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silkscream · 10 months ago

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CHAPTER 2: HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He feels you shake. Earth-shattering, the feeling of you. Like you’re breaking the sky for him. It roots something deep inside him that wasn’t there before. Something blooming between violence and gauzy ecstasy. It knots his stomach until he breaks, too.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: smut (18+ mdni), virginity loss, protected sex (yay!!), fingering, satoru is annoying

ੈ✩ wc: 4.4k

ੈ✩ a/n: SMUT TIMEEEEE! one of my fav chapters just because it's so sweet. title is from the first taste by fiona apple. i'd love feedback <3 if you just comment about updates i will summon mahoraga on you.

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

July, 2008

In front of you, the Gojo estate sprawls out. It's oversized and sukiya-style, adorned with gardens full of hanashobu. When you were younger and more naive, you daydreamed that your wedding ceremony would happen in such a place. The idea makes you feel silly now.

You now find the gargantuan display of wealth a bit repulsive, despite growing up here.

The emerging summer heat makes the back of your knees feel sticky already. You had opted for a simple shirt dress, light and linen, and robin’s egg blue, thinking Satoru would like the color.

God, this was stupid. He wouldn’t be paying attention to the color of your dress — he’d be much more concerned with what’s underneath. The thought makes your stomach flip, birds and wasps flurrying in your diaphragm. The kiss you’d shared hadn’t left your mind for days. You wonder if it was the same for him.

You're surprised that he's there to greet you himself. Otherwise, you would've let yourself in. He smiles at you, looking unfairly handsome in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s not wearing his sunglasses.

“Look who decided to show up.”

You hum in greeting, brushing past him to move toward the stairs.

“Eager, are we?” he teases. “You didn’t even get me flowers.”

“You have a whole garden of them outside.”

“They’re much prettier when you arrange them, Twigs.”

He cocks his head to the side, eyes lingering on an ikebana sitting on the foyer table. You had arranged it last week. You sigh, immediately regretting your decision until he pushes you lightly on the small of your back. His cologne is sharp under your nose. Has he always smelled this good?

It didn’t occur to you that Satoru would ever wear cologne. He’d always smelled like plain soap, white musk. Boyish sweat after he’d play in the courtyard with you.

You follow him up the long staircase and into his bedroom. It’s plain as it always was — neutral colors and traditional paintings on the walls, courtesy of his mother. The only difference is that a king-sized bed replaces the tatami mat he’d preferred as a child.

You try not to look at him, instead, inspecting the bookshelves. You'd read half of his stack by the time you were twelve. Since then, it seemed that Satoru didn't continue an interest in reading the same way you had.

There’s a small photo peeking out of a book — you recognize the top of your head. As you pull it out, you see the two of you grinning in front of a lake. You are eight years old, freshly toothless, and your pigtails are unruly.

“I miss your braids, you know,” Satoru murmurs. He laughs when you jump a bit at the realization of his presence. The coolness of his palm settles on the nape of your neck. You used to tease him about that — how he’d stalk the hallways like a cat and catch you off guard. You thought he’d ought to wear a bell.

“You just liked tugging on them to piss me off.”

“You’re cute when you’re pissed off,” he shrugs.

You wonder if he can hear the echoing brag of your heart. You can’t blame the heat for how you feel, with his house being the perfect temperature of all times. He’s so casual in his T-shirt compared to you. You’re briefly self-conscious about whether your dress is tacky or garish. Too feminine with its floral pattern. You hadn’t worn the thing in years.

As if he’s read your mind, he calls your name and tells you that he thinks you look pretty today. He beckons you into his lap again.

This time, you sit next to him, too anxious to touch yet. He smiles at you again, cat-like, but sweet. Not teasing in his usual manner.

“You can kiss me, you know.”

“I— I know,” you frown. “I don’t need your permission.”

“Then what are you waiting for, Twigs?”

You close your eyes, pausing in front of his face as you notice his breathing get uneven. A subtle push forward makes you stop against a wall.

“You did not just use your Infinity—”

“Sorry,” Satoru laughs. “Still a little mad that you lied about your technique to me.”

You look at him with wide eyes, bottom lip trembling. Something between shame and self-effacement.

“I’m messing with you. Promise. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Despite that, there was never really any hiding from him. Even though you aren’t as close as you used to be, Satoru is somehow still intuitive to how you feel. It’s why he touches your jaw and curls a lock of your hair in between his fingers. He knows his gentle touch would make a shiver run down your spine.

He kisses you, finally. The way your mouth immediately parts to welcome him makes his stomach stir, a spark to ignite a fire. It’s curious and soft, and when he hears you mumble please when he pulls away, he succumbs completely.

His hand settles on your waist, then your thigh. The crux behind your knee. He doesn’t want to move too quickly despite his desperate desire. Your sweet sounds are making him boil over. It’s all so delicate, hanging on by the thinnest thread, and he doesn’t want to scare you away like a timid animal.

You melt into him, grasping the front of his t-shirt with enough eagerness to surprise him. It occurred to you that you liked surprising him this way. You enjoyed getting him flustered. As you feel his warm palms smoothing the flesh of your thighs, the skirt of your dress is already bunched up.

The sound of him groaning in your mouth is addictive. Even more so when it’s your name between his lips.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

“Yes?”

“I–I want–”

Want you to eat me. Want to stay in your lap.

“Gone speechless already?” he teases, brushing your nose with his despite your glare. “You don’t have to be all shy with me.”

You’d imagined being in his lap like this before, warm and fervid. Dream-like. But it’s more real than anything else, especially when you can feel his hardness underneath you.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Satoru’s voice is strained, raspy. There’s an unsung hymn inside of you somewhere, some cruel and divine power deep within that wants to tear him apart. Hearing him like this makes your pulse quicken.

“I want to,” you whisper. His eyes widen, snowy lashes flickering in surprise as if he wasn’t the one to invite you over. As if he wasn’t the one who had beckoned you into his lap and kissed you first. He’d argue that you’d tempted him if he had the strength to tease you again.

You have the urge to hide inside of him, consume him. There’s a question in the flicker of your eyes when you touch his inner thigh. Your eyes are wide.

Satoru makes a sharp inhale. He’s nervous – more nervous than he’s ever been in this kind of situation. It isn’t like he does this often despite his reputation. With you, it’s something entirely unprecedented.

“Kiss me again,” he says. You do. For a bit, you let the feeling of him wash over you, and then you try something new. Your teeth are at his neck. The nip of your incisors against his throat makes him groan, the sound inciting something wild in you.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

You nod.

He doesn’t undress you, not yet. He merely snakes an arm in between your thighs, gasping at the wetness that’s gathered at your core. Fuck.

“You can lean into me,” he rasps into your hair. “Make yourself feel good.”

You mewl – a helpless sound. A small rock of your hips grants you friction against his hand, but it’s not enough.

“You’re teasing me,” you whine.

“But you like it, don’t you?”

He smiles. Devilish again, like his usual self. He knows you’re a bit repressed, like him, but in a way that’s reserved. He wants to see you come undone, enjoys the begging tone of your moans too much.

Satoru skims his fingers along your thigh, wetting the skin with your slick. He pulls your underwear to the side to find your clit. The pressure of his fingers against it makes you shiver.

Your eyes close as you sigh. You can’t look at him – can’t remind yourself that he can see your face like this, falling apart in small breaths. The coil in your stomach aches.

“Tell me how it feels.” His voice is low, his breath tickling just beneath your ear.

“Good,” you reply, breathless. “Feels really good.”

He wants to ask for permission, but he can’t help it. The sight of your mouth parting in pleasure is so much. He wants to see how your face contorts when he touches you in different places. You have always been his favorite toy, haven’t you?

Without warning, he pushes an index finger into you, stifling a groan at your reaction.

“Want more? How do you like it?”

“I don’t– I don’t know?”

“You don’t touch yourself, Twigs?”

“Satoru, just– oh.”

You’re so wet around him. So tight. His cock throbs at the idea of being inside you.

“Another one?”

“Mhm.”

“Open your eyes. Want you to look at me.”

Your lashes flutter as you gasp into his mouth. He looks at you intently, mesmerized. Your hips jerk, grinding into his lap when he uses his thumb to circle your clit again, this time in a steady rhythm with two fingers inside your cunt.

Satoru exhales into your mouth, his jaw slack and moaning softly as if he’s being stimulated as much as you are. In a way, he is, from the friction of you in his lap. He thinks he might just cum in his pants from watching you. He’s never been this pent-up before.

You finish with a quiet gasp, clutching Satoru’s shoulders as you bury your face into his neck. When you pull back, he’s wonderstruck, eager to kiss your cheeks and your jaw and the space above your collarbone. His fingers, still wet with your slick, enter his mouth. He curses softly. You flush at the sight of his lips all dewy with the taste of you.

“Can I take this off?” He pulls at the hem of your dress. The sound of his voice shakes you back to Earth.

You nod, helping him slip the fabric off of your body.

It’s almost as terrible as it is tantalizing to be so vulnerable in front of him. Bare enough for him to make his mark on you, claiming you forever. You suppose he had done that long ago without you realizing.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he coos. He soothes a palm over your waist.

“Naked, you mean?”

Satoru laughs. Eyes hazy, summer blue. “Yes. But you’ve always been beautiful.”

You want to retaliate with something, ease your nerves with a joke, but the tenderness of his voice renders you speechless.

“Your turn,” you breathe, tugging at his sleeve.

When he rids himself of his shirt and sweatpants, you notice he’s as pale as moonlight. Smooth porcelain and filled-out muscle. Rigid. What happened to the lanky boy that used to pull on your braids?

“Got a staring problem?” he goads.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe if you lay back for me.”

You swallow. You listen to him. He looks at you, your hair fanning out on his pillow, your body bare and ripe for the taking. Satoru sits in front of you and coaxes your legs apart to kiss your knees, the back of your thighs. You mewl when he bites, nipping at you the same way you’d done to his neck.

“Look at you. So fucking pretty. Wanna eat you out.”

You have half a mind to say thank you, but the moment passes. You’re too fixated on the way his eyes trail down your body. How the brevity of his words makes you feel flayed alive.

When he kisses you a little too close to your core, you whine in protest and pull at his hair in a fit. He looks up at you, feigning dejection.

“I’m sorry, baby. What is it that you want, hm?”

Baby. Baby.

“Come kiss me.”

And he does, but it’s more violent this time. He doesn’t hold back on showing you how much he wants you, how badly he’s obsessed with you after seeing you fall apart so sweetly for him. The supercut of it will reel in his head long after this. He’s sure of it.

Satoru laves his tongue over the places on your neck that he’s bitten, and descends to your chest until he hooks his teeth around your nipple. He groans at the sound of your moan. His hands are still roaming, palms gripping the taut flesh of your thighs as he grinds lightly into your body enough for you to feel his hardness.

He wants to give you more, so he teases the swollen nub of your clit again with his fingertips and is delighted to feel that you’re even wetter than before – if that was even possible.

“Satoru!”

“Yes?”

Your breathing is so irregular that you can’t put your desire into words. Not without it tainting you with shame, at least. You plead with big eyes, but Satoru wants to tease you a little more. You wonder if it’s in his nature to be so cruel.

“Use your words, Twigs. What is it? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, kissing your temple. “You want a condom?”

You close your eyes, nodding, trying to savor the way he makes you feel and not the terrifying vulnerability that rots in the pit of your stomach. It’s all too much, much more than you had dreamt out, but you’re here now. You know there’s no going back. You know that when you open your eyes to see his soaking in so much light, looking at you with adoration, you wouldn’t want to go back anyway.

He’s quick to prod your entrance again. You nod slightly to permit him, clutching him like a lifeline.

“Let me know if it hurts too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses you hard, consuming you as a distraction as the head of him enters you little by little. You’re wet enough to not feel any resistance. When he’s pushed to the hilt of you, he moans against your mouth. He drinks up your exhale, trying not to consider it a painful one as he runs his fingers through your hair lovingly.

It’s a strange pain. Something of an ache in the core of you, twisting at your insides in a way that also feels like crushing ripe fruit. A delicate sensation as much as it is rough. Satoru is gentle in his movements, brushing your hair out of your face. He looks at you with utmost admiration.

“Is that— is that good?” you whisper.

“I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?” he says. You feel the rumble of his laugh against your chest. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little. But it—it feels nice.”

He slides his cock back to thrust into you again, slowly. It’s almost languid, lazy the way he slips back into you like the two of you have just woken up from a dream.

Satoru wants to be intentional with how he fucks you. Even within these past minutes, he’s convinced he’s gotten your reactions down to memory. He’ll be able to touch you in all the right ways the next time you fall into his bed. But if he’s intentional, if he fucks you the way he truly wants to, he’s worried it’ll be too much. Everything he feels for you is too much at the moment.

“Relax for me.” His voice is smooth as butter. Your reaction is a hot knife. You notice that for the first time in a long time, in front of you, his face is blushing pink. It makes your walls tighten around him.

He rolls his hips against yours. It’s ecstasy—the feeling of you encapsulating him in lust, in softness. The drawn-out whine that tumbles out of your mouth makes it all worthwhile as Satoru thrusts with the smallest bit of intention. Softly, lovingly. After a bit, his length begins to make you feel full without all the pain. Skin kissing skin. Insides fluttering.

You don’t notice the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. The pain subsides, but the pleasure stokes the fire in your stomach until it devours you completely.

He hitches your right leg higher, ankle past his shoulder. He feels so fucking reckless, but he’ll satiate you the way you deserve—sweet and painless and passionate. The way your bottom lip trembles is making it so fucking difficult for him to stay gentle, though.

He moans your name and it reminds you of yourself. Of your body, of inhabiting it and being consumed by your best friend who is not your best friend. And you love him, you realize, but it’s a worthless feat to think about it too much during your first time. You can at least play pretend while Satoru is inside of you, as he looks at you like he’s the one in love with you.

He bites at your neck as he ruts into you a little faster. He’s so deep that you think you might go brainless—dizzied with pleasure, overflowing with thrill.

“So fucking tight,” Satoru groans. He pushes up his body now, settles himself on his knees as he holds your thighs firmly. “Look at you. My pretty girl.”

“Satoru—” you whine, feeling too exposed, too bare with him hovering over you like this—“Oh, my god—”

You’re pushed over the edge when he thumbs at your clit again, your cunt tightening around him at the feeling. You look beautiful like this. Tears of an angel. It distracts him a bit, how pretty you look, until he realizes the power he holds over you. Knowing that he’s taking.

“Too rough, baby?” he coos, leaning over to kiss your cheeks, licking up your salty tears.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “S’good. Feels good.”

He’s pushed against you again, head buried into your neck. He pulls at your hair gently, angling your face to look at him. Noses touching. Mouths sharing air.

“Gonna cum,” you whine into a kiss. He groans at your admission, pulling you taut against him as he adjusts you both to your sides. He lifts your leg over his, rolling his hips harder, and the angle makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” he curses. His eyes are wide open, mooning at your face as you cum, and he can feel his release burying inside you to the hilt.

Even after you’re both spent, he’s greedy, still hard inside of you as he continues. Lazy movements, half in tandem with your ragged breaths. He grins at you then, breathless at your blurry gaze. Kisses you sweetly like a shared promise.

The comfortable silence falls between you as you swap kisses. You hum against his lips, caressing his jaw. Your eyes blink at the sight of rain outside his bedroom window. A light drizzle despite the orange sunlight.

“Hm,” Satoru purrs. “We brought the rain.”

“What, with an orgasm?”

“I’m pretty sure you had more than one.”

“You’re so obnoxious,” you mutter.

“And still inside you,” he grins.

He pulls out when you make a grumbled sound, contrasting the melody of his laugh. He has half the mind to take a picture of you like this, sprawled in his bed like a painting. He’d keep the image of it in his wallet if he could.

Instead, he goes to the bathroom to bring you a warm, wet rag and cleans you up. He’s able to catch his breath as he rubs his hands over your bare thighs. You’re changed, glowing, yet your face is so familiar. The same one he’s been fond of for years. The shift inside him aches.

Satoru isn’t sure what to do. Usually, he’s inebriated at this point, and the sex closes with a heavy, dreamless sleep after midnight. The sun shower outside has calmed down, barely there, and afternoon sunlight floods the room. He’s more awake than ever with your presence. He’s surprised you haven’t gotten up to get dressed or made some excuse about leaving. He realizes he doesn’t want you to.

It feels normal when he falls into bed with you after just touching your skin, slips into a sweet afternoon nap. Hours later, you make him dinner. He makes you cum again.

September, 2008

You don’t understand Satoru’s affinity for sugar. You would think he had an addictive personality the way he consumed sweets – you’re surprised he isn’t addicted to something worse, like cigarettes.

Lately, he’s been complaining about craving something sweet before he fucks you. He licks his lips as you share the same mango-flavored popsicle in the courtyard of his estate. Juice dribbling down your chin. It doesn’t take him long to get you knee-deep in the grass. He teases you, tells you your pussy is sweeter. The sweetest.

Other times, you have quiet nights. He watches movies with you in your room and has sex with you before you sleep. Over a few months, Satoru gets accustomed to how you sound when he touches you until he knows you inside out. Expert in the map of your body. Of the pillow-soft places he can tease to make you cum hard.

But he doesn’t take you out after. Or before. It’s always a rendezvous, the rest of the world dead to the both of you as you consume each other. A paradise restricted to a bed. He gets you so dizzy that it doesn’t bother you. He kisses you sweetly on his way out to see his friends. He kisses you sweetly before he’s quick to slip out your door or send you out on his own.

It’s perfect for him. You’re perfect — you feel it.

Satoru likes that you’re so pliable. He can say anything he wants to you and you’ll take it. You’ll even moan for it.

Sometimes he can be mean, sometimes he has tears rolling down your face, but he always kisses them away. He likes that you let him cum in your mouth.

He especially likes that you’re good company outside of the sex. You’re the only mind that gets him besides Suguru. It’s why he likes spending time with you when everyone else is busy. Even if he’s practicing his techniques and you’re splayed on the grass, reading a book.

It’s what you’re doing now. He’s convinced you’re trying to tempt him today. At the moment you’re wearing the pleated skirt from your school uniform, despite it being summer break. The July heat made it unbearable to wear pants. It was laundry day, too, but Satoru insisted on having you come over.

“Come play with me, Twigs,” he calls after you. You look like a dream in your little tank and little skirt. Bare legs with imprints of grass patterns.

“I’m reading.”

“Just because you have a healing technique doesn’t mean that you can’t practice combat.”

“Shoko doesn’t,” you scoff.

“Shoko is going to cheat her way through med school. C’mere, I’m lonely,” Satoru whines.

You’re not as good at fighting as you were when you were children, able to at least wrestle with Satoru and have equal footing. Even then, you didn’t have enough cursed energy to fight like a true sorcerer like Satoru.

But you are getting the hang of it, bleeding cursed energy that flickered a gauzy aura around you. Satoru wonders if it’s just his six eyes that make you look so beautiful in front of him. So soft.

He ends up pushing his weight on you by the end, anyway. He revels in the way you groan, annoyed at him for pinning you down. He knows what’s on your mind from the way you lift your hips for him almost involuntarily. It’s how he has you melt in his grasp, skirt hiked over your stomach as he bullies his cock into you. You’d been asking for it since you looked at him, your teasing eyes peeking from above your book.

He finishes on the small of your back like he always does. Licks over the hickey under your collarbone, too.

You ground him. At least as much as Suguru does, but differently. He’s clear-headed after he cums, laying with you skin to skin. It reminds him that he’s human rather than a god-like prodigy. He keeps you like a pet, never wanting to let you leave him, insisting on stroking through your hair like you’re a cat.

“This has to be some form of kidnapping,” you mutter, one afternoon in his bed. He’d kept you for at least 36 hours, this time. You would never hear the end of it from your mother.

“I can always go to your house.”

“I wonder if this is codependent,” you say. You scrunch your nose as he nuzzles his to yours.

“Nah,” Satoru hums lazily.

“You don’t think so, Satoru?”

“There’s a time limit for me to hang out with my best friend?”

His quip makes your heart pang. You ignore it.

He’ll release you when he feels like it. He knows well enough that you’d rather stay in his bed all day, anyway. He’s too wrapped up in you to think about how it may be cruel.

You stay long enough that your staycation with Satoru bleeds into his usual weekend plans. This includes a movie night with Suguru, so you join.

Satoru picks something raunchy, of course. Something horrific and exploitative in a way that draws attention from its taboo. A cinematic car wreck that has your head spinning.

He whispers in your ear, teasing you, calling you baby whenever Suguru goes to the bathroom. He has his hand on your thigh, fingertips under the blanket, and close enough to your core to make you dripping wet.

And then, as the movie progresses, you tuck your body towards Suguru, who shares your distaste for such violence. Even if it’s fictional. As Satoru watches his worlds collide and sees the way Suguru’s fox eyes light up at your banter, something odd flickers inside him.

When the new semester starts in the fall, he doesn’t look at you as he walks past you.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #juijutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 4 months ago

Note

Ya know?

I haven't seen much Adam angst around here lately.

In Eden, Lucifer and Adam were talking to each other casually as Adam played with some mud and rocks.

Lucifer: Adam-

Adam looked up: Yes, Luci?

Lucifer internally: Here goes nothing.

Lucifer: I have a new game for us to play.

Adam: Oh? What is it?

Lucifer: I call it The Waiting Game.

Adam: What's that?

Lucifer: It's a game I thought of a couple nights ago. Basically, you just sit right there, very still.

Adam sat as still as he could.

Adam: Like this?

Lucifer: Yes. Now, I will go around the entire garden, and if you are still sitting here when I get back, I'll take you flying. Sound good?

Adam: Okay!

Lucifer: Great! I'll start walking!

Lucifer walked off until he was out of Adam's sight.

Lillith: Ready?

Lucifer: Yeah, did you eat the apple?

Lillith: Every bite.

Lucifer: Good, let's go.

😭😭😭😭

WHHHHYYYY??!!?

Thank you I didn't need my fucking heart anyway. Lucifer you prick.

- Many hours later -

Adam pulled his legs to his chest: This game is taking a long time...... Where is he?

Adam fell asleep in that spot and when the next day came he didn't care if it cost him a chance to fly he needed to find Lucifer. What if he forgot about him?

Slowly, Adam got to his feet and walked around. He couldn't find Lucifer or Lilith anywhere.

Maybe they were playing hide and seek and forgot to tell him?

He looked everywhere and couldn't find him.

Adam: Did...... Did I do something wrong...?

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer x adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #guitarduck #ask

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thesimulationswarm · 1 year ago

Text

Garden of Earthly Delights - one shot

sub!Joel Miller x f!dom!reader

A/N: I've been sick and sort of in a feverish fugue state for a couple of days and I wrote this. Definitely inspired by reading this excellent sub!Joel fic by @haylzcyon, but it turned out quite a bit darker. So, welcome to my horny fever dream I guess? Summary: Joel gets dommed by a bratty shopgirl he meets in the Boston QZ and discovers a very unexpected side of himself Rating: explicit 18+ MDNI Word count: 3.5k Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, hard dom!reader, irresponsible dom behavior that would be abusive irl (don't dom people you meet on the street kids. And for god's sake, use active consent and a safe word), reader described as young and has hair, slapping, spitting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, premature ejaculation, cum eating, praise, degradation, pet names (good boy, baby boy, kitten, mama), submissive produce washing

Joel was tired, and hungry, and he wanted to go home. At home he had half a bottle left of some dark moonshine that approximated whiskey, and a day off tomorrow to sleep through its aftereffects. But his cupboards were otherwise empty, and he knew he needed to lay in some supplies.

Unfortunately, it was the end of first shift and half of the goddamn QZ was thinking the same thing. The line snaking up to the counter at the ration shop was moving slower than he even thought possible, and he shifted irritably from side to side. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to stand that didn’t make his whole body hurt.

Even more maddening, only one person was working the counter today. He was sympathetic with operations being short staffed, but that clearly wasn’t the case. He could see right past the greasy hair of the young guy doling out food, and another person was back there, just leaning against the wall. Looking bored.

He watched you as you idly checked your nails. He watched you as you ran your fingers through your hair. He watched you cock one hip to the side and lean down to pull a shiny red apple from a burlap sack, then toss it loosely back and forth between your hands. Like you had all the time in the goddamn world.

You were beautiful.

You were young.

You weren’t bothered one bit by the grumbling line of customers stretching down the street.

He fucking hated you.

Finally, he reached the front, throwing down a thick sheaf of ration cards. “Two loaves a’ bread. Cooking oil. And a couple apples,” he grunted out.

“Sorry, out of apples,” the gormless kid answered. Behind him, he watched as you lifted the smooth red fruit to your lips and bit down, hard, the flesh giving way with a gratifying crunch. You noted with satisfaction that it was a particularly good apple— tart, sweet, crisp.

The shop boy saw Joel glaring and shrugged. “Last one.” Joel looked over at where you stood again, one knee bent with your foot pressed oh-so-casually against the cinderblock wall. Beside you, the burlap sack bulged with the shape of a good dozen round, suspiciously apple-sized lumps.

A thin rivulet of juice dripped out from the fruit in your hand, sliding down the curve of your wrist. You saw him watching you, and you bent your head to run your tongue along your skin, lapping up every last, sweet drop.

You liked the way he was looking at you. An older guy, gray streaking through his dark hair and down his stubbled jawline. But fucking built, the solid shape of his shoulders stretching out the worn chambray of his work shirt. His eyes were narrowed, his strong brow pinched. The cut of his jaw practically vibrating with tension.

He wanted to kill you. He also, definitely, wanted to fuck you. Maybe both at the same time. And below all of that simmering ferociousness, there was a hint of something else in his big brown eyes. Something that definitely interested you.

He’d been halfway home when a FEDRA sweep forced him back in the direction of the shops. He wasted a good hour waiting for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds in body armor to “clear the area,” then finally got back on his way.

He was deep in thought, thinking about a smuggling trip he was planning for late next week. Wondering if the soldier he was bribing for intel was too far gone on oxy to be reliable anymore. He didn’t want a repeat of last November, inches away from being gunned down as his crew sprinted across what was supposed to be an unguarded field at the edge of town.

So he didn’t see you coming until you were only a couple yards in front of him, walking home yourself— bag of apples slung over your shoulder.

When his eyes flicked up, finally, you’d stopped walking and were standing there in a wide stance with one hand on your hip. You saw the way his eyes widened briefly, then narrowed again, shining darkly as you watched him watching you. You ran your tongue around the perimeter of your lips, and his gaze followed its slow swirl.

Then you reached into your bag and pulled out an apple. You gave your arm a desultory swing and let it loose. It bounced to the ground, rolling toward his boots, then came to a stop just an inch away from him.

He looked at the apple.

He looked at you.

“Thought you might like a taste.”

The loathing that poured over his features was so intense that for a moment, you thought you might’ve misread things. But no, you could see it there in his face again. That bloom of need.

This poor, beautiful man needed to be taken care of.

And sure enough, you watched as he crouched down there in the street to pick up the apple. You watched as he straightened himself up, his knees crackling audibly.

“Good. Now take a bite.”

The apple, tasty as it was sure to be, had just rolled across the godforsaken ground of Boston QZ. Across dust and ash and human detritus, ground down to a smudging blackness that covered every surface here. He didn’t even know why he’d picked the thing up, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to put his mouth on it.

He shook his head, lip curling in a sneer.

“Don’t think so, honey.”

You tutted softly, walking forward to close the gap between you. He held the apple down at one side, the other hand hooked into his belt loop. Shoulders squaring up to you as you neared. Even as he was doing it, he felt like a fool. What exactly did he have to prove to this bratty little shopgirl? And why wasn’t he walking away?

“That’s really too bad,” you said, letting your words drip slowly from your mouth. “I thought you were gonna be a good boy for me.”

You were right in front of him now, close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened.

“‘Cause I know how to take really good care of good boys.”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t understand why, but his cock had swollen to half-mast just from crouching down to pick up that apple while you stood over him. And every time you spoke he felt more warmth pooling in his groin. He wasn’t sure if he was going to have to pay for what you were offering, or if you’d do it for free. But he knew he wanted it, unexpectedly, very badly.

He clenched his hand around the smooth skin of the fruit, and against his conscious judgement he felt his arm lifting it up toward his face.

You watched him moving, his eyes still closed, a smile slowly spreading across your face. As the fruit approached his gently parting lips, you reached up to grab him by the wrist, stilling him. You could feel the jump of his pulse below the rough skin.

“Not so fast, boy.” His eyes blinked open, their soft brown blown out to black. “I think since you’re being so good, we can go back to your place and get that apple nice and clean for you. And then you can show me how pretty you are when you eat.”

His place was nicer than many, a handful of rooms that were worn but clean. Functional furniture, a radio, a shelf with books. He clearly was doing okay for himself. The ones who needed this the most usually were.

He led you inside with a nervous energy that told you he hadn’t done this before. He’d surely brought women to his apartment, with those broad shoulders and that roughly handsome face. But never someone like you. And he wasn’t sure what to do. He stood in the living room, still holding the apple in one hand, his other hand clenching and opening at his side.

You looked him up and down. “What’s your name?”

You saw him hesitate. Wondering if this was a good idea— if you were a psychopath about to rob him or worse. But then he swallowed.

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you purred. “Do you have soap, Joel?” He looked blank for a second, then nodded. “Then go and wash that filthy apple off like a good boy.”

He paused again, and then gave a bewildered shake of his head before walking off toward the kitchen. There was a table in the room, across from an unmade bed. You pulled yourself up to sit on top of it, resting your feet on the seat of a battered old chair, and waited.

Joel returned after a minute, holding the now damp and glistening apple. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Or his body. He held the fruit out to you, watched the bored way your eyes ran down his form as you sat there.

You made a soft tsk. “I see a speck of dirt. Better try again, boy.”

Joel looked at the spotless apple, then back at you. His heart felt like it was going to beat right through the wall of his chest.

He hated you.

And he wanted to hear you call him a good boy again.

He stalked off to the kitchen and stood by the sink, carefully running the damp, soapy washrag back and forth across the smooth, hard peel. The apple was a deep red, flecked with burgundy. Joel held it up in the light that filtered through his window, turning it in circles to inspect for any blemish. When he was satisfied, he carried it carefully back to you. Despite himself, he could feel his brow draw up, his expression pleading, as he offered it again.

You gestured desultorily at the table beside you, and he set down the apple gently. You ignored it.

He was uncomfortably hard now, straining against the too-tight denim of his pants. You looked down at the thick shape of him, and raised a single eyebrow.

“I think you better take your clothes off, kitten. Before you make a mess of yourself.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You watched as he unbuttoned and zipped down his fly, the relief washing over his face as his cock sprung free and bobbed up toward his stomach. You had to fight to keep your face impassive as you took in the sight— you were impressed by the sheer size of him, thick and long and richly veined. The swollen head was stained almost purple as the blood pulsed through him, slick from where he’d been weeping against his boxers.

You had a good feeling about this one. A very good feeling.

“All of your clothes.”

You waited, arms crossed over your chest in a posture of impatience, as he slid all the way out of his pants and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the curving planes of his muscles and the dusting of dark hair. A little soft right around his tummy and thick thighs, the perfect counterpoint to everything that was hard and rigid about him.

He saw how you were looking at him, and he moved toward you, desperation painting his face.

“Please, baby— I—I need you,” he stuttered, his dark eyes wide and desperate.

Your hand slapped across his face, hard and fast.

He stumbled backward, stunned momentarily as his hand flew up to cup his stinging cheek.

“Did I tell you you could speak?”

Part of him wanted to throw you against the wall, and part of him wanted to fall to his knees and beg your forgiveness. He felt his cock twitch, growing somehow even harder, a thick bead of precum oozing from the slit.

You watched him, smirking. “I think you liked that, didn’t you, boy?”

A hot blush seeped up his neck as you looked down at his needy cock. He knew you were right. If you kept slapping him like that, looking at him like that, talking to him like that— he’d come harder than he ever had in his life.

“Now,” you said, pointing down at the floor. “Kneel for me.”

Joel lowered himself to the hardwood floor, unconcerned with how his knees were going to feel tomorrow. He watched as you pulled the fabric of your skirt up around your waist, revealing a thin pair of cotton panties, sopping wet where the fabric ran between your legs.

“See what you can do for me when you’re a good boy?” You ran a finger up and down along the slick cloth, ghosting over the shape of your slit.

Then he watched, mesmerized, as you slid the underwear down your legs. Leaving your pussy bare, drenched, and just out of reach.

God, you were perfect.

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he stared at you, desperate for a taste.

You smiled. “It looks like you’re ready to serve me already. And you’re very, very lucky today. Because I’m going to let you eat me out, if you just ask nicely. Are you ready to ask nicely?”

He nodded eagerly. You noted with satisfaction that his face was loosening— the jaw no longer so tensed, the deep furrow between his brows softening. He was relinquishing himself to you, little by little. You reached down with one finger and tipped his chin upward, to look into your face.

“Okay, sweet boy. You can ask me now.”

“Please, please let me eat your pretty pussy,” he spoke, his voice hoarse with need. His eyes, looking up at you, were all pupil— hungry pools of black.

You nodded appreciatively, then you reached your hands around to the back of his head and pulled him into you. Your fingers threaded through the thick, salt-and-pepper curls, holding him tightly in place as he began to lick. His beard was scratchy against your sensitive skin, but his lips were surprisingly soft.

You gave him directions— how hard to suck against your swollen clit, how fast to draw his tongue through your folds— and tugged him by the hair to adjust his angle. You could feel the vibration of him whimpering against you.

“Good boy,” you cooed down at him. “Eating that pussy so good for me.” And he was, following your every instruction, responding to the subtlest tap and tug. Like he was born to do this. As you felt your orgasm building, you pressed him deeper against your core, squeezing him between your thighs. He was trapped, and clearly loving it. Below you, you could see the muscular swell of his ass, clenching as he thrust his hips up against nothing.

“That’s it, that’s it. Make Mama come like a good boy.” You pulled hard on his hair as you pressed your hips forward, toes curling, waves of pleasure crashing through you. He moaned just as loudly as you did, your cunt spasming against the press of his hot tongue.

You took your time catching your breath, still holding Joel by the hair. When you finally pulled him free of you, the sight was delicious. Skin blotched and red, your glistening juices smeared everywhere. Hair tousled and sticking out, breath coming fast and hard.

You smiled down at him.

“Don’t worry, pet. We’re not done yet. Now—” you pointed over at the unmade bed—“you’re gonna be my little toy. You’re gonna lie down over there and let me ride you.”

Joel felt a rush of relief at the thought of you finally touching his achy, leaking cock. He nodded up at you, rising to his feet. The sheets of the bed were cool and smooth against his flushed skin.

You took your time, sliding down off the table top and languidly stretching your arms out. Enjoying the way Joel looked lying there, waiting for you with his giant erection jutting up into the air. Finally, you made your way over to the mattress and climbed up on your knees, straddling him.

Your sweet cunt was hovering in the air, inches above the tip of his cock. You paused there, and smiled condescendingly down at him.

“Beg me for it, little boy.”

“Please, please, please.” The words spilled out of his lips, his voice cracked and shameless.

“Please what?”

“Please ride me. Please fuck yourself on my cock like it’s your little toy.”

You reached down and wrapped one hand around his thickness, the grip sending sparks through his body. Then you began to slide his head along your drenched lips, wetting it down. Instead of moving him toward your entrance, you guided the tip to nudge against your clit, and began to tap it against the swollen nub, again and again. His poor, sensitive cockhead was so engorged by now that it hurt, and he whimpered each time you pressed against him.

Then, finally, you slid him down to the hot, wet center of you. You drove your hips down, throwing your head back as you filled yourself with him. He could only fit halfway in your tight little pussy on that first downward thrust, and you whined as you reared up and down again, spearing yourself on his cock. He felt his thighs shaking as you pushed yourself further and further down, until finally he bottomed out inside you. You paused there, letting yourself settle around the heavy length of him.

And then— fuck— he felt that familiar warmth growing in his abdomen, his balls tightening upward. His face screwed up, as he tensed and fought to pull back from the edge.

“Oh, poor boy,” you said, smiling down at him as you began to move your hips in a slow, easy roll. “You’re trying so hard not to come, aren’t you?” The warm slide of your pussy was unbelievable, and Joel’s mind scrambled for something to distract him— think about work detail, plumbing repair, fucking baseball, anything.

“But you can’t hold back, can you? You’re not even gonna make it another minute in this tight little cunt, are you?” You were right. Of course you were right. He grabbed fistfuls of bedsheet in each hand, gripping as hard as he could, knuckles going white as he fought against his hips that wanted to thrust, thrust, thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut tight.

His eyes flew back open as a spray of warm spit hit his face.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Your voice jolted through him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he moaned.

“Tell me you’re sorry for coming so fast, you filthy little boy.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m a filthy little boy and I’m going to come.” The words poured out of Joel, his hips bucking uncontrollably as the electric warmth spilled over. “I’m sorry Mama, I’m coming, I’m so sorry, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He began to shoot into you, spurt after helpless spurt, coming so hard he thought for a second he might pass out.

It was only when his cock and his hips finally stilled that he realized he was crying. Hot tears rolled down the sides of his face to pool against the sheets.

You leaned down, stroking your hand along his stubbled cheeks. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay baby. Mama forgives you.” You slid yourself off his sticky, half-hard cock and moved forward, still straddling him. Your soft hands gently combed through his messy curls.

“Don’t worry, baby boy. You can clean up this mess and I’ll be good as new.” Your hips pushed forward, and you pulled one hand back to hold yourself open, showing Joel where his milky seed was dripping down between your folds.

He nodded, looking up at your encouraging smile. His tongue slipped out between his lips, and he took a first, tentative lick along your slit. The sweet tang of your slick mixed with his own bitter, salty spend.

“That’s a good boy. Clean it all up.” He lapped at you, gathering speed. His tongue pressed inside you, curling against your walls to release every last drop.

Finally, when you were satisfied he’d done his job, you pulled away. He released his mouth from you with a mournful groan, and you sat down against the head of his bed.

You looked him over from head to toe. He was a fucked out mess of a man. Flushed skin, limbs sprawling. Sticky cock still swollen against his thigh. Lips slick with his own come, and yours.

“Come here, sweet boy,” you murmured softly. You pulled his head into your lap, cradling him there as you gently petted him. “You did good. Close your eyes, Joel. I’ve got you.”

His eyes drifted shut, and in less than a minute he’d fallen asleep. Dark, deep, dreamless sleep— the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

When he woke up, it was morning and you were gone. On his table, you’d left the core of an apple, its sweetness slowly turning brown.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #sub!joel #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou smut #divider by cafekitsune

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florvaine · 1 year ago

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giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of old-school love with shoto todoroki <33.

he’s sneaking out of his house to see you late at night just to cuddle up with you laying your head on his chest in your bed, no need for blankets because he’s using a small amount of his fire quirk to keep the two of you warm.

there’s no phones, so he’s sending letters to you everyday. even if you’ve seen him and spoke to him, you still receive a long letter, delicate words carved out in black ink, crafted his love for you into words with his bare hands. they’re tied with twine, a small, pressed flower encased inside the careful folds of the yellowing paper.

every week there’s a new bouquet at your doorstep. even when the two of you were in u.a, and he was slightly more reserved, your parents would still bring up a vase with a smile and comment on him being sweet. nowadays, he would knock on your door and give them to you personally.

every now and then he’s purchasing clothes or products for you - this can range from a dress you were eyeing up in the window of a yellow-walled shop, or a pair of loose slacks you mentioned months ago. perfumes that remind him of you, jewellery that, in his words, ‘don’t even come close to being as beautiful as you are’.

you want to see a new movie? he’s got you, and he’s brought all the snacks the two of you can ever want. casual bike rides? once you stop at the top of the hill, he’s not looking at the breathtaking view of the tiny town, but instead your face and the look of tranquility in your eyes. new vinyl you want? it’s wrapped in a brown-paper with a short note taped to it.

your laugh is contagious, as well as your smile. he’s showed more tenderness when he met you, his sister noticed.

the rain doesn’t stop him nor you, either. todoroki would happily run down drenched streets with you, hand in hand and twirling you so the hem of your soaked dress flows upwards at the movement. and then he’s pulling off his jacket to drape over your soggy torso.

he’d 100% place his coat down on a puddle so you could walk over it without dirtying your new scarlet heels.

and by god does he swear that he is the happiest, luckiest man in the world when he proposes to you.

“will you marry me, let me be your husband?” and then he’s sliding the indestructible metal loop on your ring finger with a tear-soaked kiss to your knuckles afterwards. there’s a shimmering gem, your favourite gemstone, that you mentioned once nearly a year into your relationship.

the wedding is extravagant. he took care of the venue after you talked about where you wanted it to be. besides, it was both of your days - but mainly yours.

he cried happy tears when he sees you, clutching a bouquet of red, white and grey flowers in a floral, silky wedding dress with a trail that tsu and ochako have to hold up so you can walk. your veil is long and lacy, but he can still see your face and styled hair. even katsuki can’t hold back a quivering smile.

the vinyls he gifts you get used, after moving into a cosy little cottage house on a hill with a open, emerald garden with acres of apple and peach trees. the two of you sharing glass after glass of port as the music blasts from the corner of the room. and then, he’s whisking you up from your seat on the sofa and you’re slow dancing. todoroki noses at your cheek and you can feel him smiling as he presses his lips against yours in a wine-tasting kiss.

but he’s scared when the doctors bring up the chance of you being pregnant. as frightened as he is at the idea, he’s by your side every step of the way. at your bedside whilst your in labour, letting you cut all circulation off from his fingers and shout curses at him.

and he waits patiently as his little girl is being cleaned and wrapped up, using his ice to cool you down, his hankercheif to wipe sweat off your face and tucking baby hairs behind your ears, kissing your forehead and muttering sweet nothings of encouragement.

when he holds your daughter, he swears that for as long as he was alive, she would not have a father like his.

and even after the time changes, as his daughter grows up, he still finds himself more enchanted with you by the day. he finds himself admiring every forming wrinkle on your face, the silky silver strands in your hair. but your eyes are as gorgeous as ever, and you still have the spark that you did when you were younger.

once your daughter leaves for collage, a bittersweet goodbye, the two of you move. and now the two of you are that sweet elderly couple that sit together in rocking chairs on the porch, overlooking and waving with smiles at others going through the same.

“(y/n)?”

“yes, love?”

“do you want to go on a walk through the park? i heard it’s delightful during autumn.”

“of course, give me a minute to grab my coat, hun.”

old love with todoroki shoto <333.

#*{ ‘. florawrites<3 #fluff #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #anime #anime fanfic #anime x reader

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years ago

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Title: Seek

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Divorcee! Reader

Summary: You are forced to share your hiding spot with one incorrigible cretin—Joel Miller. But, maybe that’s not so bad.

Word Count: 8,369

Warnings: 18+ Only, Fluff, Comedy, Shameless Smut, Breeding, Pre-Outbreak, Intoxication, Fluff, MINORS DNI!

A/N: a little peek at the night Joel and the Reader first got together. AKA that time Sarah played matchmaker with two grown adults. 😂 enjoy! divider is by @firefly-graphics

“Hello, neighbor.” The low, sultry drawl, makes you swallow tightly. Oh God. You’re glad your hands are stuck wrist deep in the dirt, otherwise they’d be shaking. You take a few tries to school your features into what you hope is a casual smile, and not a grimace of abject panic as you glance over your shoulder at him.

“Hey, Joel.” Your ruggedly handsome neighbor leans against the fence, folding his thickly corded forearms over the pickets. You offer him the sincerest smile you can muster. God his fucking sleeves are rolled up—you fight the urge to ruin it by sinking your teeth into your lower lip. His eyes flick down, and then back up to your face.

“You doin’ some gardenin’?” You don’t know why, but the quirk of his lips makes your stomach knot.

“Y-yeah. W-well, you know. I thought I’d get outside today, since it’s been raining so much.” You say, sticking the spade into the dirt as you turn to face him. You’re acutely aware of the mud on the hem of your yellow sundress now, and you know he must see it too. Goddammit. You feel like every time you talk to him you embarrass yourself—especially now. Nervously and out of habit, you touch your thumb to your ring finger through the gloves, feeling its absence.

Before, at least, you’d had Howard as a buffer, though Joel had never much seemed to like your husband. Ex-husband.

“Mm, yeah. Hopin’ it stays nice, you know Sarah’s birthday’s on Saturday,” He says, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the pickets. “Comin’ up fast.”

“Oh yeah,” you say, nodding with a smile. “I’ll have to bring something over. Wait—she doesn’t do dolls anymore, right? She’s too old for that now.”

“Dolls? Damn kid’s asking me for a phone,” Joel mutters darkly, smoothing a frustrated hand down his face. “A phone.” You can’t help but laugh. “Anyway, I wanted to, you know, let you know you’re invited. Whole neighborhood is, we’ll have games and food. The works.”

“Oh, sure!” You’re not sure why you’re nervous. It’s not a special invitation, it’s open to the entire block. Still, you feel an apprehensive sort of giddiness growing in your tight stomach when he smiles at you encouragingly.

“I’d love to come, I’ll um, I’ll bake something.” You pass your tongue over your lips, and Joel’s eyes follow the movement, lingering before his eyes dart back up to yours. Imagining things. You’re definitely imagining things. You’d have to be—you’re a thirty-something year old divorcee with little to show for it other than the fixer-upper Howard had been glad to leave you. You’re not hot-single-neighbor material.

“That’ll be great.” He fixes you with another boyish smile and you hate the way your stupid stomach tightens when he does. “Sarah loves your apple crumble.” You try to hide your bashful smile behind one of your gardening gloves.

“Joel Miller, you know better than to lie to me over my own fence,” you chide, and he chuckles.

“Yes ma’am I do,” he says, winking at you as the corners of his full lips turn up underneath the mustache. “That’s why I told the truth.” You cluck your tongue at him, and begin gathering your gardening tools into the wide wicker basket you keep them in. You heft them up with a grunt, and he shakes his head.

“Looks heavy. Let me give you a hand.” Before you can protest, he’s jogging around to the spot where your fences meet, and slipping in through the open gate.

“I-I can handle it,” you protest meekly as he holds out one calloused hand, beckoning with his fingers. You step back a little defensively, hesitating. “I carried it all the way out here from the shed by myself.” Joel merely raises an eyebrow and lifts his hand a little higher.

“I know, Sugar. You’re a big girl, you can do it all by yourself,” he says in that filthy smooth baritone. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” Flustered, you let him have the basket, brushing hopelessly at your dress as you follow him to the backyard shed.

“Well, it’s just me, so,” you scurry forward to pull open the door, and you watch him place the basket on the dusty work table. You’re not much of a crafts person, beyond the occasional gardening DIY, so it’s gone mostly unused since Howard moved out.

“I’m real sorry about that, by the way,” Joel says, dusting his hands off on his jeans. The look of pity on his face makes you shift uncomfortably. “But I can’t exactly say that I’m sorry he’s gone.” You laugh. The sound is brittle. Like my marriage was.

“Don’t be.” Joel’s fingers trail across Howard’s old work-bench, leaving lines in the dust as he inspects it.

“Oh, hey,” Joel says, leaning over. He reaches underneath bench and pulls something bright yellow out from underneath it. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters. After a confused second of squinting, you realize it’s a staple-gun. “Knew he never returned this.” Your face burns with embarrassment as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The result, no doubt, of one of Howards many unfinished DIY projects, the ones you always seemed to end up cleaning up and finding space for in the basement.

“God, he’s not even here and Howard’s still embarrassing me,” you say. “I’m sorry, I would have given it back if I’d known.” You watch Joel shake his head.

“That’s not on you. Besides, I’ve got it back now, so. No harm, no foul.” He tucks it into the waistband of his jeans before stepping out of the little shed and closing the door behind him. He smiles at you again, and you swear the only thing keeping you from melting into a puddle of jelly is the force of your will alone.

“You let me know if there’s anything around the house that needs doing. You cleaned your gutters since Howard left?” He asks, and your face burns again as you hurriedly shake your head.

“N-no,” you admit. “But you really—I don’t want to put you to the trouble, Joel.”

“S’no trouble.” He says with a wink, heading for the back gate. “I’ll be by tomorrow. You’ve got a ladder, don’t you, Sugar?”

—

You’re in your pajamas when Joel shows up, bright and early. The sound of the doorbell jolts you up from the kitchen table, where you’d positioned yourself so that you could see the television through the doorway. Watching the morning news rather mindlessly while you had your coffee was your new morning routine, and though it felt a little lonely and empty, it was certainly better than screaming matches with Howard about how inadequate of a wife you were to him, so you relished it.

You realize belatedly that the tie for your robe is upstairs as you’re fumbling with the locks, pulling open the door with an exasperated Hello before you realize exactly who’s on the other side of your front door.

“Howdy, neighbor.” That southern twang—the one you don’t have—is like syrup, each syllable running smoothly into the next as it slides pleasurably into your ears. You’re sure the heat rising in your chest and neck is due to your own embarrassment as you unsuccessfully try to tug the flaps of your robe shut with one hand. It’s definitely not because Joel is looking at me funny.

“J-Joel, I—morning,” you say, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears self consciously as you offer him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t, um. I didn’t know you’d be over so early. I thought you, um. Liked to get a, a late start in the mornings.”

“That’s true,” he says, nodding as he tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. “But I can get up for the important things.” He rocks forward on to the balls of his feet, the leather on his boots creaking. “So, Sugar, where’s that ladder?” You feel warm when he looks at you, so warm you’re surprised steam isn’t whistling out of your ears like a kettle.

“In the, um, in the shed.” You turn to head back into the house, but stop. “Do you need me to—” He meets the glance you shoot him over your shoulder with a stern lift of his brow.

“I got it. You go on and enjoy your coffee, now.” Joel tips his head at you, and then reaches forward to pat you just above your hip. “Go on. Scoot.”

The screen door swings shut behind you as you turn smartly to do as you’re told, and it’s only when you’re two steps into the kitchen that you realize your hip is still warm from where he touched you. You shiver.

Joel’s just friendly.

You repeat that back to yourself dozens of times as you shower, dress, and ready yourself for the day. It’s embarrassing, but you don’t have much to do now that you don’t have Howard to pick up after. Stay-at-home-wife was just another word for nanny to him, and now, five years into your marriage and ten months post divorce, you’re still struggling to find a way to fill your time. You can live off the alimony, sure, but you want something more meaningful to do, even if it doesn’t pay much.

Joel is still up on the roof by the time you come back downstairs, but you aren’t down there long before you hear him tapping at the kitchen window. You unlock the back door, and the sight of Joel leaned up against your doorframe greets you when you open it. He’s busy toeing off his muddy workboots, but he glances up at you with a lopsided smile.

“Mind if I clean off? I’ve got to head to the site after this.”

“Totally, sure, um, you remember where the bathroom is?” You ask, and he nods.

“Down the hall to the right, innit?” He asks over his shoulder, and you nod. His arms and cheek are splattered with the same muck that you assume has been clogging your gutters, and you feel even guiltier knowing he has to head to his actual job after this. Where are my manners? You ask yourself guiltily, hurrying to fetch a glass from the cabinet. You don’t have any food you can offer him, but you go for the peach iced tea in the fridge and pour him a tall glass. He’d come over and done hard work for you, and you hadn’t even offered him something to drink.

Shameful, your grandmother’s shrill voice hisses at you through your memories. Just shameful. No wonder you couldn’t keep a man. With your teeth set into your bottom lip, you head for the hallway, intending to head Joel off before he gets to the front door.

You aren’t expecting to crash headlong into him.

“Shit!” You curse as cold tea splashes against your chest and the glass in your fingers tumbles to the rug. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t get you, did I?” You look guiltily up at Joel and your heart seizes in your chest. He’s shirtless in your hallway, his face and chest damp and his t-shirt balled up in one fist. Logically, you know it’s because he obviously can’t go to work covered in gutter-crap, but you can’t think about that now, not when you’re following the happy trail starting at his belly button all the way down the waistband of his pants and God fucking dammit I’m staring like a creep—

“No, Sugar. All dry,” he laughs, interrupting the rambling chain of your thoughts. “Can’t say the same for you.” He gestures down at your shirt before shrugging into his own. “Was that sweet tea?” Joel asks, a mournful note in his voice.

“Yes—let me get you another glass,” you say quickly, bending over to pick up the fallen glass before you rush back into the kitchen. Clumsy, stupid—you put it carefully in the sink before fetching a fresh cup from the cabinet, and you fill that one too. “Joel, I—oh.” You turn to call him into the kitchen, only to find him right behind you. His smile is slow syrup the way his voice is, and you find yourself feeling like a knock-kneed teenager at the sight of it.

“That for me?” Joel asks, and you nod wordlessly, unable to form words around the hot lump of embarrassment that forms in your throat. “Thank you, Sugar,” he purrs, plucking the glass from your limp fingers. “I was powerful thirsty.” He tips his head back, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the scruff of his beard as he swallows.

You’re grateful for the refrigerator against your back, because you know you’d slide right down to your tasteful linoleum tiles in a heap without it when he lets out a satisfied moan. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and then chases the stray droplets with his tongue.

“Should bring a whole pitcher of that by the house when you come by on Saturday. Folks’ll go crazy for it.”

Your brain is still short circuiting from his closeness, the smell of his cologne, the sight of his tanned, perfect chest—so you just nod dumbly, your lips slightly parted as you stare. Closing mouth in three, two, one—

“Uh, um. Yeah. Tea.” Jesus fuck, why is my mouth so dry? You stumble over the words, feeling like there are a hundred glass marbles in your mouth as you try to pronounce them properly. “So, um. Saturday?”

“Saturday.” Joel hands you back the glass, and winks. “Don’t drop it this time.” He pauses in the doorway, tapping his hand against the frame a few times. “And you’ll let me know when I can come by to cut that grass, wontcha, Sugar? Needs mowin’.”

I absolutely will not. “Sure thing. I-I mean, you don’t have to, really—”

“Just bein’ neighborly is all,” he calls over his shoulder as the screen door swings shut behind him. You watch the top of his head go by the kitchen window before you slump against the refrigerator.

“Neighborly.” You mutter in disbelief, pinching the bridge of your nose. You make your way back upstairs to change your shirt—the tea is starting to get sticky against your skin.

—

By the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve almost talked yourself completely out of attending.

You should not be this nervous about am eleven year old’s birthday party, you chastise yourself, shifting from foot to foot as you wait for someone to answer the door. There’s music coming from the backyard, and you can smell food, and the charcoal from the grill. You step back a little as the door opens, and you’re both surprised and relieved to see it isn’t Joel. And you’re glad for it, considering you’ve been studiously avoiding him.

Sarah greets you with a friendly smile, waving you inside. “Mrs. Leeman, hi!” She closes the door behind you. “Thank you for coming! You didn’t have to do that,” she says, gesturing at the covered apple crumble and sealed jug of peach tea in your hands. Sarah moves to take one from you, and you hand over the jug gratefully. “But this is way better than the cake uncle Tommy got. He went to Penny Saver.”

You laugh. “You’re welcome. I wasn’t exactly sure what to get you,” you admit, “but your dad said you’ve been wanting a phone?” You ask, and she rolls her eyes, starting towards the kitchen. You’ve only been here once or twice, to use the bathroom the few times Howard had deigned to take part in any neighborhood festivities. She sets the jug on the table.

“Ugh, yeah. But he says I’m too young.”

You lean in conspiratorially. “Well, how about I join team get Sarah a phone and try to help convince him, huh?” Carefully, you place the crumble on the table. “I’ll pay for your first month.”

Sarah’s eyes brighten. “Really? Yeah, oh my God that might actually work! Thanks, um, Mrs. Leeman. And for the crumble too, I asked special.”

“Just ‘Ms’, now,” you say with a little laugh. Sarah’s smile widens a little, turning up at the corners like she knows something you don’t know. And it isn’t Leeman anymore, either.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry,” she says, and you can tell she’s really trying to pour on the sincerity. She’s good—but she’s not that good. “I forgot you’re single now.” You quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” You answer slowly. “Kind of a weird way to put it, but yes?” You chalk it up to teenage awkwardness, watching amusedly as Sarah plucks the candles out of the admittedly generic cake Tommy bought, and presses them into the crumble instead.

“Everybody’s outside,” she chirps, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Uncle Tommy, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, my dad,” she adds. “You should totally go say hi.” Casting another suspicious glance at Sarah, you make your way over to the back door. Once your eyes adjust to the bright summer sun, you see that Joel’s backyard is chaos; every kid in the neighborhood is there, along with most of the families in your corner of the cul-de-sac.

You pretend you don’t immediately spot Joel on the grill, his sleeves rolled up as he chats with his brother. You’ve only met Tommy once or twice and only in passing, but you remember him just fine. Your eyes meet, and he leans over, elbowing Joel. He says something too, but you’re too far away to hear it. Joel begins to turn around, and you hurriedly busy yourself at the punch bowl.

God, this is pathetic. You berate yourself as you spoon out punch into a little paper cup. Just say hi, you stupid idiot. You feel stupid and giddy around Joel, like a middle-schooler with her first crush only worse, because you’re two decades past the expiration date on this behavior. Not to mention he’s your neighbor.

And God knows you aren’t the best at reading signals—it had taken you years to realize that your marriage, your relationship, was dead in the water. Joel isn’t interested, he can’t be. At most, you assume he feels a sort of half hearted pity for you. I’m like the one-eyed cat at the shelter.

“Hey there Judy, thanks for comin’.” You hear Joel’s voice behind you, and you tense—He’s coming this way. You chance a glance over your shoulder and swallow audibly. He’s making a beeline right for you. Is it too late to go back inside? You know the thought is futile, it’s most certainly far too late for that.

“Hi, I mean, you know, welcome to the party,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets after an awkward moment of holding them out, almost like he was going to hug you and then thought better of it.

“Yeah, Sarah was…enthusiastic about the cake.” You’re trying to think of a word to describe her weird behavior. “Maybe a little too much,” you laugh a little. Joel shakes his head and mutters something under his breath you can’t quite make out—“damn kid sticking her nose in where it doesn’t—” Before he shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Kid’s a mystery to me sometimes,” he replies with a huff. He squints, like he’s looking for her in the crowd. You follow his line of sight right to Sarah, laughing with her friends.

“She’s a good one.”

“Lord knows,” Joel sighs. “I was raising hell at her age.” He turns back to you. “I’m really glad you could make it.” His smile is so bright you’re forced to look somewhere else, for fear of going weak in the knees.

“N-no problem. I’m, um, I’m happy to get out of the house,” you admit. “I’ve been kind of… I don’t know. Bored? Since Howard left.” You look down at the punch cup in your hands. “Is that weird? I don’t miss him or anything, I just… I guess I never realized how much time he was taking. Wasting.” You shake your head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No, no, please,” Joel looks at you almost imploringly. “I don’t mind.” He leans against the table behind you. “I’ve been there. Losing yourself is surprisingly easy. It’s the finding yourself after that’s hard.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Listen I—”

“Joel, you wanna serve burnt burgers or what?” Tommy calls from the grill, pointing at the thick smoke curling up from it. Joel curses.

“Dammit, Tommy—I’ll be right back.”

He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and you swallow back the unexpected disappointment at the interruption. It’s probably a good thing though, you think to yourself as you spy Tricia Gibbins, also newly divorced, eyeing you with a scowl.

You offer her a weak smile in response, before turning back to your drink. Joel’s a hot commodity, and you know you’re not the only single woman in the neighborhood with eyes. Joel has an easy sort of confidence about him, the kind that comes from working with your hands and being good at it. The kind that isn’t unearned.

As Joel averts the crisis at the grill, you mingle. Chatting up the neighbors you haven’t really seen since the divorce. It’s awkward at first, but you get over that quickly enough. It’s oddly comforting, feeling like you’re part of the community at large again, instead of the weird shut-in with the mean husband. Oddly, Joel keeps finding reasons to be close to you, joining in the conversations you’re having as he sidles up next to you, offering to refresh your drink each time you finish it. And when he brings out the crumble from the kitchen—much to Tommy’s chagrin—he thanks you specifically for providing it, and your cheeks heat as you duck your head, embarrassedly enduring the round of applause that follows.

If Gibbins didn’t hate me already, she definitely does now.

You help cut and serve it, trying to ensure each partygoer at least has the option of having a piece. As Sarah wolfs down her piece after blowing out her candles, she and her friends share a conspiratorial look.

“We were thinking of playing a party game, dad,” she says, cocking her head at him. “Kids versus grown-ups.” Joel takes a sip of his beer, cocking his head skeptically.

“And what game would that be, young lady?”

“Manhunt! Come on, dad, please? Everyone really wants to play!” Sarah gestures eagerly at the gaggle of kids behind her, pushing and shoving and giggling nervously as the adults look them over. Sarah rocks excitedly back and forth on her tip-toes as her father debates it. Sarah looks at you imploringly.

“Please? Last game of the night, I promise! You’ll play, won’t you?”

“Ah hell,” Tommy curses, finishing his beer before slinging the empty bottle into the trash-can by the picnic table. “Why not? Used to play this all the time growin’ up.” He casts a nostalgic look at Joel before elbowing Sarah conspiratorially. “Every summer I used to whoop your daddy’s—”

“No lying to the girl on her birthday, Tommy,” Joel replies with a chuckle, and you laugh too. “Fine then. Who all’s playin’?” Hands go up, all across the yard, and Joel nods as he takes stock of them. Howard would have insisted on leaving right about now, your charitable appearance over and done with. But Howard isn’t here to make the decision for you, and you find yourself raising your own hand, too. Perhaps it’s the warm buzz of the beer settling into your stomach making you foolish, but it’s a warm summer evening and you feel… good.

“Ground rules—nobody leaves the block, understand? No hidin’ in strangers yards.” Joel delivers the rules sternly. “

“We were thinking… we’ll seek. Time limit?” Sarah asks, suddenly all business as she leans back to consult her friends, now apparently her war-council.

“Thirty minutes.” Joel replies, holding out his hand. Sarah shakes it exaggeratedly, grinning at him. She holds up two fingers, gesturing between the two of them. “And you’ve got to find everybody to win.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” She calls over her shoulder as she jogs toward her friends. “You’re going down!” They’re all clustered around the side of the house, some of them already counting. You’re already thinking of the perfect hiding place, where the rosebushes meet on the left side of your porch—it’s impossible to see from the sidewalk. The participating adults are already splitting up, heading in different directions to try and outlast their children.

Giggling, you hurry back across the street, casting a suspicious glance around before you duck down behind your rosebushes. It’s silly, you know, but… it feels good too. Like you’re actually enjoying yourself instead of pretending to. Howard never would have approved of this—These are children’s games, come on—but he isn’t here, and you don’t need him to. The thought makes you practically giddy; Howard is gone, gone!

And he isn’t coming back.

You lean back against the porch, ducking lower as you hear the sound of approaching voices. As you reach back to steady yourself, your hand brushes against another. You gasp, loudly, and whirl around to see Joel, looking equally surprised. It looks like he’s come around from the opposite side of the house, staying low underneath the roses, just like you. You open your mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger, pointing behind you.

“I heard something! I think one of the grown-ups is hiding over here.” You wait with baited breath to be discovered, but the gangly teenager on the other side of the bush doesn’t come all the way up the porch steps, stopping halfway.

“Whatever, I don’t see anybody. Let’s look by the Simmons’ place!”

The sound of your gravel crunching under sneakers gradually recedes, and you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were there,” you whisper apologetically, and Joel laughs.

“Well you know. Great minds, and all that.” He scoots closer. “Do you mind? I can risk finding another spot if you do.”

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. Maybe it’s the beers, making you foolishly confident, but you… want him to stay. “There’s room enough for the two of us.”

“You’re damn right there is,” Joel replies. “Grass is tall enough that we could stand in it.” You pretend to be shocked, raising a cartoonishly offended hand over your heart.

“Oh, is that how it is, Miller?” You ask. “You come over here, barge into my hiding spot, and then insult my grass? I’m pretty sure them’s fighting words, around here at least.” He edges closer, close enough that when he settles down into a sitting position, his thigh presses against yours.

“It’s almost calf high, Sugar,” he says seriously. “That’s dangerous.” You try to look sufficiently scared, and Joel smothers a laugh behind one hand.

“Danger? Here?” You bring a hand to your cheek. “How dangerous are we talking?” He fixes you with a serious look, brows knitting together as he presses his full lips into a tight line.

“Very dangerous. Trip and falls, termites, biting ants—you know. Just to name a few things.” Joel is handsome, not a fact you’re unfamiliar with. But up this close… You can see the beginnings of salt and in his thick black hair, how his warm brown eyes are flecked with gold and green, the cinnamon spice of his breath—Fireball, he was drinking Fireball—

And how soft his lips are when they brush against yours.

You’re not sure how long it takes you to realize that you’re kissing Joel Miller. Later, when you look back, you’ll realize there’s a gap in your memory, a skip, a blank space spanning from the moment his hip pressed against yours until you feel the warmth of his hand on your hip through your jeans. It’s a chaste thing, a simple press of his mouth to yours, but the realization of what’s happening makes you gasp, pulling away. For once, you’re speechless, the nervous ramble that usually accompanies these moments is notoriously absent.

Of course it’s Joel that speaks first.

“I been waitin’ to do that for six months.” He breathes. And then he leans forward, gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, and does it again. You release your death-grip on the latticework beneath the porch, and instead tangle your fingers in Joel’s t-shirt. He mumbles something against your lips that you don’t understand before deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you sigh against him. Joel tastes like cinnamon whiskey, hops, and faintly of tobacco—likely from the cigarette you’d seen him bum from Tommy in secret earlier.

He tastes so good you could cry. Like beer and warm summer evenings, like catching lightning bugs in jars. He tastes exactly like you thought he would.

When you part, you’re both panting, staring wild-eyed at one another as the rest of the world filters back in. Joel lets out a little laugh, resting his forehead against yours. You like how he smells, too, sandalwood and leather.

“Six months is a long time,” you say after a minute, and he laughs. Somehow, you feel both validated and incredibly stupid at the same time. “And here I thought you felt sorry for me.”

“I did, being married to that prick,” he scoffs. “I hung over that fence every other day for six months, and you never thought—?”

“No! I thought, you know, you… really wanted to mow my grass.” You answer defeatedly, and this time Joel’s booms in your ears so loud you fear the children will discover you. You laugh too, and when he pulls you close to kiss you a third time, you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he pulls you practically into his lap. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you card fingers through his thick hair. You’re glad you’re sitting down, because the answering husky moan he releases would have brought you to your knees.

“Dad! Thirty-minutes!” The sound of Sarah’s voice shocks the two of you apart, and you scramble off of Joel, your cheeks burning. You peek through the rose bushes, pulling aside a bud to see Sarah, standing in the middle of the street. You snicker at the sight of her. She and her friends seem to have already rounded up the other adults, and, armed with water-guns, are escorting them back to the party. You can see that Tommy’s wet, and you wonder if he tried to outrun them.

“Time’s up,” she calls. “You guys win!”

“You stay here. I’ll go first.” Joel says with a wink. “I’ll see you back at the party, okay? And we’ll finish this… discussion.” He licks his lips.

You nod, not trusting your voice not to give out on you. You watch as Joel gets a very rules-illegal squirting with Sarah’s supersoaker, and you’re glad he took the bullet for both of you as they head into the backyard. Once you’re sure no one else is really watching, you creep out, brushing stray bits of grass and twigs from your clothes. Your face still feels warm, your lips tingling where Joel’s had met them.

There isn’t much “party” left when you let yourself in through the side gate, people cleaning up with trash bags. You begin helping, clearing the tables of plastic cutlery and paper plates. There isn’t really time to talk, not really. Every time he begins to, something, someone, needs his attention. As you’re tossing bags into the trash bin, Tommy comes up behind you with another load. You hold the lid open for him, and he ducks his head gratefully.

“Thanks. So, you and my brother, huh? Manhunt neighborhood champs.” He grins at you, and you feel your face heat.

“In my defense, it was my hiding spot first.”

“That tracks.” He laughs. ”And I’m not mad, even though you dethroned my cake.”

You grin. “Sorry. I was asked.” It’s easy to see that Tommy and Joel are related, you think as you chat. They have the same easy way of moving, the same slow drawl. You think of the way his lips felt against yours again and your face warms. It had felt so right to do in that moment, but now you can’t help but wonder if it had been a mistake.

“He’s droppin’ Sarah off at her friend’s place,” Tommy says suddenly. “In case you were wonderin’.” His knowing look makes you wish the earth would open right up and swallow you into the resulting abyss. It doesn’t though, and you are forced to shoot Tommy a painfully embarrassed smile instead.

“I, um. Thanks.” You tuck your hands into your pockets to stop their nervous twitching. Somehow, this feels like a higher-stakes interaction than any of the others you’ve ever had with Tommy, and you aren’t sure why.

“No problem.” Tommy dusts his hands off of his jeans. “And he’s… Stupid. My brother. But he means well.”

“I think that makes two of us.”

You finish helping clean up, hanging around the yard awkwardly until Tommy asks you if you want to wait inside. You shake your head. Joel’s probably realized his mistake by now, you think to yourself, shaking your head as you make your way back across the street. Keys in hand, you head up the steps and unlock the door. As it swings open, the blast of a car-horn makes you yelp, jumping as you press yourself against the doorframe.

Joels truck swings haphazardly into your driveway, and he’s half out of it before it even stops. He hops the little gate in front of your porch steps, taking them two at a time as he strides towards you with purpose.

“Sugar.”

“Joel, I—” There are a thousand thoughts, all jumping to reach your mouth first. You want to kiss him again, you want to run inside and hide until he leaves, you really want to kiss him again—

“I thought I told you to wait for me,” Joel says lowly, his fingers sliding through the belt loops on your jeans to tug you close against his chest. “Weren’t finished talkin’.” His mouth is against yours before you can answer, and he gratefully swallows your gasp of surprise as his tongue presses insistently at the seam of your lips. You are aware, on some level, that you’re standing on your porch, in full view of every watchful eye on your end of the street. However, your concern for your reputation is kept well in check by the feel of Joel’s hands passing hungrily over your hips.

His fingers skate up underneath the hem of your t-shirt, and you gasp at the feel of them trailing up your sides and over your belly.

“I-inside,” you say, the word muffled by his lips. You feel the corners of his mouth curl up against your cheek as Joel loops his arms underneath your thighs. You gasp as he hoists you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you inside. Joel kicks the door shut behind him before pressing you against the wall, fitting the hard planes of his body against the softness of yours. He fits so well in between your thighs, his jean-clad hips slotting against you perfectly.

You want to be ashamed at the way your hips roll into his, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs. His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back so that he can trail his teeth and tongue down the side of your throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, teeth catching at the shell of your ear as one hand cups your swollen cunt through your jeans. You feel like you’re on fire, heat running underneath your skin, sparking where Joel touches you. Your head is swimming, like you’re drunk on more than just a couple of beers. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck, and the throaty moan Joel releases makes your pussy clench down hard around nothing.

You drop your feet to the floor as his fingers play at the button of your jeans. He’s breathing heavy, hair askew from your attentions and eyes hungry.

“We can stop if you want to,” he says, his voice strained and husky. “You say stop, we stop.” You can tell he wants to do anything but stop, his thigh wedged between yours, and the half hard weight of his cock throbbing against you through his jeans. But you can also see he means it, that he’ll turn around and walk right back to his truck if you tell him to.

You hesitate, feeling Joel’s steady breaths against your lips as he waits for your decision. This is crazy, you reason. We’ll both regret this, and it’ll be awkward and we’ll never be able to talk to each other again—But what’s crazier is that you know you want him to stay. That you’re willing to risk it.

Maybe you’ll just be crazy for tonight.

“Stay.”

Joel surges, crashing over you like a wave. His hands—God, his hands—are everywhere, tugging up the rumpled hem of your t-shirt to cup your breasts through your bra, wiggling down under the waistband of your jeans to touch whatever skin he can—

“Y’know, Sugar,” Joel’s voice is simmering honey, is burnt sugar—“I don’t think we’re gonna make it upstairs.” You don’t think so either, not with his eager fingers tugging open the button on your jeans. Not to mention that you’re pretty sure that if he stops touching you, you might actually die. You’ve never felt this before, the all encompassing need that drives you to grind down against his proffered thigh, your hands fisting in his shirt.

Definitely not making it to the bed. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue as you feverishly work at the buttons on his shirt. You push them apart to touch his bare skin and he hums with pleasure.

He grunts frustratedly when there isn’t enough room for his huge hands in your tight jeans, tugging at them until they stick fast about halfway down your thighs. He anchors his hands underneath your hips, and you gasp as he hoists you up, taking a few wobbly steps towards the stairs. ��

He only makes it up three of them before he abandons the effort, setting you down. You let out a little giggle as your ass makes contact with the wood, and Joel sucks his teeth.

“Goddamn house. S’got too many stairs,” he mumbles against the side of your throat. The raspy burn of his beard against your skin is delicious as he trails kisses down your neck until he meets the collar of your shirt. “Take this fuckin’ thing off, Sugar.” Joel’s teeth tug at the fabric. He chuckles lowly when your breath catches. “Or d’you want me to do it for you?” You hurriedly tug your shirt up over your head—with Joel’s eager assistance—and his mouth crashes against yours as before it’s even cleared your hair.

Joel’s cinnamon and whiskey spiced kisses leave heat in their wake as he presses them between your breasts, pulling down the cups of your bra. He releases a pleased hum when your puffy nipples spill lewdly over the lace. The way he grins at the sight of them makes you want to combust, heat creeping up your chest and neck as he pinches them softly between his fingers. You whine, and he clucks his tongue at you, fixing you with a serious look.

“Don’t you rush me, Sugar,” he says, flicking his thumb against your nipple, and he grins when you wriggle. “Haven’t I been patient?” You’re hard pressed to disagree. His heavy lidded eyes go even darker as he laves his tongue across your nipple, and you whimper pathetically when he rolls it between his teeth.

“Yeah,” you pant as Joel taps his very patient fingers against the fleshy curve of your hip. You lift for him, and he hums with approval as he tugs them down your legs and flings them to the floor. “Practically a saint—ah, Joel!” Joel cups your pussy, clapping his hand against the fatty curve of it with a groan.

“If I were a saint, Sugar,” he drawls, pulling your panties tight until the puffy lips of your cunt pop out lewdly around them, “You know I’d never miss a day at this fuckin’ church.” He traces the shape of your swollen clit through the fabric with the rough pad of his thumb. “A-fuckin’-men.” The elastic band snaps against your skin as he pulls them off completely, your panties joining your jeans in an undignified heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Joel delivers a stinging little slap to your thigh that makes you yelp.

“Open.” You do, your cheeks burning as you spread your legs apart and let him see. He cards his fingers through his hair as a low “fuck” falls from his lips. He drags a thick, calloused finger up your slit, swirling the tip through your sopping folds. “Christ, Sugar,” he says, holding up his fingers so that you can see your own slick shining on them. You can’t look away as he lowers his head, his breath puffing across your heated skin. It’s only when he drags his tongue up your slit that your head falls back, and you curse at the ceiling.

“S’right,” he mumbles against your cunt, wrenching your legs further open. “Fuck, you taste good, baby.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you feel him chuckle against you before his tongue finds your clit and you loose a stream of curses and his name—

“Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, Joel—”

“Say it, Sugar,” his beard rasps deliciously against your inner thighs. “Let ‘em hear my fuckin’ name.”

It’s impossible to think. You’re fairly certain the amount of electricity currently thrumming through you would be enough to light up a whole goddamn city. Your thighs tremble in his grip and you can’t stop the shameful push of your hips against his face. And then you’re cumming with a pitiful little whine, tears gathering in the corners of your wide eyes. Joel pulls away from you slowly, wiping at his glistening mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with dark, lidded eyes.

“Don’t cry yet, Sugar,” he rasps. You can’t help but stare as he looses the buttons on his jeans with nimble fingers. The heavy weight of his cock pushes insistently against the plaid fabric of his briefs before he hooks his thumb under the elastic and tugs it down too. “Oughta wait till the good part, at least.”

Oh my fucking God.

Joel Miller’s cock is thick. Like a fucking coke-can with veins. He palms it with one hand, and your traitorous cunt clenches wetly as you stare. The head is red, angry and leaking, and you find yourself with the sudden urge to swipe your tongue across it and see how he tastes. You can’t stop your eyes from following the movement as he strokes himself slowly, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

“Want a taste, Sugar?” He purrs, the accent dripping down every vowel. You don’t have enough working neurons left to lie, and so you nod meekly, licking your lips. “Say aah for me, baby.” You open your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue a little and he groans, balancing one hand on the bannister and the other against the wall as he leans forward. You nurse at his head, wrapping your lips around it as he thrusts slowly. You work your way down his thick, throbbing shaft, stopping when his head taps the back of your throat.

“—gotta be fucking kidding me,” you catch bits and pieces of his mumbled praise, his fingers tangling in your hair as he holds your head still, enjoying the sensation before pulling out. You wipe at the spit on your chin as Joel pumps his cock, squeezing as his head falls back.

“If I wasn’t so determined to make a mess of that pussy, Sugar, I’d let you finish.” Joel sinks down to his knees on the stairs, cupping your chin with sure fingers as he kisses you, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You’re sure that tomorrow, you will find the time to be appalled that you’re here, like this, with your neighbor—

But there is no space in your head for it now.

Now, Joel is settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock sliding deliciously against you. And then fuck, he’s pushing inside, making your head fuzzy with that blissful, burning stretch.

“G-God,” you whimper, pressing your face against his throat, tugging at the skin there with your teeth as he seats himself all the way inside.

“Sorry, Sugar,” he mumbles the words into your hair, groaning as his heavy balls come to rest against you. “Best you got is me.” Joel draws out, taking all your air with him, before slamming back down, his hips meeting yours with a lewd squelch. You let out a choked gasp as he sinks his cock in to the base, his eyes rolling to half mast. His slow, steady pace is enough to make you see stars while your eyes are open, bright spots tattooing themselves against your retinas.

You don’t notice the hard bite of the wooden stairs into your back and the curve of your ass as you wrap your thighs around Joel’s hips. It feels so good, you’re drowning in it. In Joel. He knots a fist in the curls at the nape of your neck, tugging your head back. You let him, and are rewarded with his teeth and tongue scraping deliciously down the line of your throat.

“Where’ve you been hidin’ this pussy, Sugar?” The words are breathed hotly against the shell of your ear, followed by his teeth. “Why’d you hide her from me?” He punctuates his questions with a hard thrust that makes you bury your fingernails in the meat of his shoulder and sob. “Coulda been givin’ you your dick months ago.”

You’re not paying attention, not really, not when the white hot pleasure building at your core is all you can think about. You whine out an apology, not because you mean it, but because you think it’s what he wants to hear—and at this point, you’d tell him anything just to be able to crest the wave he’s been building inside of you. Fuck and you’re so full—

Every slow, heavy thrust punches the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whining as Joel takes you to pieces.

“H-holy shit,” the words stick to your lips and tongue as you struggle to get them out around the moans you keep trying unsuccessfully to swallow. It was never like this with Howard, this dizzying rush of pleasure that leaves you aching for more—begging for more, even if you’re not sure you can take it.

“P-please,” you keen, lifting your hips eagerly to meet his thrusts. “Please!”

“Please what, Sugar?” Joel asks teasingly, before dropping lis lips to yours. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it. “I’d tell you to use your big girl words but I know you can’t right now, can you Sweetheart?”

You cum with a sob, your back arching as you dig your heels into the backs of Joel’s thighs. They buckle, and he sinks down to his knees as you feel his cock throb inside you. Joel curses into your hair, both hands gripping the lip of the stair next to your head hard enough to drive the blood from his knuckles. You lay like that for a minute, panting on the stairs as you luxuriate in the sticky, warm afterglow.

Thank God for the pill.

All you can smell is the piney scent of his aftershave, tucked against his chest like you are. For a moment, you allow yourself to bask in Joel, your face pressed against his sweat-damp skin, the feel of his pulse thrumming beneath your cheek. You don’t know why, but it makes you think of mornings. Of waking up like this, tangled up in each other, of hot coffee and quick goodbyes over rushed breakfasts, of long nights—

“You okay?” Joel asks, leaning away from you. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s wearing a dopey smile underneath his scruffy beard. He cups your cheek, and you blink it all away, squashing those thoughts back down into your subconscious where they belong. He slips from between your thighs, and you pretend you don’t feel something like a suspicious cross between longing and disappointment.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You offer him a weak smile as you sit up, wincing. There’s an ache in your back from where you’d been pressed against the stairs, and as Joel tucks himself back into his pants, he grimaces, rubbing his knee. You let out a little embarrassed laugh. “Probably should have tried harder to make it to the bed, though.”

Joel fixes you with a sly smile. “There’s still time.” Your face heats and you sputter.

“I—”

“We can just sleep,” he says, chuckling. “Scout’s honor.”

It feels too natural to lead him upstairs, dodging stray hands as you fish a towel out for him from the hall closet. He starts stripping before you’re even out of the bathroom, and when he holds out a hand to you from the shower, you take it. Joel tugs you against his chest, tucking you beneath his chin underneath the spray.

“I thought you said we could sleep?” You say, peeking up at him through your lashes, a smile playing at the edges of your lips. Joel laughs, nosing along your jawline and pressing wet kisses to the corners of your mouth.

“Well we’re not in bed yet, are we Sugar?”

the end.

for now.

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller drabble #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us imagine #pre-outbreak #boxofbonesfic #Before | After series #fluff #smut

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blondeboyfriend · 2 years ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

« Part 1 [ PAIRING ] Dio Brando x f!reader [ SYNOPSIS ] Part two of Country Matters. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.1k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, friends with benefits, alcohol, dubcon (Dio's drunk, y/n is sober), exhibitionism, biting, hair pulling, rough sex, strength kink, degradation, a PINCH of sacrilege, creampie, no plot and a soft as fuck ending, not beta read.

“Too hot,” you groaned as you reclined between the geometric topiaries of your family’s country house garden.

You were resting on a particularly soft patch of lawn with a thick cotton blanket underneath you, dulling the razor sharp blades of grass. Your nightgown was hiked up to keep your legs cool. You looked like a starfish, limbs splayed out to catch the brief breezes. It was a compromising position to be in, but you could not have been more comfortable.

People were always wandering the grounds of your parents’ home. You were never truly alone there which was comforting and unsettling all the same.

That’s why you didn’t have much of a reaction when you heard rustling and watched as the symmetrical English yew bushes quivered. Red berries and needles fell to the floor, carpeting the ground with poisonous foliage. You closed your eyes and thought nothing more of it.

A voice cut through the silent summer night. “Do you always lead such an idle existence?”

You sat up in one swift motion, your body mirroring a right angle.

“Are you always a drunken creep?”

Dio stumbled out from behind the bushes, his leg getting caught on a yew root. He glared at you and before turning around, hiding his enraged expression. You gazed at his broad shoulders clothed in an ivory work shirt. It was made out of gauzy cotton, and embellished with pearlescent buttons and wisps of gold embroidery.

“How dare you?” He growled over his shoulder. “I came all this way!”

“You—you don’t… You live nearby! That isn’t the great feat you think it is!”

He shushed you yet his voice retained its heightened volume.

“You think someone as pitiful as you could understand what someone as illustrious as me thinks?”

You stared at him briefly before shouting, “Yes!”

He spun around.

“Fine!”

He sat down on your blanket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his ruddy forearms. Several buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing faint tendrils of chest hair. He reeked of whiskey and pipe tobacco. The bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks were pink from the unforgiving rays of the summer sun. You wondered what he had been doing all day.

“You’re so cruel. All I ever am is nice to you and this is how you repay me.”

You rustled his flaxen hair, letting the silk-like strands slide in between your fingers.

“If this is you being sweet, I’d hate to see what you being mean entails.”

“I never said I was being sweet.”

“Oh, excuse me, Master Brando, my sincerest apologies for so casually using a synonym in your… illustrious presence.”

“Don’t fret,” he said, tone completely genuine. “It will take time, but I, Dio, will be able to find it in myself to grant you my forgiveness.”

You gently flicked his temple with your thumb and index finger. He whined slightly before leaning into you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I came to you seeking comfort and all you’re doing is bullying me.”

“Did something happen?”

“Jonathan,” he hissed. “He wanted to go hiking. I don’t know what possessed me to say yes, but I did. And now I am suffering from the consequences of my actions.”

He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. His skin was varying shades of pink and red.

You covered your mouth trying to hide your amused smile. “Did you not have a shirt on?”

“I did, but it got too hot so I took it off. If I had known this would happen, I would have dealt with being sweaty. But that idiot assured me it’d be fine. I know he did this to spite me.”

You took your finger and poked his skin. He winced and jerked away.

“For once I would appreciate your pity,” he said softly, lying down.

“Fine,” you replied before picking a milky bellflower and tucking it behind his ear. “You poor thing. What brought you all this way?”

You nuzzled up against his neck and kissed him, his tender skin warm against your lips. He sighed as the tension seemed to melt away from his body. His arm weaseled its way under you; he held you close to his body. You inhaled deeply and took in his sweet, musky scent.

“I need to fuck you.”

‘You need to?” You asked, smiling.

He turned his head, staring you down with his copper-colored eyes. “Yes. I need to ruin you.”

There was something charming about his bluntness. You lifted yourself up and laid on top of him, rubbing your bare cunt against his clothed cock.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You asked flirtatiously.

“For permission, you dolt.”

“Oh… Uh, by all means. Go ahead.”

Dio’s large hands gripped your hips as you grinded up against him. You brushed his sweat-tinged hair out of his face and kissed him. You held his bottom lip between your teeth. Your heart pounded as your chest pressed up against his. It had been awhile since the last time you found yourself cloaked in his embrace. You weren’t going to let your nerves get the better of you.

He slipped his tongue in your mouth, rolling it against yours. The taste of his mouth was honeyed. It was intoxicating. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, humming with delight as your body writhed from the stinging pressure. You whimpered into his mouth as his grip tightened.

“It’s too much,” you said, breaking the kiss.

“Your body can take it,” he grunted as he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you back into the kiss.

Dio laced his fingers through your hair and pulled. The ache reverberated throughout your body. You missed his touch more than you realized. His erection throbbed against your cunt, practically begging to be inside you.

You tried in vain to remove his pants, but your hands weren’t coordinated enough to do much.

“Pathetic,” he teased.

He pushed you off of him and he undressed, freeing his tumescent cock. His muscled form was reminiscent of marble statues of the god, Ares, though with a sizable length. You sat beside him and stared wide-eyed at his erection. He smirked and stroked his cock, pulling back his foreskin to reveal his glistening tip. Every inch of your body sang with ecstasy. Even the subtle sensation of your flimsy nightgown brushing against your nipples was enough to send you over the edge.

“Is there any particular reason as to why you’re not naked?”

His impatience killed a semblance of your libido, but you had no intent on going through the evening unfucked. You lifted your nightgown over your head and folded it up, setting it beside you. He looked you up and down, his eyes sharp like a predator’s. He grabbed you by the shoulders and forced you onto your back. You were utterly powerless up against his strength.

He slipped his fingers between your slick folds and pushed three of them inside you. You gasped as they filled your cunt, stretching it out.

“You’re already gasping? Really?” He asked, his breath hot against your ear.

“C—can’t help it,” you winced.

“And why is that?”

He pushed his fingers deeper inside you, curling them upwards and pressing against your walls.

“Fuck!”

“Hmph. That’s not much of an answer.”

“It feels—shit—incredible.”

He seemed unimpressed with your answer. “You’re too easy. This isn’t even fun for me anymore.”

You gritted your teeth before lightly smacking him.

“I was only kidding,” he seethed, rubbing his sunburnt cheek. “You’re much too sensitive.”

“You know I hate it when you speak to me like that.”

“I never mean it.”

“And? I don’t appreciate it regardless. If you’re going to behave like that, do me a favor and leave.”

He smirked and pulled his fingers out of you before licking them clean.

“No,” he replied, giving your forehead a kiss.

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Me ne—neither,” he stammered as he led his cock inside you.

“No, no, no. I remember why,” you moaned.

The feeling of him thrusting inside you was more than enough incentive to suffer through his sharp tongue. Plus you knew deep down he did at the very least like you. Why else would he go easy on you when you played chess? Buy you boxes of fresh baked viennoiseries? Wander through poppy fields even though they always made him sniffly and miserable? Those were not the actions of a man filled with loathing.

“I’m going to ravage you,” he said as continued to thrust. “Drag you down into the furthest depths of depravity.”

He was talking louder than you preferred.

“That’s all well and good, but someone may hear you.”

“That’s what I want. I want them all to know what I’m doing to you.”

Your cheeks became flushed and embarrassment plagued you. Instinctively you shut your eyes and tried to forget there was an entire world surrounding the two of you. Dio however seemed to relish in it.

“No one will want to give you a passing glance once I’ve had my way with you,” he moaned as his cock grazed your cervix.

You were more than fine with that. No one piqued your interest quite like him.

“An—and even if they did, they’d never compare to me.”

You finally opened your eyes. “Is that so?”

He grabbed ahold of your jaw, his gaze wild and unfettered.

“I assure you no one else will ever make you feel this good.”

He pulled out his cock and slapped it against your clit with a wet thud. He could hardly contain his excitement as you whimpered his name.

“Louder,” he beckoned.

He rutted against you, pressing his precum covered tip on your swollen clit. You couldn’t help but shout his name. He let out a pleased groan and slid his cock back inside your weeping cunt. His thrusts were fast and deep, each one more lustful than the last. You wouldn’t say he was being totally sloppy, but there wasn’t much method to his drunken madness. It was as if he was caught up in a frenzy of religious fervor.

A symphony of his grunts and moans filled the garden. Part of you wanted to tell him to keep it down, but asking would be a thankless task. There was no way you could ever shut Dio up, especially not after he’d been drinking. Once he set out to do something there was nothing that could stop him.

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” he said, biting his bottom lip in anticipation.

“I feel like I'm ascending, like I could cry tears of joy, like I’m seeing god!”

Nothing you said was even close to a lie. Your entire body felt like it was reeling with sordid rapture. You tightened your cunt’s grip around his cock and wrapped your legs around him, locking him in place. He thrust into you harder and harder, almost as if he was fucking you into the ground. Your toes curled in anticipation of your mounting climax.

“Dio,” you whined. “I’m c—cl—close.”

Dio held his hand to your throat, though he applied no pressure.

“Look me in the eyes when you come.”

You nodded feebly, losing yourself in his harsh and intense gaze. You clenched your jaw as your orgasm surged through your body, enshrouding you in a sea of euphoria.

“Such a good girl,” he thundered. “I bet no one else has ever made you sound so heavenly.”

“Only you, Dio,” you cried out.

He went to speak, but was interrupted by his own orgasm. His back arched as his cock spurted ropes of thick cum into your cunt. His dark brows furrowed and buried his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder. You placed your hand on the base of his skull and held him close as his thrusts gradually slowed down.

“I missed you,” he said, voice muffled.

You giggled. “You can’t go a week without seeing me, huh?”

“Look at the trouble I get into when you’re not around,” he whimpered.

“That’s true,” you said, scratching his scalp. “I never would have let you do anything shirtless in the sun.”

He rolled off of you and his cum dribbled out of your cunt.

“This is why you can never leave me,” he sighed, looking up at the night sky.

“As if I would ever do something like that.”

He held up his sunburnt arm and frowned before sitting up. He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his head on them. He turned his gaze to you, softer than it typically was.

“You swear?” He questioned in a small voice.

You looked beside him at the bellflower that you had previously tucked behind his ear. You plucked it off the ground and returned it to its rightful place.

“Absolutely. But you have to grant me the same privilege.”

He smiled, not smirked, and said, “Only death could rip me away from you.”

#dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jjba x reader #dio brando smut #dio smut #jjba smut #jojo's bizarre adventure smut #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.jjba #.dio

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istaricelebelasse · 7 days ago

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Trick or treat!

Pippin had a Plan.

It was a Very Good Plan. It was a Cunning Plan.

It was the sort of plan that would make Gandalf turn that particularly exquisite shade of red.

(Despite what Merry might say, Pippin almost always intended to make Gandalf turn that colour. It was hardly ever accidental.)

He enlisted the help of Bilbo with his plan, for Bilbo was the sort of hobbit that appreciated hijinks and tomfoolery.

Bilbo had two of the most important parts in the plan, and that was equipping Pippin with a costume and casually bringing up the hobbit traditions for the end of harvest to their elvish host during dinner where all visitors could hear it.

He had managed to convince Frodo to join in, with liberal application of his puppy eyes and whingy voice, so that it was not just him wandering around the Last Homely House.

(Frodo joining in also meant that Merry felt left out, which meant he too joined in. Really Pippin amazed himself sometimes with how clever he was.)

(Sam had refused to. He told them that he would much rather enjoy his comfortable bed than participate in a tradition for Tweens and Faunts.)

Pippin thought he himself looked the most dashing in his outfit, for Bilbo had leant him a tunic he had bought from Erebor. Frodo wore a piece of armour that shone and sparkled in the light, while Merry was stuck in muddy clothes and borrowing a pair of Sam’s sheers.

(Why Sam had brought gardening tools into the wilderness was a question that even Sam could not answer.)

They chose an easy first target, Strider spent enough time with Bilbo to likely be aware of the Plan or at least spent enough time around the Shire to know of the tradition.

Merry was the one to knock on his door, and when Strider opened it with a grin was the one to call out the ancient refrain:

“Trick or Treat!”

Strider grinned back and, once again, threw apples at them. This time Pippin was rather proud of himself for catching them.

“Have a bountiful harvest, master hobbits!” He called out, before swiftly shutting his door again.

Likely he knew that Pippin knew he had better sweets in his room than apples and did not want to share them.

No matter, apples were not a bad start to the Plan.

The next door they tried was the Lady Arwen’s, for she had been close to Bilbo at dinner and seemed the sort to be well prepared.

“Trick or Treat!” Frodo called when the Lady opened her door.

Lady Arwen smiled, “What excellent timing! I had hoped for someone to share this marzipan with!”

And so it went on, each of their targets carefully chosen, and each of their treats gladly acquired.

Until one door remained.

Pippin would have rubbed his hands together in glee if he was not holding a bag of precious treats. The final door, the one he had been looking forward to.

He did not let either of the others knock, for this was his target and his Plan.

The door creaked open, only to show a dark and empty room.

The words stuck on his tongue - where was Gandalf?

“TRICK OR TREAT!”

The words boomed from behind them, and Pippin was not ashamed to say he let out the tiniest little scream as he jumped and turned around. Nor again when they were plunged into darkness until only Gandalf’s craggy face was lit up in red.

“I think I choose trick, my dear hobbits,” The wizard said with glee, “And so I do believe I have tricked you!”

Pippin narrowed his eyes and huffed as Gandalf laughed to himself.

Using wizard powers was blatantly cheating!

#pippin took #merry brandybuck #frodo baggins #gandalf #lotr fic #my fics #lord of the rings #halloween

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ghost-in-the-hall · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 8: Aphrodisiacs (Primo x Fem! Reader SMUT)

ITS FINALLY PRIMO TIME!! I've been wanting to write a fic for him for so long now but whenever I try it doesn't come out right. So, since I don't have time to obsess over every single detail of the fics I publish this month being perfect, due to the sheer volume of them, I figured this would be a good time to give it a shot. We fuckin this old man tonight, strap in guys, gals, and non-binary pals.

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+, mostly fluff because Primo makes me soft, confessed feelings, weed smoking, consumption of natural aphrodisiacs, reader rides Primo (we gotta be nice to his joints), blowjob, creampie, slight praise, just some good ol' love making, nothing too crazy, they just end up not being able to keep their hands off each other

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

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

"My dear, is everything alright? You've barely touched your tea." You were ripped from your thoughts at the feeling of Primo's warm hand coming to rest on top of yours. You blushed, giving him a small nod.

"Yes Papa, sorry, I was just thinking." You admit with a bashful chuckle. He slowly pulls his hand back, satisfied with your answer despite the fact he knew you weren't telling him the complete truth. You had planned this afternoon in hope of finally confessing your feelings for Primo. But, you would be lying if you said you weren't a little distracted by his mere presence. Despite his age and constant declarations that he no longer possessed the same vigor he used to, Primo was still a consummate flirt. His slow and careful movements had you aching for him to touch you; the way his finger would slowly trace around the rim of his tea cup as he listened attentively to you speak, when he would guide you into the greenhouse his hand would hover over the small of your back, his intense gaze trained on your smallest movements left you feeling more aroused with every passing second. When you would spend time with Primo he wouldn't allow you to even lift a finger, despite the fact that it was you who asked for his company. He poured your tea, he had arranged the charcuterie board, anything you needed during your time together he would take care of. You take a small sip of the tea Primo had prepared for you, an herbal blend he had made himself. The drink left you feeling warm from head to toe as you tried to not let your mind wander, despite your excited state, time alone with your Papa was something that should be cherished. You looked over the small board of snacks he had prepared for you; fresh figs drizzled with honey, the finest chocolates you had ever tasted, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds.

"Did you know," he starts with a groan, "that some believe that it was a pomegranate the snake offered Eve in the garden of Eden, not an apple?" You shake your head with a giggle.

"I didn't. Did you know that all of these foods are considered aphrodisiacs?" You rebuttal.

"Maybe I did." He responds casually, shitting you a sly wink that instantly gets you flustered. He motions for you to wait a moment, he stands and makes his way into a back room within his greenhouse. He returns a few moments later with an ornate pipe and small jar of marijuana. He returns to his seat with a sigh, meticulously pinching a good sized amount for him to smoke. He lights the bowl with ease, no doubt from years of practice. The soft haze of smoke fills your vision as he exhales. "Would you like some?" He offers.

"Please." You were hoping this could help dissolve your nerves, leaving you with no space to think of anything else besides the unbridled emotions for the man who sat across from you. You take the piece in your hands, locking eyes with Primo as you bring the end to your mouth. He lights the bow for you, waiting for your signal to stop. You inhaled deeply, the musky, earthy flavor and scent of the herb dominating your senses. Your eyes instantly grew heavy as the smoke filled your lungs, you leaned back in your chair as you slowly exhaled. Primo looks at you with a satisfied smile, watching as your high quelled your nervous fidgeting.

"Now, not that I don't enjoy your company my dear, but surely there's a reason you asked me to join you this afternoon." You could tell by the time in his voice that he had you exactly where he wanted you. You shouldn't have been surprised, he had stayed himself in the past that he's had Siblings fall for him over the years, you were sure that you were no different than any previous admirers. "Surely it wasn't to try and catch the attention of this old man." You can't help but involuntarily wince as he hit the nail right in the head. "Sorella…" he coos, your eyes trailing over to his features at the sound of his gentle tone. "Come here, little one." He pats his lap. As you step closer to him, he takes your hand, guiding you to a comfortable position perched across his thighs. "Tell your Papa what's on your mind, hm?"

"I… have a bit of a confession to make." You chuckle awkwardly. "Papa… Primo," you correct, feeling this wasn't the place for honorifics, "over the time that I've known you I've found myself falling for you. I'm sure you've had plenty of confessions from other Siblings, I know I'm not special, but I can't keep going around pretending that I don't feel this way about you."

"(Y/N)," his finger trails across your jaw, prompting your eyes to meet his. "I never want you to feel like you're not special in my eyes, fiore." He takes your hand in his, it felt as if sparks were dancing across your skin at his gentle touch. "I'm the one who should be grateful for receiving even a fraction of your affection."

"Papa, I…"

"Primo." It was his turn to correct you, shooting you a playful smile.

"Primo," you giggle. "I… I'm not really sure what to say." He pushes some stray hair behind your ear before his arm wraps around your waist.

"You don't have to say anything, my dear." He gives your waist a gentle squeeze. "We were already having a fantastic evening together. I don't see the harm in continuing that… maybe seeing where the night takes us from there." You can't help but squeeze your legs together at the thought. Being so close to Primo like this already had your body going haywire, the aphrodisiacs you had consumed definitely weren't helping either. He smirks at you suggestively as he realizes your ruffled state. Primo packed you another bowl doing what he could to try and ease your nerves. You spent the rest of the evening cuddled up in Primo's lap, the two of you laughing and smoking the night away until you made the mutual decision that your company would be greatly appreciated in his quarters. Primo had one of his Ghouls prepare a fire, the two of you getting nice and cozy on his couch. A little joint was passed between you as Primo hand fed you small squares of chocolate. You wanted to melt into him, the feeling of being fully relaxed paired with your accepted confession clouding your mind with thoughts of only your Papa. "You look absolutely divine in the firelight, my darling." Primo purrs. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your face lands in the crook of his neck, allowing you to revel in the smell of sweet incense, damp earth, and herb. You dared to glance up at him, his mismatched gaze finding yours as he felt your eyes land on him.

"Primo," you whisper softly, "can I kiss you?"

"I would love nothing more, cara mia." A smile ghosts over his lips as he leans into you. Primo was so gentle as he held you in his arms, scared as if you would break like a china doll. You let out a satisfied sigh as his lips finally met yours, finally experiencing something you had been dreaming about for a long time. He squeezes your waist, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. The bitterness of his papal paint mixed in with the sweetness of the chocolate you had been previously eating, the kiss quickly becoming more heated. Primo guides you to his lap, your knees sinking into the plush couch cushions as you straddle him. He groans softly as you sink your full weight onto him, you can't help but smirk slightly as you feel him start to grow hard beneath you. He places his hands on your thighs, allowing them to slowly push up the hem of your sundress. He shivers at the feeling of your bare skin under his fingertips.

"Forgive me for being so blunt," he starts with a chuckle, "but you seem to have gotten me a little, eh, excited." He hissed through his teeth as you shift your hips. Despite the fact you could feel his reaction pressing into your clothed heat he was still trying to be somewhat of a gentleman.

"Is there any way I can help, Papa?" You ask coyly. You feel him twitch slightly at the sweet sound of your voice.

"Is it alright if I touch you, fiore?" His fingers squeeze against your thighs.

"Please." You respond breathlessly before his lips crash back into yours. His hands slide under your dress and over the curve of your ass, pulling you as close to him as he could manage. His lips trail over your jaw as he slowly works you out of your dress, groaning in arousal at your mostly naked form.

"You're so beautiful, fiore." He places kisses across your collarbones, holding you firmly by the hips as he listens to every soft mewl and gasp he can pull from you.

“Papa,” You sigh softly, “can I taste you?” He nods, keeping his sultry gaze on you as you lower yourself to your knees. He assists you in pulling off his ceremonial robes to reveal his bare form underneath. He lets out a low growl as you slowly stroke his member in your hand. You tentatively wrap your lips around his sensitive tip. His fingers lace into your hair, his hips bucking slightly as you eased yourself down his shaft. You allowed him to set the pace, moaning around him as you looked up to see the expression of pure pleasure on his face. You pushed yourself down, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat.

“Bene, fiore. So good for your Papa.” He groans as you continue to bob your head. He beckons you back into his lap, you moan with anticipation as you feel him swipe the head of his cock over your entrance. You whine as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your thighs shaking slightly as you fully sit on his cock. You grip tightly onto his shoulders, bouncing yourself at a steady pace. Primo rested his hands on your waist, your arousal dripping down his erection with every thrust. You felt incredible on top of him; the way your ass would jiggle with every bounce, your sweet moans filling his ear, your warm body pressed tightly to his, Primo believed you were a gift from the Dark Lord himself.

“You feel so good.” You groan in his ear. Your moans turn to screams as Primo begins to fuck up int your. His fingers grabbing tightly on your hips, he slammed you down repeatedly on his cock like you were his own personal fleshlight. You felt his thrusts begin to grow sloppy, the moans from his mouth quickly becoming more breathy and almost desperate as he chased his climax. His hips stuttered as his hot cum shot into you. His fingers find your clit, expertly rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent your own climax crashing over you. You collapse against his chest, the room filled with the sound of your labored breathing.

“Mi fiore.” He whispers, you hum in response as you nuzzle your face against his neck. “Would you like to spend the night?”

“I would love to, Primo.”

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

Tag List: @spookyghostjelly @ramblingoak @kissingghouls @mustluvecho @herripinkle @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @sodomiser @belnovacaine @iamsarahsaysso @ghuleh-recs (I think that's everyone, if I missed you or you would like to be added let me know!)

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hyperfiiixate · 6 months ago

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the greasers and their favourite the garden songs because they are some of my interests and i will talk about them in conjunction with each other !!!!!

(and you will have to deal with that)

dallas: he would love all the scream-y songs, especially since he would probably walk around with a speaker blasting them just to piss people off.

songs such as:

- hit eject

- please fuck off

- sneaky devil

- vexation

- kiss my super bowl ring

- what else could i be but a jester

- grass

- lowrider slug

- a struggle

- at the campfire

- devour

- all smiles over here :)

- a fools expedition

- interrupt

- have a good day sir

- horseshit on route 66

- orange county punk rock legend

- the king of cutting corners

- call the dogs out

- puerta de limosina

- OC93

- literally just the entire kmsbr album

yeah u get the gist. (i have thought so much about dallas’ favourite the garden songs because he is just ??? so ???? the garden ?????? like if he were a teenager in 2024 he would love the garden. rip dallas winston you would have loved the garden) (he would also love their side projects turkey and penalty kill)

ponyboy: he likes to go digging on youtube, band camp and soundcloud for all of their songs that aren’t on spotify and also search for any vada vada lost media. loves a lot of their earlier stuff. has to listen to the garden with headphones because they’re too annoying for darry (😞). idk these songs have his vibe:

- no destination

- a message for myself

- make yer mark

- everything is perfect

- express - sector 28

- circles

- the life and times of a paperclip

- life as a hanger

- what we are

- together we are great

- freight yard

(i didnt rlly think about ponyboys favourites and i havent listened to all of their unreleased stuff YET so when i get around to that i will definitely edit this post with more for ponyboy)

johnny: doesn’t rlly listen to the garden but has picked up a few songs that he likes because he listens with dally or ponyboy (there will be very few songs here sorry !! i feel like he would love their solo projects more (enjoy + puzzle) because sonically they have his vibe. especially enjoy) (i will probably make a post about their favourite enjoy + puzzle songs) anyway here:

- egg (his all time favourite the garden song ever)

- make this a challenge - we like you

- the apple

- birds nest

- chainsaw the door

- fix

- aunt j

- gumdrops

- i’ll stop by tomorrow night

- crystal clear

yeah !!!! he doesn’t listen to them a whole lot but when he does with dally or pb he makes sure to queue these songs. tbh he would be an avid enjoy listener with a bit of puzzle sprinkled in too. he doesn’t use spotify that often and just listens to his liked songs on shuffle play

two bit: I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!!! he loves all the goofy sounding ones with random ass sound effects that just pop up unexpectedly. loves the songs that have the biggest clown vibes and will listen to the garden with soda and steve at the dx. also tried (and failed) to get marcia to listen to the garden. anyway his faves:

- call this # now

- play your cards right

- california here we go

- u want the scoop?

- clay

- all access

- :(

- shameless shadow

- banana peel

- stylish spit

- good news

- thy mission

- haunted house on zillow

- at the campfire

- make a wish

- stallion

- the whole mmsyc album

- haha

- red green yellow

- i guess we’ll never know

- everything has a face

- what else could i be but a jester

yeah. loves himself a good goofy sound effect or two (or more). his taste scares darry a bit (he doesn’t see the appeal for the garden (tasteless)) and he definitely blasts these with dallas to annoy people

sodapop: he likes all the songs that got popular on tiktok lets be honest here, but he’s just a casual listener like johnny, and will sometimes pick up songs from ponyboy or twobit that he likes. mainly listens to the garden when repairing cars at the dx because they make “good car repairing music” (whatever that means). his favourites:

- this could build us a home

- call this # now

- california here we go

- clay

- chainsaw the door

- haha

- freight yard

- thy mission

- horseshit on route 66

- shameless shadow

yeah just likes the popular stuff, he never rlly got into the garden

steve: just likes the same songs soda likes because he too never rlly got too into the garden and those are the songs he’s only rlly listened to. makes fun of ponyboy for nerding out about finding all the obscure songs at any chance he can get (sorry steve)

ALTHOUGH he does have one song that is unique from sodapop’s taste:

- OC93

that’s it. that’s steve’s favourite the garden song that is unique form soda’s favourites and tbh he’s so valid for that

darry: “i can’t listen to that right now i have a headache, turn it off!!” would rather eat rocks than listen to the garden because they annoy him too much. made it a rule that ponyboy and soda could only listen to the garden when he’s out of the house or they are out of earshot from him. HOWEVER !!!! he likes one of their songs!! he can tolerate one song!!!!

- california here we go

YAY!!!! he has taste we must admit, but also his entire music taste would just be either classical music, old soft rock songs or rain sounds.

yeah thanks for reading if u did sorry i needed to ramble about this desperately AGAGDHSJA

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losfacedevil · 1 year ago

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Change // SFK (Pt4)

a/n ~ Sammy talking about his garden has me all heart eyes is just fueling this fire immensely. Lets dig a little deeper and find out her name, shall we? Catch Up HERE! wc: 2.4k

A sigh slipped past Sam’s nose as he tightened the lid on the last mason jar. The sharpie that lay beside the jar rolled gently across the counter top before careening to the floor with a soft thud. A groan slipped from him as he bent at the waist, scooping up the marker and stood to his full height.

“What are you whining about?” Danny grumbled, loading the next round of jam jars into the milk crate he used to transport from the house to the car. Sam shrugged his shoulders, uncapping the marker and quickly scribbled something more than just the jam flavor across the lid of the jar.

“If I drop this marker one more damned time.” Sam whined, slamming the marker down on the counter beside him. Danny chuckled, watching as Sam reached for the newest basket he had added to his collection.

“Why is it blue? It doesn’t match the others. And what in the world is written on that lid? Your life story?” Danny questioned, a chuckle slipping past his lips as he watched Sam load up two jars of both peach jam and strawberry jelly into the basket.

“It’s blue because that’s the color my girls nails were last week, and it’s my number on the lid if you must know, Daniel.” Sam quipped, hiding the jar with his number behind the other two. Danny cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed as the gears in his head turned.

“Two weeks ago, we didn’t have the market last week.” Danny mumbled. Sam’s head shot up, his gaze boring holes into Danny’s as he realized his mistake.

“You’re right, we didn’t have the market last week. But um, I may have ran into her at that restaurant Josh and I went to in town. We may or may not have had dinner and drinks together. I brought her home too cause Ubers make me nervous.” Sam shrugged nonchalantly, quickly adding a few jam bars to her basket, his little gift to her.

“What?” Danny deadpanned Sam, eyes wide as he pulled the basket Sam was so lovingly tending to away from the younger boy. Sam’s jaw dropped, trying to pull the basket back towards him to no avail.

“What, what?” Sam quipped, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“So you just casually have dinner and drinks with this girl and bring her home but seemingly fail to tell me? So what’s her name?” Danny asked, sliding the basket back in Sam’s direction. The younger boy shrugged his shoulders, meticulously playing with the basket set up.

“You… you don’t know? You spend the evening with her, KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES and yet you still don’t know her name? SAMUEL!” Danny reached out, landing his index finger in a perfect flick against Sam’s forehead. Sammy chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes met Danny’s.

“It slipped my mind. The main focus was to make her smile not find out her name.” Danny sighed, reaching up to rest his forehead against his palm, gently shaking his head as he tried to process Sam’s thought processes.

~*~*~

Coffee was a necessity this morning.

She fought with herself as she pulled up to the local Starbucks, a venti caramel macchiato calling her name. He had told her his coffee order last weekend, the most mundane conversations being touched upon as they drained the sangria from the pitcher.

“One venti caramel macchiato with almond milk. Will that be all for you today?” The barista questioned, a tight smile spreading across her lips.

“You know what? Actually can I also get a venti Americano and eh another caramel macchiato as well, please?” The barista nodded enthusiastically, quickly ringing up the order.

“And a name for the order?”

“Sophia.”

~*~*~

“Samuel Francis I swear if you take off on me one more time I won’t help you with this anymore.” Danny chuckled, trying to catch Sam’s attention as the younger boy followed another vendor.

“But he has a recipe for apple butter I need! Summers almost over it’s almost time to start swapping inventory.” Danny rolled his eyes and pointed towards the wagon full of milk crates. Sam stomped his foot and stuck his tongue out like a child before slowly making his way over to the wagon.

“This is your business remember? I don’t get paid to do this you do.” Danny chuckled, slowly starting to set up the baskets of product.

“Oh stahp it, I pay you! Maybe not minimum wage but you don’t work for free!” Sam gingerly took the blue basket out of the wagon and tucked it safely under the table so it wouldn’t be messed with.

“Yeah you pay me poorly so I should work poorly right?” Danny shot Sam a sidelong glance as he began to place to jars haphazardly in the basket. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot against the ground and raised his eyebrows at his business partner.

“Daniel you know full well that looks like shit. Fix it, now.” Sam’s patience was beginning to thin, knowing Danny was acting this way to get a rise out of him — and it was working.

“What? It gives it charm!” Danny chuckled, stacking two jars on top of each other. An exasperated sigh slipped past Sam’s lips as he hip bumped the older boy, earning himself a belly laugh as Danny stumbled to the side.

She could hear them arguing halfway down the path, soft giggles escaping her as she watched Sam continuously swat Danny’s hand away from the baskets. Danny continued to instigate, turning every jar slightly this way and that as steam started to billow from Sam’s ears.

“Cut the shit, you break another jar I’ll break your head.” Sam giggled, swatting Danny’s hand away once more.

“Oooh we’re feisty today aren’t we?” She called, giggles erupting from her chest as both boys heads snapped up in her direction. Sam’s face lit up at the sight of her, the tips of his ears heating up with that damned blush that seemed to bloom whenever she was around.

“He’s trying to boss me around like I’m his employee or something. I think you need to come tame your boy.” Danny chuckled, clapping a hand down on Sam’s shoulder.

“If anyone needs to be tamed it’s Daniel, he keeps trying to ruin my product!” Sam whined, crossing his arms over his chest. She giggled as she placed her tray of coffees down on the table, gently popping the boys out of the tray.

“I think coffee will fix the whining. Americano for my boy and caramel macchiato for Daniel. Sorry dude I wasn’t sure what to get you.” She smiled sheepishly, glancing up at them through her lashes. The boys faces lit up and they wrapped their hands around the cups, taking them gently from her grasp.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, this is perfect. Thank you.” The older boys eyes landed on the name scribbled across the side of the cup and a sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Your names Sophia?” He asked, pointing at the name scrawled across the side of Sam’s cup. She nodded gently, swallowing the mouthful of coffee she had just taken before placing her cup down.

“Yeah. Sophia, or you can call me Soph, Sophie, any short form of the name works too. Wait did I not tell you my name?” Her brows furrowed together gently and she cocked her head to the side, wracking her mind for any of their conversations. Sam shook his head, eyes trained on her side profile.

“No, I just figured you’d tell us when you were ready.” Sam shrugged, tilting his head slightly as her eyes met his.

“Sammy you literally brought me home the other night and not once did you think to oh I don’t know get my name? You were so cool calm and collected there was no way I’d know you didn’t know my name.” Sam’s eyes grew wide as she called him out, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Guess it just slipped my mind.” His top teeth came down to worry his bottom lip as his gaze danced between Danny and Sophia.

“Uh huh, sure. We’ll go with that.” Danny teased, gently pushing Sam’s shoulder. Sophia couldn’t help the giggles that slipped past her lips as she watched the boys nonverbal communication; simple flicks of the eyes and movement of the eyebrows all they needed to know what the other was thinking.

“So! What’s on the roster today, boys?” She cooed, eyes dancing over the array of jams and different baked goods Sam was still trying his hand at spread out across the table.

“Same old for now. I’m just trying to work through the frozen stock of berries I have before we slowly start working into the fall flavors.” Sammy spoke quickly, his nerves finally starting to get to him.

“Oooh fall flavors? Like what? What’s on Sam’s Jams menu for the fall?” She smiled sweetly at him, reaching up to twirl a strand of hair around her finger.

“Oh y’know the usual. Some ciders, apple and pumpkin butters, apple jams, nothing too crazy until I find my bearings in those flavor profiles.” Sam shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes twinkling with the thoughts of what was to come.

“Does that mean I won’t lose you when summers over?” The thought slipped past her lips before her mind could stop it and her eyes grew wide as she clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip. A nervous chuckle escaped Sam and he nodded gently.

“Yeah something like that. Actually I made your peach jam but I only had enough stock left for three jars so you’re gonna have to make it last, sweetness.” Sammy cooed, bending at the waist to pull the basket out from underneath the table.

Sophia’s eyes lit up at the array of goods in the basket, three jars of peach jam, one of bruise berry - as Sam called it - and an array of different baked goods. Sam’s eyes landed on his chicken scratch across the top of one of the peach jam jars, hoping that the sharpie wouldn’t fail him and rub off before she saw his number.

“All for me?! You shouldn’t have! What do I owe you?” She giggled, quickly pulling her wallet out of her bag.

“Let’s say, fifteen? The baked goods and one of the peach jars is on the house since I won’t be able to make you anymore until peaches come back into season.” She couldn’t help but giggle as she pulled out a twenty dollar bill and slapped it into his hand.

“You are far too good to me, Sammy. Thank you.”

“I try my best, you know it’s not every day I get to make a pretty girl smile, so.” He shrugged softly and his eyes found hers; a story of its own playing out behind her big hazel orbs.

“Oh stop it, I’m sure you get many chances to make pretty girls smile, don’t waste them all on me.” She giggled, willing her head to stop beating out of her chest before it sent her careening to the ground.

“I’ll rephrase, it’s not every day I get to make certain pretty girls smile. Better?” Sam chuckled, swallowing down a wave of nausea that hit as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

“Ooh, trying to be smooth like Casanova are we, Sammy?” She giggled, eyes never leaving his as he swallowed hard and she watched his pupils dilate.

Danny rolled his eyes as he watched Sam trip over his words trying to get his sentence out. The younger boy sticking out his tongue and blowing a raspberry in her direction eliciting more childlike giggles from her. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he watched Sam try to navigate his own feelings while picking up on Sophia’s as well. How quickly he had gone from rough and teasing to gentle and sweet when she had showed up.

Danny cocked his head to the side as Sam slid his arm under Sophia’s basket of goodies and picked it up, resting it against his chest as he nodded his head in the direction of the parking lot. Sophia smiled up at Sam, linking her arm though his and wrapped her fingers around his bicep as they made their way towards the parking lot.

“Yeah okay, don’t worry about me. I’ll hold down the fort I guess!” Danny chuckled, shaking his head as they walked into the distance.

“He’s so fucking annoying today, you sure you don’t wanna take him with you?” Sam joked, tossing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his booth. Sophia shook her head, eyes widening slightly as she held her hand up in front of her.

“Nope, he’s all yours, thank you though. Maybe the next time I need a good laugh I’ll come find him.” She chuckled, shaking her head slightly. Sam feigned shock, clapping a hand to his chest.

“You’ll come find Danny, not me?! I see how it is, you like my best friend more than me.” He whined, pushing his bottom lip out in a pout. She rolled her eyes as she dug through her bag for her keys.

“Oh please, you guys are a package deal. If I find Danny I’m sure to find Sammy, am I not?” She quipped, quickly unlocking her car and nodding towards the passengers side.

“Thanks for carrying that, it’s always nice to get a few minutes with you away from Danny, sometimes the things he says man.” She giggled, turning to face Sam as she opened her car door.

“Hey now, his crazy isn’t as bad as mine but, you haven’t seen nothing yet.” A boisterous laugh escaped Sam as he held his arms out in her direction.

Sophia pulled in a deep breath, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she stepped forward into his embrace. She couldn’t help the sigh that slipped past her nose as she wrapped her arms around his middle and relaxed into the warmth of his body, his calloused hands rubbing up and down the length of her arm.

“It’s always good to see you. Make a killing out there today. I’ll see you around.” She pulled back from him, a soft smile playing across her lips as she got into her car and drove off.

Sam let out the breath he was holding and tossed back his head as he turned on his heel. The goosebumps that erupted across his skin finally calming as he slowly began to make his way back to his booth.

“Maybe Danny’s right.” He mumbled to himself.

TAGLIST: @gretasmokerising @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @puzzle-gvf @sunfl0wer-power @vanfleeter @ppoutine @aintthatapity @twistedmelodies @gvfpal @psychedelicsprinkles

#sam kiszka #sam kiszka fluff #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka fanfiction

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