a little loud, which makes Scotts newly obtained head wings flap back in surprise, but other wise, doesn't hurt a fly.
"Since when have you gotten wings?" He asks, flabbergasted.
"Jimmy gave them to me. Powers, remember? I can steal people's hybrid status."
"That is---amazing! Oh my, can you become a blaze hybrid?" Tango proposes and---well, it's not like Scott hadn't already considered it. There were cultural and biological traditions he and his partners couldn't practice. Like wrapping someone around a wing for Jimmy, or have flames intertwine for blazes. He wanted to try all of that. But not right now.
"Later, bug," he informs him, "You've already stolen from me!"
Tango's fire seems to spark at Scotts words---something that he finds absolutely adorable. They were all excited.
"How so?" He still manages to get out.
"Ice is my thing. It's the second time you steal it!"
-
I did get lazy towards the end soryyyy it's soon to be four AM....but flower ranchers
24 notes · View notes
lullabyes22-blog · 2 days ago
Note
First of all, I just wanted to say how much I love your Arcane fics. I’ve been following FnF since I stumbled across it at 10 chapters long, and it’s been a wild ride since! Like a lot of people I’ve been all over the place with my feelings regarding season 2, but as far as I’m concerned FnF is my season 2 (and 3, 4, etc.) lol. You’re a gift to this fandom. Thank you for sharing your brilliant mind and imagination with us readers ❤️
You’ve answered some what-if asks and shared other Arcane thoughts on this blog before, so I have two questions for your consideration, but no pressure to answer either of them!
1. As a fellow writer, I’m in awe of the scale of FnF and the amount of planning/outlining that must be involved—HOLY SHIT! Are there any elements of s2 that have inspired you as you continue to write FnF? Have you considered adapting any s2 elements into later chapters (beyond what you’ve already predicted), or have you held fast to a specific Vision throughout the duration of this writing project?
2. Not sure if you’ve been asked this in the past, but what the hell would a living Silco’s reaction be to Vander’s hellish resuscitation as Warwick, assuming he isn’t immediately mauled in a confrontation?? Is Singed (assuming he’s the culprit) definitely fired??? This feels like such a MESSY terrible horrible no-good very bad situation for everyone involved lmao, and I would love to know your thoughts.
Aaaaah thank you so much! I'm super happy you're enjoying the story! I've been having a lot of fun with it, and I'm glad so many other folks are having fun with it as well <333
Also deeply honored you'd consider FnF in any way adjacent to canon material; that means so much T_T Especially since my own feelings on s2 are pretty mixed, and I'm not really sure what I would even do with those ideas, except maybe throw them out as a one-shot sometime down the road.
1. In terms of the s2 inspiration, I will say I was not the biggest fan of the plot's coherence/cohesion as a whole (too much stuff going on in too little time, too many threads left dangling etc). However, I was very gratified by the thematic journeys of the characters in S2, as in FnF they're actually following a similar trajectory (except for Silco who is, well, dead), and a lot of the same conflicts and themes are coming up. There was a happy sense of vindication that came from that, like, "Oh, so this was actually important, and not just me making a fanficcy mountain out of a molehill."
I will say though, that FnF has its own pretty airtight-ish plot, with many aspects already sketched out in advance, so I'm not going to go re-plotting things to match s2's direction unless and until it becomes necessary. In some ways, tbh, there's a sense of gleeful overlap, as a lot of the plot beats do mirror one another. (The Black Rose make an appearance by Act VII, there's a greater emphasis on magic and high fantasy going forward, Jinx is in the grip of an identity/existential crisis and Vi is stuck at a crossroads, Jayce has become disillusioned and split with Mel, Viktor has retreated underground and will be withdrawing deeper into his work, Ekko will be the one to snap Jinx out of a critical juncture and save Zaun in the long term, Sevika will take a greater leadership role etc...) All of the parallels if not the outright similarities were pretty satisfying.
As for how that's manifesting, a lot of the major developments and character arcs going forward are largely set in stone, but I do have a few key S2 events/details I've been mulling over in the background that I can see myself weaving into the plot at some point. But the rest is probably best kept as a surprise :>
2. As for the hellish resuscitation, well, I'd be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about that one a lot hehehe...
But long story short:
Singed is 100% fired because there is NO WAY Silco would sanction such a thing - and if it occured in the FnF universe, then Singed was absolutely doing it behind Silco's back and will now face the full consequences.
 As for Warwick himself - he'd 100% retreat to Silco and Vander's little Brokeback bunk in the mines. And Silco would 100% don his old mining duds and dustry greatcoat and go looking for him, because he needs to be SURE it's not just a rumor, and also because he does, subconsciously, desperately want it to be his Vander. And Vander, who has a good measure of the old Vander's memories, and is 100% aware it's not a rumor, because hello: deranged wolfman, will 100% run towards Silco with every intention of tearing him to pieces.
And that is where the similarities end.
Because Vander is too deeply trapped within Warwick's killer shell, and is therefore incapable of having an emotional reunion with anyone, and because Silco is not an idiot and would never go into a skirmish without a loaded gun and an escape route, the end result would be bloody, messy and tragic.
Worst case scenario: both men would kill each other, and in their final death throes, find boyhood memories resurfacing. They'd die in tears, messily and bloodily entwined, but finally at peace with their own demons - which is how Jinx and Vi, teaming up similar to S2, would find them.
Best case scenario: Silco would find Warwick and be forced to try and capture and contain him. He'd enlist Sevika's help and succeed, but when Jinx finds out, she'd be appalled and retraumatized, and convinced Silco is trying to erase her dead dad and supplant him in every sense. She'd go off the rails and have a complete breakdown, and Vi would be the one she'd run to, because Vi is the only person who understands and cares. The sisters would end up teaming against Silco to try and bust WarVander out, and this would cause an irreparable rift between Silco and Jinx.
Cue mass destruction and an epic family feud.
Sevika, who'd be the only person left in Silco's circle of trust, would have to make the call to have Warwick quietly killed in order to save the city from a war, and then lie to Silco, telling him Vander succumbed to his own madness and perished. This would cause Silco's mental state to completely disintegrate. He'd lose what little sanity he had left, and would descend into a pit of guilt and grief.
 Either way, it's a pretty awful tragedy on both sides, and it would take the entire remaining plot of FnF to resolve the fallout, and for Jinx and Vi to find any kind of peace.
So you can see why I've been mulling a lot, but also left it alone haha.
But who knows?
Maybe the story will change my mind, or I'll be struck by some miraculous idea and figure a way out, though I'm doubtful.
Thanks again for the lovely words and thoughtful questions! They really mean a lot <3
17 notes · View notes
basilsnotemo · 13 hours ago
Text
I like both, you got the golden boy jock that’s quarterback of the football team, in my au, Stan does football, basketball, soccer, and baseball but the only one he’s really passionate about is football, he just does the others because it’s good for his mental health, it keeps him moving, gets him outside and if he’s busy thinking about basketball then there’s no room in his brain for all the dark thoughts he’s trying to avoid.
With the band I think that started around middle school, and it probably starts as an emo/early 2000’s pop punk cover band. But then I think around middle school is when Stan actually starts getting treatment for his mental health issues but I think he’s really opposed to opening up all his thoughts and feelings to a complete stranger (plus he’s really afraid that if he opens up too much he’s gonna end up in the psyche ward) so they have many silent meetings at first, until she hands him a blank notebook and a pen and says “ok, if you won’t talk to me will you at least write it down? It will feel better to get it out of your head I promise” and stan being a super depressed, asshole 13 year old is like yeah whatever but then after awhile he’s like, that’s actually not a bad idea, and then eventually he opens up and starts actually talking in therapy but he goes back and looks at the notebook one day and he’s like huh, these could make good songs, so he rewrites a few things and Crimson Dawn was born.
Then imagine, him going sitting in his room listening to fall out boy while writing music, or coming up with a new DND campaign or learning the rules to a new board game he just got
He’s also buff as hell, not only from doing every sport ever, but also from working on his dads farm (which he avoids like the plague) so stan always has a crazy tan going on.
After his parents get divorced (around middle school) stan mostly lives with his mom in town because it’s closer to the school and also fuck that farm. Stan and his mom have always gotten along very well, she’s not always the most helpful when he has a problem, and she really doesn’t understand his mental illness, but she does make an effort to learn and tries to help him the best she can which is what really matters, she actually took him to the doctor, got him set up with a therapist, and on medication and genuinely tries to help him, unlike somebody else (his dad) who just pretends it’s not happening because “boys don’t cry” going so far as to say stan was faking it for attention after stan got hospitalized. Stan and his dad have never gotten along, it only got worse as he got older, and the second he turned 18 he cut all contact with his dad and he’s never been happier
My Stan’s outfit of choice would be ripped baggy black jeans, black high top converse, some sort of band tshirt (with a long sleeve shirt underneath when it gets cold) some sort of earrings in, black hat. I do think he gets his lip pierced (by Kenny in the school bathroom, very goth) out of rebellion and as a fuck you to his dad, but I don’t think it lasts past high school
He’s got a heart of gold, will help anyone but himself very big on activism for animals and the environment, strictly vegetarian he cares so much about his family and friends, when they found out that Kyle was diabetic, the first thing stan wanted to do was learn how to take care of him, so he learned how to do Kyle’s insulin shots, and check his blood sugar and what all the numbers meant so that he knew what to do just in case, because that’s his best friend/future husband, and his dogs are the most spoiled babies on the planet let me tell you.
When he gets older stan will just find stray dogs and cats on the road and bring them home, he’s like a magnet for this stuff and kyle just shakes his head but lets it happen (he’s very much a “whatever makes my princess happy” type of guy) even though they already had 2 dogs he just likes to see Stan be genuinely happy and smile, which doesn’t happen that often. Stan calls his mom and is like “this is peanut, your new grandpuppy :)” (and Kyle makes fun of him for naming a dog after something he’s allergic to)
He’s got a wicked sweet tooth, of it’s got sugar, it’s going in stan. This man barely drinks water he practically lives off of Dr Pepper, after he quits drinking for good he replaces the alcohol with Dr Pepper, so he did create a different problem for himself, but a much less damaging one in the long run.
He tends to have an ok diet, as a habit from his football days + being married to a type 1 diabetic, Kyle is pretty good about nutrition and keeping them fed a balanced diet. But this guy goes crazy for Taco Bell, late night after football? Taco Bell. Road trip? Taco Bell. Day off and don’t want to cook? Taco Bell. You get the idea, get this man a black bean Crunchwrap and a Baja Blast and he will be your best friend for life. Just don’t forget the diablo sauce, this man douses EVERYTHING in hot sauce it’s never spicy enough.
Oh god i just realized how much I wrote, anyway merry Christmas here’s a character study of stan, specifically from my au but this is the core of how I characterize stan
if you vote you are REQUIRED to comment why or ill make sure you get coal in your stockings 😈
17 notes · View notes
Text
Save me...... Save me Jill......
Tumblr media
12 notes · View notes
saltwatersweets · 10 months ago
Text
i like to imagine that sometime in between ep7 and ep8, charlie takes vaggie to cannibal town to help train some of the residents who will fight in the upcoming extermination, and while visiting vaggie sees the kid she spared and maybe gets to have a proper conversation with him and/or his family
Tumblr media Tumblr media
#i know that vaggie probably looks rather different than she did three+ years ago when she fell#but i definitely feel as though if you were a sinner who was about to be brutally stabbed by an angel#and then she Didnt Stab You#i think you’d be able to recognize her even if you’re fairly young#(also i know some people think that all the cannibals are hellborn but i believe that some are sinners and some are hellborn)#(this child being hellborn would make no sense because that means vaggie was kicked out for sparing a hellborn child)#(aka doing what she is legally supposed to do)#(so being a cannibal will probably get you into hell regardless of age)#also i really like the idea of vaggie and charlie getting to see the good that came out of her actions#assuming lute and adam didnt just go immediately kill the child she spared (it can be applied the extermination ended almost immediately#after vaggie fell given that you can see charlie walking around looking for injured sinners just a few minutes later so hopefully the#child survived)#then i like to believe the child ran home and got to tell the people who care for him that story#and maybe someone will even thank vaggie for her mercy#in a very strange way givennthat they are cannibals and all#think of a cat who kills mice and gives them to you. that’s probably how cannibals show love except with human limbs#anyways i want to write a one shot about this tbh#my post#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vaggie#hazbin vaggie#hazbin hotel cannibal town#cannibalism#should probably tag that just in case lmfao#does this cannibal child have a name#im calling him#spared cannibal child#very very original and thoughtful name i know i know#hazbin hotel charlie#charlie morningstar
29 notes · View notes
camels-pen · 1 year ago
Text
(i haven't read Whole Cake in a while, and i never really watched it, so bear with me)
I'd love to write a fic with Usopp on Whole Cake. it'd be sooo fucking long and i'd need to refresh myself on the entire arc, but god i'd probably be so satisfied when it's done. specifically for having brought a single moment in my head to life, but we'll get to that.
On Zou, he insists to be taken along on the Sanji rescue team and has worked himself up with a whole bunch of very good reasons as to why he should go there instead of helping in Wano, but of course Luffy just immediately accepts with a "yeah sure"
With Whole Cake, I think he'd be flipping between having fun as part of the idiot trio/quartet (Luffy, Chopper, Carrot), and being terrified with Nami. There wouldn't be that many differences in the arc as a whole, though; some things would be easier/better and some things would be worse- I don't necessarily think Usopp's presence would be overall an advantage or disadvantage, just different. Like, major events would stay mostly the same, but little details would change and maybe those little details would build to a far more drastic change-
for example, maybe one of Big Mom's kids considers themself a great sniper and wants a match with Usopp, or is motivated to work harder because Usopp is around and they want to take him out and boast about it. Maybe it means Sunny takes more damage than canon, or maybe Usopp's help means less damage to Sunny. (idk if i'd really do smth like this, but it's just an example)
skjdhf fuck i'm really not equipped to try and figure this out when i don't remember shit from Whole Cake aaaa
I do know that, despite his penchant for talking and rambling, I'd probably have Usopp be dead silent after his initial shock when Sanji fights Luffy. Everything about that is the same, except Usopp is just watching Sanji the whole time- not panicking, not moving, and not speaking. He doesn't say a word the entire time, doesn't even make a sound, and that, along with Luffy's words and Nami's begging, stick with Sanji.
(Usopp is thinking of his own fight with Luffy in Water 7, he's partially wondering if this was what it was like- if it was this painful to watch from the sidelines- and partially knowing he doesn't have to say a word, because he knew, like he knew back then, that it didn't matter what was said. It wasn't quite the same, but he could tell in the way Sanji moved, in the way he spoke and held himself, that he was putting on a front, trying to be brave in all the wrong ways. Usopp didn't say a word to Sanji because there was nothing he could say that Sanji himself didn't already know. Should've known. And his quiet, direct stare, was more than enough.)
the singular moment i really wanna write, is a scene where Sanji is apologizing for dragging them into his mess- either during the big meeting in Bege's castle or some other time- and Usopp's like "I'll do what you can't, you do what I can't, right?" and Sanji pauses, a little confused, until he remembers Enies Lobby and a stupid mask and cape and-
and tears are gathering in his eyes now, fuck, but he laughs a little. It sounds wet and his face is itchy and they're surrounded by tentative allies, but he- he laughs again and he says, "Fuck, you remembered that?"
Usopp shrugs, a little smile on his face. "They were some wise words from a wise man."
Sanji laughs a third time. "You think I'm wise?"
And they banter a little more before Bege tells them to quit it since they're on a time constraint or something. Quietly, Usopp will ask, "It-it helps. On bad days. And I figured, 'what's a worse day than this?' Ah, not that you getting married would ever be bad per se-"
"Usopp," Sanji says, looking more relaxed and settled. He smiles fondly and grabs his friend in a one armed hug, crushing him to his side. "Thanks."
And yeah, don't remember much beyond that, except the whole "hiding and then busting out of the cake" bit, which would mean Usopp in a cute little tuxedo or smth- maybe with a fedora aaaaaa <- loves fedoras- helping out with the fighting and eventually sailing with everyone to Wano.
He would be so distressed about fixing up Sunny now that the whole thing with Whole Cake is over. Maybe there'd be a gag about him promising Franky to take good care of Sunny while they were gone and being confident, after being Franky's tinkering partner and learning from him over time, that he could handle minor repair work much better than he did the first time around with Merry. And so when he finally takes in all the very-not-minor repairs he has to do, he's certain Franky is gonna strangle him for not keeping his promise. Probably also try to write in some nostalgic 'repairman Usopp' vibes from pre-Water 7.
Also something something, Sanji, wanting to do more for the crew bc he still feels guilty about Whole Cake, decides to take it upon himself to help Usopp not fall into a whole anxiety spiral about the ship. In turn, Usopp ends up helping Sanji not feel so guilty- usually by handing his own words back to him on a silver platter. And, yknow, having the two of them bonding and being buddies again like they so rarely get to be in canon nowadays qwq
#one piece#usopp#whole cake island#nemotime#that bit in bege's castle isn't exactly how it would go. just kinda. trying to get the vibe. also it's wayyy too short lol#the sanuso bit can be platonic or romantic. originally when i was gonna write out this idea a while ago i was thinking romantic with my#'they get engaged/married b4 dressrosa' au but tbh platonic works just as good#im- these guys man. i hate them so much (affectionate)#i'll get to rereading whole cake and finding a way to put him in there but for now. this.#if anyone's got other ideas im all ears#edit from like march 7: thinking about this again#maybe usopp being silent is an indicator for sanji that usopp's really fucking disappointed or shocked or w/e#but for usopp himself it's like being back in water 7. he doesn't even mean to be silent. he's got words built up on the tip of his tongue#but none of them come out. and despite sanji being Right There all he wants to do in that moment. is run.#at the very least he stays and watches the whole confrontation through. but afterwards he probably feels like shit#because he's the guy who's great with words right? he's the guy that can relate the most out of the group who went to WCI. he should be abl#to make a significant difference and help convince sanji to come home. but he feels like he failed. like he's going to lose another friend#and it's going to be all his fault. (again)#[not really. we all know merry wasn't his fault but we love old insecurities rearing their head in this house]#later he'd probably end up saying the words he wanted to say. and maybe it's better that way. that he ended up waiting#until luffy's had a proper shot at scolding sanji first. because then usopp can act as support and reinforcement. which. yknow.#a sniper's duty and all#anyway i got other shit to do so i'm cutting myself off here#wci usopp
15 notes · View notes
designernishiki · 1 year ago
Text
I feel like whatever was going on with majima/mirei/katsuya in the early 90s was some sort of complicated bisexual love triangle situation. like majima is majima and katsuya’s handsome and eloquent and absolutely doesn’t seem straight to me, but on top of that it feels like there was some sort of confusing tension between katsuya and mirei, not sure if it was romantic or one-sided or what but. SOMETHING. I don’t know what the hell was going on with those three really but no way in hell do I believe the romantic/sexual/??? depth ends with majima and mirei
#katsuya is HANDSOME and CHARMING and ELOQUENT. I just KNOW at least one of them was into him. probably both#one way I’m imagining it could’ve went is like#katsuya introduces majima and mirei to one another and mirei crushes on him pretty quick (because she is 19 and quick to do so)#majima doesn’t really particularly have an interest in her- not cause she’s unattractive or anything probably mostly because she’s almost a#because she’s almost a decade younger than him and barely legal. but at some point she confides in katsuya about her feelings for him and#katsuya being the sweet and honorable kinda dude he is acts as a wingman and tries to get majima to go out with her#and eventually majima relents because he doesn’t want to end up admitting to katsuya that he actually had a thing for KATSUYA#and by playing wingman for his good friend mirei majima takes it as him being uninterested and thus doesn’t shoot his shot and yeah#katsuya’s hard to say no to and hey I mean maybe mirei- a civilian- will make his life more capable of Normalcy#she’s conventionally attractive and is a decent enough friend- albeit he didn’t really know what she was like as a person before she was#crushing on him and also. again. she’s 19 and an idol. so inevitably her identity in general is NOT solid yet#almost as if rebounding off a relationship he never even Got- things move insanely quickly with mirei and they’re married in less than a#year. the whole time katsuya is there cheering them on- he’s smart and I think he’d see the red flags when it comes to their ages and#maturity at least but I think that’d become more apparent over time and he’d start to have regrets but#it’s way too late for that. especially when she comes to him bawling her eyes out because she’s found out she’s pregnant and she has no#idea what to do. both for her career and because she’s literally barely an adult she doesn’t want a child at that point but obviously she#knows she’ll feel guilty and- more than that- deep shame for terminating. she’s insightful even at that age and also maybe can read majima#well enough to know that he might take her abortion as a sign for him to book it to no longer cause her anymore issues. katsuya reassures#her cause what else is he gonna do. but of course she’s right and his commitment issues kick in big time and yeah. over the years katsuya’s#the in-between still close with both of them. specifically he’s closer with mirei and they trust one another a lot more than majima with#either of them- just because majima’s Like That and his trust issues create distance easily. nonetheless at some point majima asks him if#he’s been single for so long because he was hung up on mirei and apologizes if he got in the way of them and that leads into some really#long overdue admissions and likely hooking up. but of course majima is STILL majima and again kinda books it because feelings are#inconvenient and their time for something like a relationship has passed (or something like that).#mirei often wonders if things would’ve been better if she’d have ended up with katsuya instead but similar to majima she’s career-focused#now and just wants to value him as a friend regardless of any lingering potential feelings. majima ends up falling hard for kiryu#sooner than later and life just moves on from any romanticism beteeen the three of them- a nostalgic closeness lingers instead#rambling#that was. a lot.
4 notes · View notes
opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago
Text
...
#ok so like this is fine bc im not in a horrible mood rn. this is more i feel like complaining bc what im doing is kinda ridiculous#but my memory is so bad that ill probably forget if i dont write it out. but basically 4 days a week i have to come in starting at 7.30 to#water and prep for measurements. then from 9am to 6.15pm i have to nonstop take the measurements. and theyre timed so that means#i get abt 4 min to do anything before i have to take another measurement. which is abt enough time to start to focus and then have to stop#which is very fucking frustrating. and i have to manage data. coordinate for this fucking paper. and keep track of like 10 other things for#work stuff. which means that it takes me like and hour to send easy emails and they come out all fucked uo bc my brain is so shot#but on top of that i also have to fucking do the steps to get set up for my new school in the fall. and like ive officially accepted the#offer but havent talked to my new advisor since then so now theres this weird gap where im like. uh fuck do i ask for wtf im supposed to#do? bc ive been able to do things for like 2 or 3 weeks but then my life started collapsing in around me. and like there r probably#instructions somewhere but i cant fucking read lol. whatever. hes nice i just need to find the energy and words to email him and b like lol#srry everythings been insane. but bc ive waited so long i have to compulsively keep going back to check that ive been accepted like somehow#that would change while im not looking. ugh. and ive also fucked myself over housing wise bc theres a housing shortage in the city and huge#demand of housing on camus so theres a wait list for everything but i cant fucking apply bc i cant get my id to work. and fucking idk who#to call or email abt that. but idk i might have to have roomates for a semester. or my parents offered to give me some extra money for an#apartment until i can get one that doesnt put me in the red on a grad student budget. ugh. i dont wanna do either of those things#but christ do i not want roommates. ill figure something out. its just annoying and difficult from so far away#and it makes me kinda sad bc ppl r like: r u excited?! and im like. i cant really think abt that. partly bc im constanly putting out fires#in the present so theres not really space for it. partly bc i dont allow myself to b excited abt things so as not to get my hopes up.#but just after i accepted i was excited. and now it feels like im reaching my hand out toward a floating light just out of reach. like#its a nice idea but i wont believe until it happens. but that just bc ive become distorted about things#and i dont even get a weekend bc the 4 days of measurement r friday to Monday and i cant fucking relax on weekdays bc ppl r like hey can u#do this??? and there r things i can only do on weekdays so its like ok i guess ill just suffer forever thrn. and my boss texts me like: hey#did u do X? and am like: uuuuuh i fucking dont kno what day it is anymore. i dont understand y we have to meet. lets just not talk bc im#afraid ill say something worrying. so yea its pretty fucked up rn. but this stuff ends on the 24th#then ill probably not take a break and fucking finish the measurements for another project bc i just really need it to b done. i need it#all to b done so i can fucking wash my hands of this and fucking quit and move away at the start of july... or August if i decide i hate#myself that much. ugh. at least the lab has been pretty empty so no ones seen me crying lol#also thr fucking rutgers guy emailed me yesterday like: hey u want this position? and im like bitch u r like a month too late also im in#my cringe fail era. i would not survive at ur school. ugh everything is terrible. 2 or 3 more months then i csn leave this place forever#unrelated
5 notes · View notes
artandsomethingcreated · 4 months ago
Text
Todays Patch Notes!
Glitch making a very important key item not show up has been fixed
Charicter now no longer goes on a random rant about the aesthetics of Narshe's mining practices
Moogles' behavior patterns have been improved
Continued game text display fixes
And as always various spelling, gramer, and other such corrections
0 notes
exopelagic · 9 months ago
Text
i will not panic abt my exams
#it will be fine actually#I’m stressed bc they’re in. a month now like a month from today and I’ll be done#but that just means I have a whole month to be making notes I can do a lot in a month#I’m going home on Friday which is stressing me out but it’s just one week I’ll go Friday and leave Saturday/Sunday#and if I can do a handful of lectures while I’m at home that’ll be a useful step no matter what#i can probably focus on like molecular ones which are easier to structure bc I just need to pull out the mechanisms#tomorrow I just gotta read up on two topics really and then I can write the dumb mock exam which I won’t be able to do at home bc its 4 hour#I hate that we have to do that especially bc it’s got shit evil questions but whatever#and I can’t feel bad abt being slow to get back into this bc im an animal with a body and it takes a while to get back into Anything#and I’m worried abt the exam yes bc of how it went last year when I was unprepared but 1) I won’t be THAT degree of unprepared this year#2) it is unlikely that i get as insanely unlucky as I did last year#fucking hell I just. don’t think I’m made for this kinda system I can’t make myself work in it#every single term of my degree so far I’ve been fighting to keep up with everything and had no time to properly prepare for the exams#and then scraped it by working off a baseline level of being good at putting ideas together quickly and strategically working last minute#on whatever will give me the best shot at getting what I need but that’s not possible in these two exams bc I have over 100 lectures to know#I can’t do 100 lectures in a month. it’s just not possible but what I can probably do is summarise some important bits for like half of them#I think I’m bad at the whole sustained effort on a big task over a long period of time#bc this is so huge that there’s no way for me to see progress or move on to anything new bc it’s just. a stack of 100 lectures to deal with#I HOPE I’m better at dealing with project next year bc i think it’ll be more task based#and like I can watch the lectures the first time round bc there’s a set thing to do and an end point#I have genuinely no idea how to approach this in a way that will be useful achievable AND get enough done within the time I have#anyway I can’t stress abt it now bc I have to go to the shop and then home to cook. so#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA#luke.txt
0 notes
honeypiehotchner · 4 months ago
Text
Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot
Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)
Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.
Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation
WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly
Tumblr media
You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 
The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 
Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 
“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”
You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”
“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.
Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”
You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 
Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.
But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.
Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.
He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.
“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”
“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.
He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”
“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.”
“Honey, we can’t have--”
“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”
His hands squeeze again. “I see.”
You frown. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”
You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.
“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”
You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.
“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.
“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 
Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.
You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.
“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.
You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”
He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.
“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.
“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”
“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”
“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”
“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”
You can’t help it; you laugh. 
He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.
“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 
“You’re insatiable.” 
“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.
You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 
You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.
Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.
“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.
“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”
“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.
“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”
That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 
The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 
You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.
“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.
You nod. “Green. You?”
He smirks. “Absolutely.”
He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.
“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.
He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”
“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”
“Don’t push it.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.
There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.
So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 
You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 
You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.
The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.
Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 
He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.
He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 
All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 
It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.
He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.
He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.
“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.
You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.
“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.
You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”
He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”
“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”
He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.
The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.
“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”
His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.
It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 
You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 
Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 
You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.
Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 
Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 
He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”
“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.
“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.
It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 
He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.
It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”
You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”
“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.
You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.
He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 
He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 
Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 
“You need to rest,” he chides softly.
“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”
“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”
“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”
He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”
That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”
“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”
You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”
He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”
“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”
You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.
3K notes · View notes