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sometimesanalice · 3 months

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I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation. You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.”

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch.

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

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softlyspector · 5 months

Text

sated

Summary: Joel just wants you to eat well.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!vampire!Reader

Word count: ~5.2k

Warnings: love as being consumed, blood drinking, smut from start to finish (piv, f!receiving oral, fingering), Joel's praise kink, talk of eating, consuming, drinking, hunger, etc, vampires you get it.

A/N: This came of an abandoned work I posted, which you can find here. Thank you all for always being encoraging and lovely. I hope you enjoy my vamp and please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading! 💕

Devotion comes naturally to him, maybe that’s why this is so easy.

When you lean over his proffered wrist and sink your teeth into his skin, pleasure fists itself around his spine. The gratification is instant and complete. There’s no wondering if it’s right, if he’s giving you something you really need.

A desperately hungry moan rumbles in the back of your throat, grip tightening on him like you’re worried he might pull away. Already, everything is hazy.

Your hand curls around his forearm, while the other grips his fingers tight, locked between his.

There’s nothing prettier in the world than the way you look when you lift your head after a moment or an eternity passes, eyes full and satiated. Mouth a red slash of his blood. “Stop letting me.” Desperation, pain.

“No.”

He doesn’t want you to have to hunt, or fight, or seduce, your way to what you need. You have him now. You have his blood and body and him and he doesn’t want you with anyone else anyway, even if it’s just to eat.

Even if it’s for nothing more than food.

“Joel—”

The room is dark, lit by the glow of a lamp too far away to cast much light on either of you. Your expression is clouded with want, with lust, pupils blown so wide your eyes appear entirely black.

His blood is leaking in little rivulets down his wrist, over your fingers. It stains the white, satin sheets. The headboard of your bed digs into his spine where he leans against it, still in his jeans but removed of everything else.

Everything is bloody, everything is you and him, stained and caressed and creased, brined, torn into. It would be butchery if it weren’t so beautiful.

Each time you pull away from him, he expects to see flesh in your teeth, his heart on your tongue still beating.

You kiss him instead, his own blood in his mouth. To him, it’s just iron and salt, like sucking on a penny. A little bit gross on its own.

You tell him, sometimes, that he tastes sweet. Like candy? He’d asked one, a joke, a haze of pleasure pulled like wool over his eyes.

No, you’d said, not that strong. Like fruit, I guess, if I remember right.

He doesn’t know how old you are, how long it’s been since you tasted fruit. Doesn’t matter, will never matter.

His blood on your mouth, though, is intoxicating. He’s already woozy with the loss of it, with the quiet injection of something that makes everything go foggy and needy. It’s a reminder that you are a predator choosing not to kill him, that whatever poison came with your bite was meant to make him easy to slaughter.

Joel pulls you in tight, slides his tongue into your mouth. It’s sticky. Blood dries quick and tacky, it pulls at his skin where you fit yourselves together. It’s messy on your mouth, stains your hands and his.

He pulls you into his lap and you move easily with the tug of his hands. Knees fitted to either side of his hips, you pull away to lick up the blood on his forearm, the slide of your tongue causing an ache to open up in the pit of his belly.

Joel asked you, once, what being hungry felt like.

You’d hummed and stroked his cheek, eyes considering and far away. You’d told him it didn’t feel much like the human hunger you remembered, but like pain. It hurt, burned in your chest like a hurtful fire that could not be put out.

And maybe that had been your mistake. Admitting to the pain.

Maybe he wouldn’t be so keen on sacrificing himself if he wasn’t aware of how much it hurt you to be hungry.

Joel pulls your head up, away from his arm, and tilts his own back, exposing his throat.

The tip of your tongue runs over your lips instead, something desperate and famished in your eyes.

It’s not so much an offering as a welcoming, a demand. He wants you to. He wants you to feed until you can’t take anymore, until that bright burning finally fades away and you aren’t hungry anymore.

“No,” you say and shake your head, voice despairing, want fading from your gaze. “I can’t, Joel, I—” Your eyes flick to his open invitation, his throat, his collarbone. You wince and glance away. Guilt eats away at your expression. His throat is purple with bruising from the night before when you had refused to take more than one tiny drink. Starving yourself for reasons he won’t make himself understand.

It bothers you, the bruise, he knows it does, but it shouldn’t. It’s just evidence that you’re eating good.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. “If y’need it.”

“I don’t,” you snap suddenly, the snarl in your voice another reminder. You could decide he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore and drain him dry, snap his neck. It’s an odd feeling. He’s not used to being at someone else’s mercy, not used to being so obviously the weaker of a pair. “I used to go months without,” your voice hitches, like you might cry. “I’m fine.”

“Y’don’t have to go without anymore.”

He feels frenzied about it. He needs you to believe it, that he can be useful to you.

You do this all the time. You do this every time. Fret about him when he knows he can take it, he knows that he can give you this.

He moves, curls over you, presses you flat back onto the sheets and you let him. Mouth nestled against the hollow of your throat where no pulse beats. There is only slightly cooler than normal skin under his lips, smooth and perfect and firm. Joel curls his fingers around your wrist, pins your hand to the bed.

“I can’t, Joel,” you moan. The sound vibrates against his lips. You might not have a heart that beats, but your lungs still fill with air, the desperate pump of them more than enough to know how badly you’re affected by him, how much you want and how much he can give you. “I can’t. I’ll. . .I’ve taken too much already.”

He doesn’t get to answer, your mouth is already at his throat, the sharp, sweet pang of your bite sliding into muscle and sinew. You suck harshlyand his vision goes blurry, eyes rolling back at the pleasure that chases the pain. He just manages to catch himself on his other hand before he can collapse fully against you.

Maybe he’s just a little selfish with it, with the need to give mixed up with how fucking good it feels. That’s the pure awful truth of it. It feels good. Every feeling, every sensation is heightened.

He’s letting you eat but it's for him, too. And that’s just fucking shameful but he can’t stop either.

You’re wearing something silk, something with lots of skin showing, something pretty and now stained with his blood. Your skin is soft and impossibly smooth beneath his hands, the plush curve of your thighs parting to let him nestle against you, the bowl of your hips accommodating him.

Joel presses his hips against yours, slowly ruts against your core, the heat that bleeds out of your body. Heat that will fade over the next few hours, heat that he’s given you with the blood from his veins, that you still take from his body with needy swallows, and pleased whimpers.

He works at his jeans with one hand, fingers clumsy with the black that encroaches at the edge of his vision as you feed. You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping him tucked close, hips chasing his, rolling up to meet his.

You pull away from his throat with a pained groan, and the ache returns immediately.

He wants you to keep going. He could survive, he thinks, with just one drop. That’s all he needs.

“No,” you say. But your eyes are glutted, satiated. You sound drunk and maybe that’s what makes him realize he’s a poison to you too, something you have to try very hard not to sink your teeth into and rip, tear. “No more, Joel. Please.”

He can be good for you, give you everything you need so you never want again. That makes him delusional with giving.

Your fingers wrap loosely around the base of his cock, guiding him to your entrance, dripping with need and want of a different kind. He slides into you slow, the hug of your body around him addictive, until you’ve taken him to the hilt and there’s nothing but you. “Christ, darlin’,” he mutters, vision going properly black now, consciousness fading. “Feel ‘s good.”

“Hey.” Concern in your voice, knee pressed to his hip, the strength of your body turning him onto his back. “You did good,” you praise, gentle, blood soaked fingers against his bare chest, the underside of his jaw where the flesh is soft. “So good. Take a second.”

Your hand is pressed delicately to his cheek; you’re beautiful and sleek above him and he has the sense that some time has passed when he’s able to focus on you. “Hey,” you say again, the cushion of your voice soft. You cradle his bloody hands in yours, fingers stroking his wrists slowly, before you press them to your waist, hips moving slowly against his again.

The tight clench of your cunt around him is nearly painful, the rock of your hips so slow, like you’re testing the waters of him.

He’s good, he wants to say. Fine. But your praise is ringing in his ears. Your mouth is red with blood, teeth stained when your lips pull back. “Good,” he echoes, the word settling heavily in his chest. You think he did good.

“Yeah. Really good,” you say. “That’s what you wanna hear isn’t it? That you did good for me?”

The tangle of pleasure coursing through weak limbs only curls more firmly around his spine and knots in his belly when you lift his wrist to your lips again, mouthing away the blood, but not biting. “I’m so full,” you murmur against his skin, eyes flickering closed. “You’ve fed me so well.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, watching you suck the blood from his skin, eyes closed, body never faltering in the pace you set grinding against him. The tension has faded from your shoulders, your skin is warm with the glow of life, so he knows you’re telling the truth. When you bite him this time, wrist cradled to your mouth, the pain is dull and far away.

There’s no hunger as you take this time, no desperate pull; you eat because you can, lazily and slowly; tasting.

He drags his free hand up your side, cups the weight of your breast in his hand, before he tugs the strap of the silken gown down your arm. You release his hand, so he can pull the fabric slowly down your body until it pools around your hips.

Blood smears across your skin in shiny streaks, his open palm pressed flat against your chest dripping red again.

Your body reacts to his, supple and soft, moving with him when he cants his hips up, chasing something just out of reach.

He thought you’d be hard, the first time. That your skin would be solid, like nipping into stone. But it’s not, and right now you’re flush with warmth he gave you, shiny and bright. The curves of you are soft in his hands.

Joel wants you to say it again. Wants to hear that you’re satisfied, that he gave enough for you to feel full. His vision wavers and tunnels again. You rub his wrist between your fingers, gently staunching the flow of blood.

“You gave enough.” Fingers planted on his chest, hips lifting and falling, pleasure like a tide, like the salt of the ocean. His mouth tastes like the blood you put there, the venom that leaches from your teeth, saccharine sweet.

You lean over him, one hand on the headboard, the other beside his head. “Good for me,” you murmur, mouth pressing hungrily to his, the point of your tongue laving against the seam of his lips. He groans into you, fucks up into you so you gasp into his mouth.

He’d let you take a chunk of his heart out, wrap his veins around your fingers and tug them out of his body one by one, gnaw on a rib, if it meant you weren’t hungry anymore, if it meant you were never in pain.

There’s no pain in your face now, nothing wan or drawn about you. No hollows beneath your eyes or distance in your gaze. The clench of your expression is undeniably pleasure. He leaves bloody fingerprints behind on your skin, cups your breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking the taut peaks of your nipples until you whine.

The weakness that comes with the loss of blood is a drug all its own. He feels closer to you, further away from his own body, the thrum of need a sensation that doesn’t belong to him, that curls firm and hard in his belly and spreads slowly out into the rest of him, like lazy vines of an invasive species.

“Joel,” you say against his mouth, all copper and iron, like the touch of a blade to his throat.

It’s better, for both of you, when you’re feeding. He wants you to bite him again. Just one more time.

He pushes you back, rolls until you’re on your back.

“Joel—”

And this time your voice is sharp and reproving. You think he’s too weak with the blood loss, he knows it.

He thrusts into you and your mouth pockets into a little o, fingers scrabbling at his biceps. He sets a brutal pace, makes you forget whatever protest you might have had.

You’re so good for him, tight and wet, thighs slick against him when you hook your knee against his hip. Joel slows, drags his cock slowly out of you, just to push back in all at once, right to the root.

“Feel s’good,” he mutters against you, mouth lowered to your chest to sucks one tight nipple into his mouth. You jolt and arch into him, a moan tearing out of your throat. “Shit,” he thrusts again and again, pushing you up the bed before he curls his forearm over the top of your head, his other hand cupping the back of your neck, gently turning your head. “Bite, baby,” he says, desperate. “Bite.”

You shake your head, hips rolling up to meet his. “No.”

“Yes. One more time.” The sound of you is sloppy, his cock soaked in your needy cunt. His vision is blurring again, the effort to keep fucking you killing him, figuratively and maybe literally.

His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his fucking chest, a warning from every instinct a person should have warning him danger danger danger predator predator predator.

He doesn’t heed it, doesn’t have the good sense to run away. Danger and predator sounds like understanding, sounds like kin and home and acceptance, to him.

“Makes it better, y’know it does. You’re so good for me. Give it here, honey. Just this. Just bite, nothin’ else.” He sounds delirious and deranged but you whine and he’s reminded again, has that thought again, he’s as much a drug to you as you are to him. You just need a little coaxing. “C’mon, baby. Please, darlin’.”

He urges your head closer, feels the brush of your mouth, the prick of your teeth, and then finally that wonderful fucking rush of your incisors sinking deep into his skin.

There’s pleasure, and there’s sex, and then there’s this.

And he knows you know it too, blurred vision going white from how hard he comes inside you, the fist of your pussy clenching around him as you follow him over the edge. You cry out against his skin, a sound he’s never heard before, the points of your nails digging into his shoulders until he’s sure he’s bleeding there, too.

He feels the release of your teeth from his bicep, the gasp of your mouth, and then he collapses against you and kisses his own hot blood away from your mouth, open wounded vein spilling red across both of you.

Joel sleeps and when he wakes, he knows he isn’t done with you. You consume him, he wants to do the same to you.

He slides his tongue through your soaked folds, the mess of himself leaking from you. He presses his nose against your heat and then your thigh.

It must be some predator thing, the way you smell, to attract that which you should kill. If he could, he’d bite you there, the vein that runs under the skin of your thigh. He’d sink his teeth into you there, and drink. If he was like you, that is where he’d take from you. But he’s not, and if he was, he would not take from you.

He’d starve first.

“You don’t want that,” you say, hands in his hair. “You don’t want this.”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s terrible, Joel,” you murmur. “To be this lonely.”

“I’m lonesome anyway,” he presses his teeth against your skin again. “And gettin’ older and lonelier every minute.”

He doesn’t want to be like you, not really. But he doesn’t want you to leave him either, and he doesn’t want to die one day and leave you alone. He wants to tangle his fingers inside your chest, bring the beat of your heart back to life. He wants to dig two graves, yours and his, next to each other.

Joel doesn’t say any of that, and before you can say anything, he shoves your legs back toward your chest, spreads you open wide. The muscle in the back of your thigh twitches, a lazy moan slips past your lips when he repositions on aching knees to suction his mouth to your pussy.

He closes his eyes and presses his hands against the backs of your knees. Your fingers dig into his hair, drag him closer, push him further into you. A broken groan slices through the air when he pushes his tongue into you.

He thinks about your teeth locked around his throat, like a wolf with prey. His scalp smarts with how hard you’re tugging at his hair. It’s good to be at your mercy.

“Joel.”

There’s a drag in the vowels of his name, a desperation, a burning in his chest with the sound of it. He pulls back to look at you, to skim his fingers along the backs of your thighs.

“Hm?”

“What do I taste like?”

He lowers your hips to the bed, presses his fingers inside you instead.

Before he can answer, you look at him with big, thirst slaked eyes. “Do you like it? The way I taste?”

“Mm,” he hums. Your cunt clenches around his fingers. He fucks you like that laguidly, feeling every part of you, the inside of you soft against he pads of his fingers. “Yeah. I like it.”

Joel leans down, presses his forehead to yours, eyes never leaving your gaze. The essence of you is caught in his beard, and it’s only when he rubs his chin against yours, that your eyes slide closed. This close, everything smells red. Like blood and come and sex; your breath is cool and sweet, like fresh air against his mouth.

He wants to drink the air from your lungs. Instead, he kisses you long and soft, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, rubs his thumb across your messy clit.

You still taste like life, but he hopes you can taste yourself, too. A gasp catches in your throat, fingers hooking against the back of his neck, twisting up into his hair.

“Tell me. I want you to tell me.”

It’s different to anyone else he’s ever tasted, probably another predator-prey thing. Intoxicating, addicting. “Bitter,” he replies. “N’ sweet.”

Your mouth opens against his, and he pulls away to slide down your body again, tongue against the bitter-sweet of your slick. “Like you, then,” you mumble. “We taste the same.”

Wouldn’t that be something? “Ain’t like that, most like.”

You are more bitter than sweet, he’d say, opposite to how his blood is for you. Opposite to how he’d describe you and him, if pressed. For a self described monster, you are sweet.

He feels when you come against his tongue, the pulse and clench of your pussy, dripping against his lips. He likes it too much, how you taste like him, too, that his come leaks from you with the second and third waves of pleasure that arch your hips from the bed

The exhaustion sneaks up on him, sudden and painfully demanding, real. And all at once, he feels like a man that’s lost too much blood.

He feels your hands maneuvering him, limbs readjusted gently, pushed onto his back, sheets and a blanket pulled up around him. Your hands pressing across his chest and neck and cheeks, like you’re trying to assess something and he guesses you are because you whisper. “Joel? Baby, stay awake for a minute. Are you warm? I can’t tell. I—”

You’re worried about him.

Ferocious predator. Monster then could end his life in a split second, but that he chose to feed instead. That makes you his vicious monster, he would guess. And you’re worried. Worried. About him.

He folds his hand around yours, holds your still warm fingers against his chest. “‘M fine.”

Joel is dedicated to you in a way that frightens you. He is so willing to lie down and open his own throat.

That had so surprised you, the first time. You’d picked him out because he was big and strong, protective and swollen with a kind of love you couldn’t put your finger on. You had just wanted a fight and a little taste, not to take anything more. No, not this one.

You’d thought his blood might be bitter and biting, like poison with age, but it hadn’t been. Everything about Joel had surprised you. How quickly he had offered himself up, addicted to your monstrousness in a way you still don’t quite understand.

It makes you feel guilty, shameful.

He doesn’t know how he jolts in your arms when you bite him, doesn’t know how his muscle twitches in pained little starts when you’ve taken too much, doesn’t know how far away his eyes can go.

You’re hungry, baby, he always says, like that’s enough. It’s enough that you’re hungry and he can feed you.

And you are hungry, and it feels good to have someone give to you so freely, and so you take what he wants to give you. There’s some part of you that knows it satisfies him, too, to be able to give, and to be able to give something so tangible and physical, that he feels it afterwards, the labor of his giving.

You worry all the time, that it’s too much, that in the mornings the haze of desire and need to give would fade and he’d look around and see the blood and the bruises and your teeth coated in his life, and he would finally understand and finally leave you behind.

He looks peaceful in the sunshine that curls in through the window. It’s unfortunate, the bruises on either side of his throat, on his wrist and bicep. He looks pale, and you know that you will not be able to take from him again for a while, no matter how much you might want to.

And Joel needs time to recover, whether he wants that or not.

Your favorite little human, who decided to love a monster, who decided he would like to see one happy and sated.

The burn of hunger is satiated so well, the burn and ache in your chest gone for the time being.

You worry it might have been too much but he breathes evenly, deeply, soundly. Rust red streaks coat his skin, the palms of his hands and his chest, the space above his heart.

How you’d like to wriggle your nails carefully between his ribs, feel the slick beat of his heart in your hand. If you could figure out a way to do it without killing him, you would. You’d hold his heart in the light, watch the pulse of it like the breath of a sleeping pet.

He sleeps, and doesn’t know how hard it is for you not to drain him dry, not to suck the very marrow from his bones, to pick him clean like the carrion bird, the vulture, you are.

Before Joel, even draining a body down to nothing, exsanguinating them, wouldn’t have been enough to ease the visceral burn in your chest. You always seemed to need more and more. More bodies, more blood, more human lives. Not with him.

Maybe his blood is better for you, more nutritious, saturated with something that’s better at satiating you. His blood is always enough even if you have to fight not to take it all.

Perhaps it's just that the edge of your loneliness isn’t so sharp, that you wake not in a guilty, terrible haze next to a corpse, but next to someone who cares for you enough to feed you pieces of himself.

You touch his bearded jaw and a muscle in his cheek twitches, the sleep he’s in an exhausted one. Still, he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes flicking open. The warmth of his skin clouds around you, scent changing with his wakefulness.

Joel smells nice, always.

He smells nice in the morning sunlight spilling through the bay window. Humans have a way of absorbing smells. Things they shouldn’t be able to smell like—sunshine, storms, city streets. They smell sleepy and tired and happy and everything in between.

Joel smells warm like the sun he lies half in a patch of, the cotton sheets, the lavender detergent. He smells sleepy and content and that makes another kind of ache curl around your heart. More visceral, perhaps, than any thirst ever could be.

Beneath that, the other smells, the ones that make your mouth water—beautifully warm blood, subtly sweet and bitter, salt, come. He smells like you, your blood and come, and that’s something you inexplicably like.

His eyes are pretty in the sun, his lashes lowered, casting shadows over his warm brown irises, his cheeks, as he watches you. “Mornin’,” he says and his voice grates. It’s like you can hear every single stretched scratch of it in his throat.

You can see each fine line and hair and wrinkle on his face. Each tiny mark, every scar and pinch of skin. He’s painfully, beautifully human. It’s nice though, you like looking at those things. They make him interesting. They make you ache for something out of your reach. He’s so pretty, the thick, corded muscle in his arms twisting when he stretches, veins a prominent blue-green.

It’s unfortunate, so unfortunate, that this one, the one you like so well, will die so sooner than the others you used to feed on.

Grief punches you in the chest, debilitating in its sudden awfulness.

But you force it down and smile. “Good morning, Joel.”

You reach for him and curl your hand around his wrist. The beat of his heart is steady against your palm. It thrums, strong and so full of life, it makes the mourning surge in the back of your throat. It feels like holding his heart in your hand.

There is a game you’ve been playing for years, decades. One where you must struggle and kill to get what you need. You try not to kill them, if you can help it, but sometimes it just can’t be helped.

It’s a lonely existence, with connections that last a minute. No family, no friends. Just those precious few minutes with your teeth sunk into soft skin. Sometimes, they’d pull you closer, inadvertently.

Joel is dangerous for you. He pulls you so close, so often, and offers himself to you. There is no fight, no hunt, no seducing. It’s almost the other way around. He’s so desperate for you to take from him, to take care of you.

“Y’good?”

“Yes. You?”

“‘M good. Tired, a bit.”

“Okay.” You nod. “You need to eat. And I will not feed from you again until you recover. Your red blood cells need to replenish,” you chatter. “Or you’ll become anemic.”

He smiles. “All right. How d’ya know all a’ that?”

“Google.”

“Mm. Worried?”

“Always.”

“How long’s that take? Replenishin’. . .whatever?”

You bring his hand to your lips, press a kiss there and watch his chest hitch. “Four to six weeks. I’ll be okay in that time,” you add before he can comment.

“Christ,” he mutters, like he’s cursing his own body for doing what bodies do. “I don’t like that.”

You kiss his bruised wrist and lower it to the bed. You feel so full there is no urge to drink, to bite, that you have to fight. “Let me get you something to eat,” you say, brushing a hand through his peppered hair, trailing your fingers down his cheek. “Get this blood off you.”

It’s dried in patches on his skin, sloughing off in russet flakes.

You make him pick out something to eat and then call for takeout. And maybe it’s a testament to how tired he is that he lets you urge him into the adjoining bathroom while you wait, that he lets you take care of his clearly spent body. He’s unbelievably pale beneath his beard, the little tangles of hair at the back of his neck. His whole throat is purple, and you hear in his voice how it must ache.

“I don’t mean to bite you that hard,” you murmur, white washcloth pink with his blood in your hand. You smooth it down the curve of his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“S’ just a little sore,” he dismisses. A beat of silence passes, and then he adds, “Feels good. When y’do it. Don’t hurt then.”

“It feels good?”

“Mm. Swear it does.”

You finish with his face and think you should just let him shower while you wait for his food, but you like taking care of him like this, wiping away the evidence of your brutality. “Describe it.”

“What’s it feel like to you?”

Ecstasy, you think. “A little bit like coming,” you say to hear him laugh, feel the blush of his manners stain his skin pink beneath your hands.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s about right.”

You lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his mouth against your cool lips, cheeks cradled in palms that never mean to hurt, teeth that never mean to bite so hard.

“Good,” he says, “So, it’s good all around.”

“Good,” you echo.

And maybe it is.

💕 Whew! Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #posting and running away

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muddyorbsblr · 3 months

Text

a helping hand

See my full list of works here!

Summary: When Loki enters the office and sees you visibly shaken with your eyes swollen, he takes it upon himself to find out what's wrong and how he could help

Friendship: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: talks of divorce and infidelity; mentions of a shitty ex husband; shitty coworkers that like to kick people when they're down; language [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: not a romantic story; just the slightest hints that this Loki is the head of a company that has some shady dealings (crime boss…he's kinda a crime boss)

The frantic scurrying of the ladies on the office floor had you furiously wiping away at the tears that hadn't stopped falling since last night. You pressed the cold metal tip of your under eye cream to the swollen parts of your eyes in hopes of making it a little less obvious that your heart was so ruthlessly stomped into the ground last night.

She's everything you're not, your soon to be ex husband's words taunted at you, his smug voice getting louder with every attempt to block it out and paint a smile on your face. Young, pretty, and fuck me she's hot. Looks like she actually puts an effort into her appearance.

You did your best to focus on evening out your breathing, trying not to think about working out the logistics now that you were facing a divorce. If you weren't smart about this and you agreed to all his terms you might just be getting out of this without a penny to your fucking name.

"Pfft, you're gonna need the entire fucking tube if you want to even make a dent of a difference. Might as well not even bother trying, Y/N," one of the women in the research department, Tammy, sneered. Even going so far as to stop her scurrying just to spew her irrational hatred toward you.

"Can you just…not for today, Tammy? I'm having a shitty week." You didn't even have it in you to sound remotely as pissed as you were at her. The words just came out of you with barely a whisper, like you'd already thrown in the towel before the first round even started.

"Hmm, a shitty week to go with your shitty face. Sounds like the world's finally healing," she spat, immediately straightening her stance and shutting up when the ding of the elevator practically echoed across the entire floor.

Everyone had to be in their best behavior now. Mr Laufeyson had arrived, and your boss wasn't too keen to hear any "banal gossiping drivel" while he was breathing the same air as his employees. Something about how this type of nonsensical talk consistently lowered the average IQ of the entire country with every passing day and he refused to cultivate a workplace that contributed to that atrocity.

Which suited you just fine; you rather enjoyed the quiet. And when spiteful gossips were no longer allowed to do the very thing that seemed to serve as their lifeblood, the floor tended to be so silent you could hear exactly whose heartbeat sped up whenever Loki started nearing your desks.

"Cease your blathering, everyone. I wish not to hear a single word unless it pertains to oppositional research that could increase our advantage to securing future dealings with the Mancini family. By the end of the day I want to know exactly how to woo every deciding member and--" He stopped in his tracks the second he was in front of your desk, eyes scrupulously scanning your features before clearing his throat and addressing the floor again. "And planning out the most efficient way to influence their decision to lean toward us."

He walked toward the door to his office, your cue to send him his itinerary for the day before you aided where you could in the Mancini research. But before he stepped through the door, he spoke again. Significantly softer this time. Gentler, even.

"Y/L/N, may I speak with you a moment in my office?"

A barely-contained snort was heard from Tammy's desk, a smug look on her face as she drew a line across her neck while keeping direct eye contact with you. "You're fucking done," she mouthed toward you, only returning to work with back ramrod straight when your boss turned to glare daggers at her.

"Of--Of course, Sir." You picked up your tablet, pulling up his calendar and readying the words you were going to say as you walked into his office.

"Please, darling, have a seat." You knew better than to protest against quite anything he said. Even with the change in his tone and his wording, you knew it was an order more than a request, so you followed. "Now tell me what happened."

"P-Pardon?" you sputtered, wincing when you let out the most unladylike sniffle to try breathing a bit better.

"Your eyes are red. Swollen red," he stated, briefing pointing a finger to his own face. "And you're one of the most unshakable persons I've had the privilege of knowing. You've stared down with ruthless individuals with records so colored it made my brother take a step back sometimes, and you wouldn't even break a single sweat. You've even dealt with that gossiping nuisance Tabitha Stevenson on a near hourly basis more gracefully than she deserves. And yet here you are. With eyes that could only have gotten in this state if you'd been crying for hours, or even the entire night. Something happened to you since you left the office last night that caused this."

"Sir really it's--It's nothing you should concern yourself with it's…" You couldn't find it in you to say that it was banal. It wasn't to you. But it would be to him, without a doubt.

"Whatever has you shaken enough to cry through the night and arrive at the office so visibly distressed is not nothing, Y/N," he insisted, still keeping with his gentler tone as if he was concerned that even the slightest raising of his voice would bring forth more tears. "Is it something at home? A family concern? Do you need a few days to spend at home and--"

"Home is the last place I want to be right now," you blurted out, nearly hissing the words and clearly taking your boss aback at how you were practically tripping over your words. You sighed, doing your best to take a deep, shaky breath before finally answering him. "Rupert served me with divorce papers last night, and the son of a bitch is practically evicting me from the house. I have until Friday's end to 'clear my useless shit out', his words not mine. Says he met someone new and he can't wait to start his new life with her."

"Y/N, it's Thursday," he grumbled, his eyes darkening as he processed your words. "This miscreant expects you to have your entire life in less than 36 hours?"

"Oh no, even less," you clarified, Loki's nostrils flaring at your answer. "He doesn't want to even see me clearing them out so I have to work around his schedule. Then comes the entire journey of finding somewhere to stay on such short notice. I have half a mind to just get a room at a cheap ass motel--"

"Surely I've compensated you more than enough these last few years that you can afford accommodations far nicer than a dingy motel." He grimaced at the mere thought.

"You have, Sir, really. But I've been…stupid. Have been my entire marriage, if I'm being honest now that I don't have any rose-tinted glasses on. Our accounts are joint. And I have to think about retaining a divorce lawyer just so I can even think about getting out of this with at least some of the things I came to have since we got married, so I have to be a bit frugal where I can--"

"Alright, this is what you're going to do," he cut you off, suddenly taking on the more authoritative tone that you were used to. "Provide my men with the alarm codes for the house and they will see to removing your belongings by tonight."

"Sir, really there's no need for--"

"They will be transported to my home where you will stay to regain your bearings, and find a new home at your own pace. Not at the pace your former husband demands." Your breath caught in an ugly sound in your throat at the plans he just so casually dropped. Living with him? Was he insane? "As for a lawyer, I shall confer with my own slew of attorneys who they can recommend that specializes in divorce settlements. He won't get away with the money you worked hard for if I have anything to say about it."

"Why?" you blurted out a bit louder than you intended to. He raised an eyebrow at you, questioning your reaction. "Why would you wanna get involved in this, I mean you don't have any stakes in this, I just work for you I'm replaceable I'm--"

"No you're not," he cut you off, taking your hands in his. "Your presence has given this place a warmth, a comfort. You have a sharp wit that makes conversations less droning, a kindness that soothes me when I have to find myself here in the office. I may value your contributions both tangible and intangible when it comes to our various business dealings, but I also value your company. Perhaps I am simply an employer to you, but you are a friend to me. And I've not many of those in my life, so I tend to ensure that I do what I can to keep them safe. And as far away from struggle as my means can manage."

His words left you completely speechless, only managing to utter a simple sentiment in return. "Thank you, my friend."

A/N: Made this for @alexakeyloveloki. Bestie if I could reach across the screen and give you a big hug and a blankie I would, but also the sight of me crawling out of a screen might just be some horror movie levels of nightmare fuel, so maybe it's best that I can't 😅

Lemme just leave this lil gif of Tomathy giving a hug and a head kith instead 💖

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemis @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover

#loki hurt/comfort #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #muddyorbs writes

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blindmagdalena · 6 months

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Devotion

18+ 1.6k homelander x reader. no pronouns, p-in-v sex. blood play. excessively sentimental. love as a kink.

Certain there is a threshold to be reached when it comes to your love for him, Homelander comes to you fresh from a gruesome slaughter still dripping in blood. Your response surprises him.

written for this prompt from @mari-thesimp 💕🩸

It’s late when you wake to the sound of a door slamming shut. You sit up so sharply it makes you a little lightheaded, half delirious with sleep. The digital clock, reflected endlessly in Homelander’s assortment of mirrors, reads 2:33am.

In the dark, you hear his footfalls heavily approaching. You know instantly that something’s wrong. He never crashes home like this. Any time he came home late in the past, he slipped silently into bed and embraced you until you woke in his arms.

You climb out of bed and put a hand out, walking blindly in the dark. “Homelander? Are you–” You move to turn on the light, but a gloved hand snatches your wrist so suddenly that you scream, yanked into his solid chest.

“Ssshhhh,” he hisses, uncharacteristically breathless. He’s panting. You’re as confused as you are alarmed, bracing your free hand against his chest, where it slips in something wet. You recognize the smell almost immediately–blood.

“Are you hurt?” You ask frantically, the worst possible scenario immediately clouding your thoughts. “Oh god, please, let me–” He kisses the words from your lips, grip on your wrist tightening to a pressure just shy of painful. His tongue pushes the taste of what you smelled into your mouth and you keen against him, your free hand sliding up his chest, blood collecting thickly on your palm, your fingers.

“It’s not mine,” he says, voice little more than a rasp against your lips. You make a sound of relief that he eagerly swallows up, though your heart continues to pound. His lips trail from yours to your cheek, then your temple. He must hear it in your heart, smell the adrenaline in your veins. “Y’scared of me?” He asks, the heat of his breath rolling a chill down your spine.

You could almost laugh. You’d open your ribcage for him to crawl inside if ever he needed shelter. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

“No, no. Not if you’re okay,” you tell him, turning your head away to offer your neck to him in both submission and invitation. He takes it eagerly, bending in to graze his teeth along your pulse point, ending on a kiss that shifts into the pull of his lips sucking a mark into your neck. “I was only scared when I thought it was yours,” you say, the words melting into a soft moan.

“Do you care whose it is?” He asks, wrapping his other arm around your waist, pulling you sharply against him.

You shake your head and breathlessly admit, “No.”

You feel the slow spread of his smile against your skin. He gets off on this, you know. Testing you. Pushing the limits to see how far you’ll stretch. It never fails to work him up into a frenzy when you match him move for move. “So long as it’s not yours.”

If he wants to bring the violence that lurks within him to your lips, you’ll swallow it whole to prove there’s a place in this world that he belongs. You touch his jaw and turn your head, bringing his cheek to your mouth. He’s pliant in your grasp, anticipating the press of your lips, but you feel him tense as you drag your tongue from his jaw to the high of his cheek, collecting the sickly sweet spray of blood from his skin. It tastes coppery, like how you imagine sucking an old penny would. It would be repulsive if this act weren’t so wholly for him.

And then he moans. Before Homelander, desire had always been something of an abstract concept to you. The poets of the world write it as something alive, something palpable. A longing for something so intense that it chokes you with hunger until you either have it in your jaws, or are driven mad for the lack of it. It had been romantic hyperbole like any other.

Now, finally, you understand it as the poets wrote it.

You lick him again, this time from his chin to his lips, and he eagerly twists it into a kiss, suddenly relinquishing his hold on you so that he can take you by the backs of your thighs and hoist your legs up around his waist.

Your stomach flips with the effortlessness of it, the novelty of his strength never dimming. You catch your arms around his neck and kiss him as he carries you towards the bed.

He drapes himself over you, pinning you to the mattress like a flower between the pages of a book, and kisses you senseless, his hunger tangible in every little press of his lips. He kisses you like he means each one as a bite, devouring you piece by piece until there’s nothing left between your bodies but the taste of blood.

“You never cease to fuckin’ surprise me,” he murmurs, lifting himself just enough to rip his zipper down with a distinct hiss. “There any part of me you don’t love?” He asks, and though you think he means it coyly, rasping it the way he does while he rips the fabric of your panties clean from between your legs, you know his sincerity when you hear it. You understand his yearning to hear your love confirmed.

“No. There’s no part of you unloved by me,” you swear to him, whispering it like an oath. “Whether I’ve seen it or not. If it’s you, then it’s loved.”

He pauses. Your eyes have adjusted to the dim light, and in it, you see him staring down at you. Though his handsome features are smeared dark with blood, you see him as he is beneath it–wounded.

In his eyes you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over his scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this madness. You have seen the beast in him, but so too have you seen the fragile man it protects.

When the beast shows you his teeth, you can’t help but put them to your throat so that he might taste how your heart beats for him.

Even now, as you look into the eyes of a man, you feel his claws sink into your hips through his gloves. “I love you,” he whispers in turn. Your brows furrow at the first press of his cock, a breathy little noise escaping you while he savors grinding the head of it tantalizingly against your clit. You’re already wet for him, so ready to take him. He presses his chest down against yours and your nightgown soaks up the blood on his suit, turning it wet and sticky against your skin. You hardly notice it compared to the feel of him sliding into you, splitting you open so slowly it makes you want to scream.

“Take me,” you say fervently. “I’m yours, but take me like I’m not.”

Ever determined to be all to you that you are to him, he drives into you at that, knocking the wind from your lungs with a sharp thrust that brings him to the core of you. Instantly you’re craving more, already anticipating the dull ache you’ll feel in the morning from how good he fucked you.

“Harder,” you gasp, pushing your hands into his hair, slicking it back with the blood on your hands. He moans sweetly when you tighten your grasp, and his thrusts become sharper, deeper. He hikes both of your legs higher over his hips and adjusts the position until he’s pounding you properly, angled so perfectly that every thrust sparks behind your eyelids like fireworks.

“I love you,” he says again, voice fraying around the edges, thrusts growing more erratic, “I l-I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says, chanting it like a mantra, as if it’s the only thought that matters to him right now. You, here, with him, loving him as he loves you.

You come first, your voice stolen by a crash of sensation so intense it renders you immobile, muscles locking up in a spasm of pleasure. Homelander doesn’t last much longer, thrusting through and into the aftermath of your climax until he, too, stills, seized by the magnitude of his own release. He floods into you at the same time he kisses you, body sinking down atop yours. It’s likely the only thing that keeps you from floating away, riding the high of your euphoria while the two of you both catch your breath.

The whole room smells of blood and sex, and there is an undeniable carnality in that. It brings out something beastly in you, too, and even as he lays against you, your point made and your love proven for the umpteenth time, you can’t help but drag your tongue once again from his bloodied skin to his lips, pushing more blood into his mouth and kissing the iron taste of it from him.

He groans softly. You feel his spent cock give a valiant throb inside the snug velvet walls of your cunt.

“You make me crazy,” he says, voice utterly fried.

“Love does that,” you say with a smile, your own voice slightly hoarse.

He smiles against your lips, relishing how you find any and every excuse to remind him of your love. “Gonna have t’shower,” he says, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, erupting goosebumps from your head to your toes. You thrive on how addicted he is to you.

“Soon,” you giggle, carding your fingers through his hair, though it’s slightly matted with blood. “I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

Gladly, he rests his head on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh as your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the fill of him inside you, the weight of him against you, and the warmth of him that seeps beyond your body and into the depths of your very soul.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #apologies in advance i wrote this in an absolute haze today haha

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feralsteddie · 1 year

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Steve finds the damn thing in the trash.

And like, he's not stupid, he knows what a cat is, knows none of the upside down creatures are all fuzzy and wide-eyed, but he's been through some shit, alright, and he's not too keen on taking chances.

It's got weird deformed front paws, and it's tiny, like, maybe two handfuls if he's generous, and it's sopping wet from the rain the night before and there's just something about it's big, sad eyes that makes him think too much of the party. And, well, he'd want someone to take the kids in if they were left in the rain, right?

He tells himself firmly that he's just going to dry it off. Maybe give it a little snack for the road. It's what any decent person would do, and it'd stave off some of the guilt he'd feel when he'd have to set it outside by the woods.

And then he thinks about Robin's rant about rabies, and he's looking up the number to the nearest animal hospital. Their next availability isn't until the morning, and he's not going to let the damn thing just get soaked again just to take it to the vet the next day, so he sets up a little bed made out of a spare trunk in the attic, an old pillow, and bedding from the guest room closet that had that weird pink floral pattern the kids threatened to burn if they had to see it on their bed again.

And when he goes the receptionist looks startled, and he gets defensive of the little thing because hey just because it has weird little paws doesn't mean they can make fun of it. He can't quite make out what they say, his hearing's been going out in his left ear and they're talking too fast for him to catch, but he thinks they mention something about it being a girl in there somewhere.

He pays for the vaccination and drives them back home.

And he sort of gets to thinking.

Because Claudia had been talking about how feral cats were becoming a problem, like, ecologically or whatever. Killing local birds and overpopulating and all that shit, and, it'd kind of be irresponsible of him to just let her loose right?

He makes a quick run into the nearest pet store, keeps the little thing tucked inside his hoodie pocket because she seems to like it there. And he keeps one hand in the pocket to make sure she doesn't try to escape and her weird little paws grasp his thumb and he feels a lurch in his chest, and well, fuck.

In for a penny and all that.

He gets her a nice big crate because he doesn't think she should be let loose while she's still so young when he can't be home. And an actual bed that's raised on three sides and got this black and pink plaid pattern he thinks would go with his ugly room wallpaper in a funny way. And two little pink bowls with little princess crowns on them. And a cute collar with different shaped tags he can get custom engraved. And a bunch of toys because cats need a lot of mental stimulation, right? And he sees the cat sweaters and really just can't resist can he, she's so small what if she gets cold?

It's when he gets to the food he gets a little stumped. He reads the ingredients lists and there are a lot of words on there he doesn't understand and who the hell is just gunna feed their kitten random shit? And he finds a book on cat-food recipes and it's all the shit he eats anyways and figures that's probably safer for his baby kitten.

He gets home, his kitten (freshly dubbed Rhiannon because he was listening to Fleetwood in the car on the way to the vet and, sorry kitty, he was not going to share a name by calling her Stevie) still tucked away all happy in his pocket while he gets her set up.

He gets to making up some of those recipes, pulling out a stack of tupperware containers so he can stock up and freeze her food for the week, and she climbs out of his pocket to sit on his hip. Tews had never done something like that, but she was a shoulder cat, so he guessed different pets all had their things.

He's in the middle of dividing the food up when the doorbell rings, and he's really careful about making sure he has a hold on her so she doesn't try to wiggle out and escape while he answers the door.

It's Eddie, he'd almost forgotten they made plans in all the excitement. He's got his usual smirk stretched across his face, pulling at the scar on his cheek for just a moment before his eye catches on Rhiannon. He blinks a couple of times, and Steve smiles wide as he prepares to introduce the new member of the party.

Eddie cuts him off though, pure confusion on his face as he takes in his new girl.

"Harrington. Why the fuck do you have a raccoon?"

#don't ask me what this was #steve harrington #steve harrington the accidental raccoon father #i see trailer park raccoon dad Eddie and raise you accidental raccoon mom Steve #pyreposting

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linnamonrolls0 · 3 months

Text

The Winner Takes It All

LMM!Hermes x Reader

Summary:

“devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more…”

You accidentally find your way into the Lotus Casino, where a certain Greek god takes a keen interest in a game of poker, a sweet deal, and… you.

Rating: Mature

Words: 4,480

A/N:

I wasn’t gonna write this… until I saw some hater saying they’d [redacted] if they saw a LMM!Hermes x Reader fic show up - so naturally, being the disastrous Lin simp that I am, I HAD TO DO IT. After all, learning from the best in proving the naysayers wrong…

A lot of this was written pre-episode, allow it with a few inconsistencies and a lot of research-induced additions!

Mixtape... bloop - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6v2ZfRamJRh8eP6qOqz4ND

Chapter 1: When The Chips Are Down

Contrary to popular belief, apparently it is possible to get lost in Las Vegas.

You were only strolling the Strip with a group of friends on the last day of your whirlwind vacation, but soon enough you found yourself at a dead end, unsure of what turn you’d even taken to get there.

Hoping to locate a restroom and some means of connectivity to contact your friends, you beelined for the nearest building, flashily labelled the Lotus Hotel and Casino: upon glancing upward, you were met with the sight of a forty-storey tower, with a wide open entrance marked by a blooming neon-bright lotus flower in front of you. It was the sort of place you would expect to be buzzing with life, but oddly enough nary a soul lingered by the shining silver doors; just stillness and silence, save for the muffled music pounding from somewhere inside.

Though you felt overwhelmingly uneasy, that entrance carried a strange magnetism that compelled you to step inside. Something that suggested all your fear would be put to rest the moment you walked through those doors… or into that flower, at least.

You tucked your hands under your sleeves and drew in a deep breath, before you crossed the petalled threshold into an opulent lobby decorated with lotus plants in intricately designed pots and inviting plush couches around the circular hall. The air conditioning was a welcome relief from the Nevada summer heat, and the whole place seemed to glow in a dark shade of pink.

You immediately felt an invisible weight ease off of your shoulders as you entered… What had you come here to look for, again?

Right, a phone charger and somewhere to pee. Of course, basic human necessities, how could you forget those so quickly?

Interrupting your line of thought, you paused in your tracks when a tall Barbie doll materialised in front of you, dressed in bright pink from head to toe; upon first glance she looked like some sort of projection, as though she wasn’t real at all.

“Welcome to the Lotus Hotel and Casino,” she greeted you in an almost robotic voice, with a plastic smile stretched across her face, holding out a shimmering green card. “Here’s your Cash Card, have a great time!”

“Cash… what? Do I have to pay for this?” you stuttered, confused beyond belief as you took the card. What was this place?

“No, not a penny!” She shook her head; not a single strand of her perfectly coiffed blonde hair shifted out of place. “Would you like a tour? Here, have a drink. Only the best in the world here!”

She offered you a glass goblet, filled to the brim with a dark maroon liquid and topped with blueberries, bearing the same eerie magnetism as the doors had done minutes before. You eyed the drink dubiously, brows furrowed as you sniffed it in a futile attempt to ascertain what exactly it was.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you politely declined, “What is—”

But before you could finish your question, the Barbie doll had disappeared as suddenly as she’d arrived, and the moment you sipped the strong floral drink, your questions completely evaporated.

Following your curiosity, you craned your neck and looked up to see endless floors lined with rooms and doors and glass balconies, with a pair of glass elevators in the middle. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if the great glass elevator could shoot through the ceiling like something out of a children’s book.

At least there were more people in here, though you were certain they too had just appeared as if by magic; not acknowledging you at all, they milled about in the lobby and outside the doors to the casino, beside to what appeared to be an arcade full of excited children playing classic and modern video games alike. Regardless of age, all the guests were clad in fancy-dress costumes; you figured perhaps there was an event taking place that had its attendees reflecting different eras of fashion. Wouldn’t be unusual for this town, everyone was dressed crazy and after three days traversing Sin City’s myriad clubs and casinos, nothing fazed you - or perhaps the effects of whatever you’d taken at that club last night still hadn’t fully worn off, who knew…

Still in a bit of a daze, you floated toward the immense double doors leading to the Casino, already hearing the jingling of slot machines singing proud over the pounding pop beats as their backing track.

The casino was lit by ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, deliberately dimmed to give way to the bright, flashing lights of the various gaming machines assembled around the hall, surrounding a set of card tables in its centre. Chatter and laughter filled the room and people crowded around the tables, playing without a care in the world and having the time of their lives; everyone seemed to have a goblet in hand and a cash card in the other, not dissimilar to your current state. It was warmer in here, though still comfortable enough that you could breathe… Just about.

You wandered through and your attention was glued to a game of roulette at a table beside you, where a couple had just won who knows what, when you were interrupted by a greeting that you just somehow knew was directed at you.

“Well, hello, there,” you heard in a smooth, low tenor behind you.

You whirled around on your heel to be met by… a guy. Literally just a guy, casually leaning on his gorgeously tanned forearms on a nearby craps table, aimlessly toying with a pair of dice in his left hand as he gazed over at you. He was certainly easy on the eyes with his vaguely familiar but handsome face, a mischievous little smirk on his lips, and pretty brown eyes that sparkled in the flashing lights… There was something about those eyes that drew you in. And for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away…

He looked like the most normal person in the room, but he seemed entirely out of place, given that everyone else was dressed to the nines - meanwhile he wore a comfy tan hoodie and sweatpants set, as if he perhaps owned it all and subsequently had no rules to follow in this already-lawless land. When he stepped around his table to approach you, he certainly did swagger around like he ruled the place, and his companions nearby looked at him like they worshipped the ground he walked on. Perhaps he was important, but how were you to know?

“You come here often?” he flirted, just about the most awful pickup line imaginable, but you were past the point of questioning why it still sounded attractive.

How had you ended up here, anyway? Hell knew… But this was Sin City, after all; a little harmless flirting could do you no harm, surely…

“Nope, never been here before. But weirdly, I don’t want to leave…” you shrugged, taking another sip of that strangely addictive drink.

“Sounds about right, Miss…”

“[Y/N],” you offered casually, uncharacteristically not hesitant.

“Pleasure to meet you…” he said with a playful lilt to his tone, holding out a hand, “They call me Hermes.”

When you shook his hand, for a split second you could’ve sworn you weren’t there anymore - when his smooth hand held yours, something akin to a firework went off inside your mind, and you’d put it down to just sparks if not for the phantom breeze you felt just then, a gust that nearly knocked you off your feet.

You couldn’t place what it was, exactly, but there was something strange about this man. He bore an almost otherworldly quality, as though he wasn’t human at all… But how could he be anything else? Come to think of it, there was a similarly supernatural energy about the casino itself; no wonder he fit right in to this weird wonderland.

“What, you got a Birkin in your back pocket or something, Mr Hermes?” you laughed, trying to shake off that odd suspicion, only to be met by his indignant scowl. Even that was cute.

“And what business do you have with my back pockets?” he teased, tucking one hand into the front pocket of his hoodie, to which you raised an intrigued brow.

You shrugged, nonchalant, still reeling from that strange feeling. “Nothing yet, but perhaps I’d like to find out…”

“Obviously I do not, but I could hook you up.” The innuendo wasn’t lost on you, least of all when Hermes smirked, that patented brand of mischief you were quickly growing quite fond of as he swaggered across to the card table; the players welcomed him back gladly. “Care for a game?” he asked, seemingly winning one without even paying attention to it as he rolled the dice carelessly onto the table that stood between you.

As he retrieved the dice, you eyed his hands curiously; they could only be described as pretty, as though he might be a pianist or… an artist of some description. He had his sleeves rolled back and a gold-plated Rolex glimmered on one wrist, a chunky gold chain-link bracelet on the other, and something about that on him was distractingly attractive. It all screamed money, despite his casual tracksuit getup, which would’ve been nothing special if it didn’t look so needlessly expensive in itself. You absently wondered what that obscure tattoo on his ring finger meant, for surely it couldn’t imply he might be taken…

“It’s not like you have anything to lose,” Hermes commented, interrupting your line of thought as he set a few chips down on the table and retrieved his own green Cash Card from his pocket, holding it up to show you. So everyone had them; then, what was the point?

Oh, right. You likely couldn’t do anything with the money outside, so, go figure it was an unlimited free pass.

“I guess I’m in. After all, what you gonna do when the chips are down?” you quoted a challenge, holding your own smug look at the recognition in his eyes.

“I see you speak my language…” he teased, “Even if those aren’t exactly my words.”

“Funny you should mention that. Has anyone ever told you you look a bit like Lin-Manuel Miranda?”

“So I’ve been told! Though, I think the correct expression would be that he looks like me. Same difference, he’s me, I’m him, whatever.” He waved a flippant hand, as if instructing you to ask no further questions on the topic.

“Gotcha…” You laughed, putting this all down to a wacky dream by now as you joined him by the card table. “What is this, anyway?” you asked him, raising your goblet in his general direction. He was the only person here without one, which didn’t entirely make sense to you, even in the logic of twisted fever dreams.

“Raise a glass to freedom… and throw it the fuck away,” he sang with a laugh, “Seriously, though, that’s a little addictive psychedelic beverage called blue lotus wine. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t drink a drop.”

“And what if I already did?”

“Well, then you’re well and truly screwed…” Hermes grinned, mischief dancing in his dark brown eyes. He swiped the half-full glass out of your hand and knocked back the remainder of the wine in one quick gulp, his gaze never leaving yours as he deposited the empty glass on a tray carried away by one of those apparating Barbie waitresses. “And now, so am I.”

He waved over another waitress and grabbed two new glasses of wine off her tray, politely handing one to you. He brought his glass to his lips, slowly sipping at the wine as you eyed his hand wrapped around the glass, absently wondering what that seemingly delicate touch would feel like on you… There was no reason why the simple act of this man drinking hallucinatory wine should’ve been remotely sexy, but you could say the same for him in general; this shouldn’t work, but god damn, it does.

“Was that really the best idea if it’s—” you began, and he quickly cut in.

“Absolutely not, no, but if you come here to forget, you may as well do it right…” Hermes sighed, a momentary flash of resignation in his stance as he briefly let his shoulders droop. “Anyway, whatever, fuck real life. Let’s play?” he offered, running a hand through his dark hair, seemingly shaking himself out of the memory of whatever haunting reality had led him here. As a matter of fact, what had led you here?

“Sure,” you smiled, “What are we playing? I’m pretty sure I saw an arcade on my way in…”

“Come on, there’s no stakes in that! This is where the real fun’s at,” he said with a light laugh, gesturing to the craps table in front of you.

“Speak for yourself. I’ll have you know, I’m amazing at air hockey!”

“Yeah? I’m a killer at the claw machine, so go figure.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Cute. Shame they don’t have an escape room.”

“Just as well, I’ve always been a little too good with locks… Besides, this place itself is an escape room. Only, there’s no escape…”

“Wait, what?”

“Because… You want to stay, right? What’s waiting for you outside?”

Suddenly, you found yourself struggling to answer his question. Where barely a few moments ago, everything had been so clear, now you could see a hazy cloud inside your mind as you desperately searched for the answer to no avail, almost as though that hallucinogen was beginning to hit hard…

“Outside? What’s outside? I — I could stay here — You’re… Huh?” you stuttered, “I don’t know where else I’d go.”

Hermes sighed, glancing over at you. “Literally anywhere but here.”

“Sorry?” you questioned, brows furrowed. Had you misread his signals?

“Walk with me,” he offered, and so you obliged as he stepped towards you again. You followed his lead as he strolled on within the confines of the casino, glancing surreptitiously around as though making sure you weren’t being eavesdropped on - though you could only wonder why.

“Alright, I don’t normally do this…” he drawled, “But for some reason I’m taking a liking towards you; and all trickery aside, I don’t take unfair advantage, so here’s the secret. You ever heard of Odysseus and the Lotus Eaters?” he asked seriously; you nodded your assurance. “Well, this place is kinda like their island… Only, now it’s here in the modern world, and what better place for it than Sin City? Hence the lightness in the air and the endless supply of blue lotus wine…”

You eyed him curiously, willing him to go on and trying not to focus on his initial confession. “I guess that explains a lot. So this is… eternal psychedelic bliss?”

“Yep, that good old adrenaline and dopamine rush, forever and ever and everrrrr… Half of Olympus has tried to claim it, but nobody really knows whose work of chaotic genius this was.” He shrugged nonchalantly, not at all like he was explaining such an outlandish concept. “When you’re in a casino, time just seems to work differently - and just like that, time moves at its own distorted pace in here. Lost travellers often find their way into this place, it has that draw when you stray off your path - and that’s why I hang out here, not just to wander astray from my own shit, but to guide you back to yours. I’m not immune to this,” he raised his glass, gesturing to the wine, “But I can handle the air just fine, unlike most mortals…”

“And what if I want to get lost?” you challenged, plucking his glass out of his hand, holding his gaze as you brought the drink to your lips. His gaze remained fixed on you as he bit his own lip, his eyes flickering to your lips for a millisecond as you sipped the wine; thirsty, not dissimilar to the way you’d been eyeing him mere seconds ago.

“Mmkay, lucky for you, I have some semblance of sense about me,” Hermes said, stopping by a poker table nearby, where the players immediately cleared a spot for the pair of you. Entirely nonchalant, he swiped a deck of cards off the table, expertly shuffling it as he spoke, “So win the next deal, and I’ll get you out of here.”

“So if I lose, I’m stuck in here?” you attempted to clarify the stakes, trying not to get distracted as you watched him shuffle those cards. Hell, he had such pretty hands, what else could you do but wonder what else he could do with them?

“Pretty much.”

“And what if I ask for a better deal?”

“Better than having your real life back?”

“Yep.”

“Try me…”

“Okay. If I win, my prize is you.”

“Me? What’s the catch?”

“Nothing. Just, you and me, until not even the gods above can separate the two of us,” you teased, peak dramatic, somewhere between flirting and floating. You could get used to this, the weightless feeling of flight…

Hermes quirked a brow at you, undeniably amused. “Interesting thought, given that I’m… well, not above, per se, but one of them.”

“You’re… what now?” You tilted your head to one side, looking curiously across at him. What in the world was he on about?

He shot you a pointed stare, isn’t it obvious? But it wasn’t, until now… when it all began to make sense, slowly: what this place was, how he knew so much about it, why he had a more heightened sense of awareness despite the inherent hypnotism of the literal and metaphorical lotus flower you’d stepped into… And he could guide lost travellers out. Your jaw dropped as your hand flew to your mouth when it finally dawned upon you who and what he was, and what that entailed —

And out loud, all you could manage was a whisper; “Oh, my god…”

The Greek god in front of you heaved a dramatic sigh, aiming a playful eye-roll in your direction. “Please, like I haven’t heard that one before,” he chuckled lightly, the sarcasm heavy in his tone.

And so you let him deal your hand and you played, stopping every so often to laugh, for Hermes was surprisingly fun to be around and perhaps staying here with him wouldn’t be so bad… Only, this couldn’t be his permanent residence. He was the god of travel, it made sense that he never hung around one place long enough to settle. It was obvious he had a natural charisma about him that clearly worked in his favour more than once; and not that it really mattered, but you absently wondered how many like you had crossed paths with him before, and the past baggage he’d been trying to forget was certainly not lost on you…

He had his right arm slung casually around your shoulder, his left occupied by his cards, not caring if you could see them. You tried your level best to stay focused; for you were feeling a little lightheaded by now, a combination of the wine and the strong scent of his cologne… He was close, enough that you could pick up the gentle sweet notes beneath the woody cedar scent he wore.

“All in?” you suggested, nudging your chips toward the centre of the table, glancing up at the literal god beside you.

“I am if you are,” Hermes smirked, pushing his own ridiculous amount of chips into the pot beside yours.

The game went on; and as if out of nowhere, thanks to a sudden turn in your luck and a surprise royal flush - which if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve attributed to him - you had finally won. Caught up in the daze, you stepped up onto your toes and threw your arms around his neck in an excited hug. He was momentarily taken aback by it, but quickly regained enough composure to gently wrap his arms around you. His soft touch bore a pleasantly startling contrast to his mischievous demeanour, and you found yourself not wanting to let go.

“Well played…” he congratulated you in that same teasing tone as he gently drew you back, briefly glancing at his watch and tapping two fingers against the side of the dial.

Perhaps you would’ve wondered why, but spurred on by your victory and high off the adrenaline, you hooked one finger in the gold chain around his neck and gently tugged at it to urge him closer, until the distance between you was barely a hair’s breadth. You could feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, his intense cologne flooding your senses. And suddenly it didn’t faze you that you were in public, and you paid no mind to the way all his casino companions were frozen around you instead of continuing their games… Suddenly, all you wanted was him.

Was it blasphemous to lust after a god?

Hell, you could deal with the consequences of that later, for right now, his magnetism was pulling you in and you couldn’t bear to look away from those deep, dark brown eyes… Until Hermes leant closer to you and his soft lips brushed yours as he spoke, barely above a whisper yet you could hear him clearly despite the noise, “Not at all…”

Your breathing hitched, at his comment, at his proximity, at… everything about this. How the fuck did he know what you’d been thinking?

Perhaps you’d dwell on that longer, but just then he reached up to cup your cheek. Though unexpectedly tender, his touch was white hot where his skin met yours, but pleasurably so as you let yourself get lost in it, in him… He pressed his lips to yours in two delicate little pecks, clearly just teasing, and you just about caught sight of his smirk before you stepped up onto your toes to kiss him again, for real this time. His other hand smoothly dropped to your waist, holding you against him and you pulled at his chain with your finger still caught in it, curling your other fist in the soft cotton of his hoodie.

Apparently, even the gods weren’t immune to carnal need, and Hermes was evidently faring no better than you; he gave in to the kiss quickly, all but melting into you, his tongue swiping insistently at your bottom lip, and you weren’t about to stop him. You parted your lips for him, granting him access instead of prolonging this teasing that had left you both desperate. He tasted of something indescribably sweet, mixed with the rich taste of the blue lotus wine that you’d both downed not so long ago, and you already knew he was a far better intoxicant than any drink you’d find here… As he deepened the kiss, his tongue brazenly tasting yours, borderline hungry; you saw a flash of light behind your eyelids, gripped by the feeling that you were flying, all for a mere moment before you became hyperaware of his heated touch and the fact that your feet were still firmly planted on the soft floral-patterned carpet of the casino.

It felt like time had frozen, the world had stopped around you, and nothing mattered except for him and you and the most perfect kiss you’d ever had…

But somehow, instead of clouding your thoughts like you’d expected, you drew back from his kiss with some clarity. Hermes had told you he could never lose. So why, then, had you just managed to win this? You were no expert when it came to these games, and he was clearly a well-seasoned gambling master… Had the notorious trickster god manipulated the deal in your favour? Had he purposely thrown this away for you?

The glimmer in his eyes only looked brighter as you separated, yet somehow those deep browns looked darker, lust clearly getting the better of him; and he made no effort to hide it, despite his small smile and the lightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. You were fairly sure you mirrored it all, and you were in no hurry to let him go…

Only, as the world began to come back into focus, you realised time really had stopped around you: everything and everyone in the casino was frozen, and you glanced up at the god in front of you with a mix of curiosity and fear in your eyes. “When you said you could stop time…” you began, still in disbelief.

Hermes nodded slowly, meeting your gaze with that characteristic smirk. “Yeah, I meant that literally. I may have had a running out of time crisis once, hence… this stolen life-saver,” he explained, raising his wrist to show you his watch - now upon closer inspection, you realised the hour, minute and second hands all pointed to 12, and he hovered a finger over a button at the side of the dial. “It’s up to you. Want me to bring it back?”

You shook your head. Not only did that beautiful gold timepiece look unfairly gorgeous on his wrist; it also held a piece of magic that could be incredibly useful… “No,” you whispered, “I’m in no hurry. Let’s make this last…”

You tilted your chin up towards him again, and he obliged you with another sweet little kiss. “Well, then… Perhaps I could show you some of the wonders of existing beyond space and time…” he murmured, “What d’you say to that?”

“I say, make time stop for us a little longer. Take me to another world, Hermes…”

The look he shot you just then, could’ve brought you to your knees on the spot - somehow you just knew he was fixated on the sound of his name as you whispered it, and you wondered how he could make you feel that just from a simple touch.

“C’mon, sweetheart; let’s get out of here,” Hermes suggested, offering you an arm; you linked your arm through his as he tapped the side of his watch, resuming the world around you as if it had never paused at all.

You gazed up at him in awe as he led you out of the casino, back to the lobby and towards the opening of the blooming flower you’d walked in through. The humid summer air hit you both as you stepped outside together, thereby breaking the spell - but you were still captivated by him, regardless. He briefly let go of you to do away with his warm hoodie, leaving him in just a fitted white t-shirt that had no business looking so goddamn gorgeous on him.

You couldn’t help but smile as he hummed softly in your ear, “There’s a place I know in a nearby park…”

Part 2 via AO3 (blasphemous smut ahead)

#lin manuel miranda #lin manuel miranda x reader #lin manuel x reader #hermes x reader #pjo hermes #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #my gif #my fic #pjo hermes fanfic #can't help it i love him

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queenimmadolla · 9 months

Note

srry if this has been asked before !

how did eddie & reader tell penny they were expecting? and how did she react ?

glad you asked because now i get to post this early!

° 　. ● . ★ ° . *　　　° * 　.　 :　　:●. 　 *° :●. 　 * .　 * 　.　　 ˚ *.　　 *　　 * ⋆ 　 . · 　　 ⋆ ˚ ˚ 　　 ✦⋆ · 　 *⋆ ✧　　 · 　 ✧　✵　　. 　★ ° . *

(dad!eddie munson x mom!pregnant!reader)

more of your family here.

Summary: . . . You and Eddie tell your toddler she's going to be a big sister.

warnings: penny being penny, it's fluff.

It wasn’t ideal. Not necessarily something you were vehemently against, since you were obviously going through with it, but not worth sobbing over.

Eddie had knocked you up. Again.

Penny wasn’t even three years old yet, and you’d ended up with yet another bun in the oven—as you’d discovered two weeks ago.

Luckily, you weren’t as far along as you had been when you found out you were pregnant with Penny, so you’d have more time to plan and come to terms with it. And your hormones weren’t out of whack yet.

Last week had technically been the end of your first trimester, so you were pretty much in the clear to start telling people—though most of your friend group already knew because despite feeling a little overwhelmed, Eddie took great pride in his ability to strike twice.

You were sure he had some sort of breeding kink, and it definitely didn’t help that you let him raw dog you every single time. As soon as you popped this one out, that would be coming to an end. Until then, he was keen on having his fill—or rather keen on filling you.

The only person in your life who didn’t know you were expecting was your toddler. If the conversation didn’t involve a word she wasn’t supposed to say, Penny wasn’t paying attention.

You and Eddie had tried to come up with ways to tell her, but you’d both been fumbling with ideas. Mostly because you had no idea how she’d react.

Penny only interacted with a few kids her age at the park, mostly older children and sometimes she’d see a baby, point at it and say ‘baby’, but that was about it. She’d do the same when she saw the gerber baby commercials and she thought the babies on her cartoons were cute, but that was the most she’d interacted with one.

Penny was also aware of the existence of siblings, saw them depicted in her cartoons but never approached you and Eddie in regards to why she didn’t have one or wanting one (which you had been grateful about). But she was only two. Which meant she probably didn’t care.

Or that she didn’t want one.

That’s what you and Eddie were afraid of.

You’d been thinking about her lack of interactions with babies all day at work when the idea struck you.

It was such an obvious one, too, you knew Eddie would be annoyed that he didn’t think of it sooner.

After work, you swung by the store, secured the bag (and a gift bag) and dipped.

Once you were parked in front of the trailer, you shoved the darling little thing into the gift bag and found yourself surprisingly giddy about the entire idea. You had a really good feeling about this.

Eddie had already picked Penny up from Maude and Wayne, and you found him lifting her up and rocketing her around the room, making swoosh sound effects while she laughed her cute little diaper-covered butt off.

It was music to your ears.

“Look! Mommy’s home!” Eddie lowered her, turning her so she was facing your direction.

Her big brown eyes lit up, smile widening as she reached for you.

“Mama!”

“Hi, baby!” You greeted her as Eddie repositioned her over his hip. She leaned forward, lips comically pursed and ready for a kiss. Penny saw you and Eddie kiss each other goodbye and witnessed your welcome kisses, so she also demanded kisses, which you were happy to give her. At one point, she didn’t want you giving Eddie any kisses because she thought they were all hers so you were happy she was willing to share.

You gave her an innocent little smooch, and pressed big smacking ones to both her cheeks.

“And hello to you, too.” You reached a hand up to hook on the back of Eddie’s neck as you leaned up and he leaned down, lips meeting in a kiss you knew he wanted to deepen—and would have, had it not been for the toddler in his arms.

“Hi, honey.” He gave you a goofy grin, before jutting his chin down towards the shiny pink bag in your hand, “What’cha got there?”

“Put her on the couch, I’ll show you.”

“Is it for me or is it for her?” Eddie tapped at his chest before gently pinching and wiggling Penny’s nose as you both moved over to the couch. “‘Cause, I’m hoping it’s for me. No offense, kid.”

Her pudgy little hands flew up to swipe at her dad’s before he set her down on the cushions. Penny was still all smiles, but since Eddie had brought the gift to her attention, she couldn’t focus on anything else, stare honed in on the pink bag.

You squatted to be eye level with her and reached your hand out to tickle Penny’s tummy. She giggled, tongue between her teeth as she moved her hands to try to shield her tummy from you.

“I’ve brought you a gift.” You held the bag up by the strings, the bottom of it supported by your other palm.

“Wazzit?”

“It’s a crystal, nothing more—I’m kidding. Open it, baby.”

You placed it in her grabby hands, the bag was half her size so she had to dump it on its side and practically climb inside to pull out the clear, plastic box. Her little gasp was a dramatic one.

“‘S uh baby, mommy! Uh baby!”

Penny marveled at the baby doll in her hands, mouth and eyes wide open.

“Show daddy!”

Penny turned the clear box around—dropping it in her lap once—to showcase the plastic baby inside.

Eddie’s gasp was purposely more dramatic than Penny’s had been, “Is that a baby?!”

“Yah!”

Eddie chuckled, holding a hand out, “You want me to open it for you?”

“Yes.”

Eddie struggled with the packaging for a good five minutes, muttering unintelligible words under his breath before he finally got the doll out and released it from its bindings.

Penny clutched it to her chest in a deathly tight hug and your heart warmed to see her so happy. Penny had yet to be introduced to dolls, all she ever played with was blocks and stuffed animals—you and Eddie avoided taking her to the toy aisle, you because you were afraid she’d want something she was too small for and Eddie because he feared she’d want something with too many choking hazard pieces.

“I haz uh baby!” She proclaimed, eyes squeezing shut with the force of her smile.

“You know, Penny…I have a baby, too.” You confessed, reaching a hand out to stroke over her curls.

“I yuh baby!” She giggled

You and Eddie both chuckled, and he squatted down to join you. He’d finally caught on to what you were up to, and you were right, he was a little miffed he hadn’t thought of this earlier, considering Penny often had him feed her stuffed animals a bottle.

“You are our baby,” Eddie agreed, “but mama has another baby.”

“Daddy, Penny yuh baby! Penny mommy’s baby.” She tried again, probably wondering why her mommy and daddy didn’t understand that she was the baby.

“Penny is—you are a baby,” you always had to catch yourself. Penny had a habit of usually referring to herself in third person because she heard you and Eddie talk about her and thought she had to refer to herself in the same way, “I’m just gonna have another baby and you.”

Penny’s grip on the baby doll loosened, head tilting with confusion written all over her cute little face. “Huh?”

“You remember the babies in the strollers at the park?” You asked, palm scooping up one of her little hands. She curled it around your thumb.

“Yes.”

“Mommy and daddy are having one of those.” Eddie finished for you, flashing you a smile with eyes that glittered and oozed his happiness. There was something magical about Eddie. He had the power to make any weariness, any of your lingering nerves just disappear. Melt away. Just with a look.

“You’re gonna be a big sister,” You added, returning your focus to your little girl.

Penny’s gaze darted to the side and you and Eddie held your breath.

Her gaze darted to the other side as she continued to think and Eddie reached for your hand, squeezing. His palm was sweaty.

Finally, she spoke.

“Uhhhhhhhh, wike pieble?” Her head cocked to the side again, unwinding one arm from around her baby doll to scratch at her head and muss up her curls.

She meant Fievel. A little mouse from one of her favorite movies.

“Well, he was the little brother, so you’re more like—what’s her name?”

You turned your head to ask Eddie who readily supplied you with the answer since it was the tape that constantly occupied the VCR. He could quote that movie by now.

“Tanya.”

“Tanya. You’re like Tanya.”

“Aww!!!” Penny went bashful, shoulders lifting up nearly to her ears. “Okie dokie!”

You sighed in relief but Eddie was still practically frozen.

“…That’s it?”

“Huh?”

“You’re just—you’re okay with it? Just like that? No screaming, no crying, no throwing your toys at daddy? You’re just—you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

Eddie blinked, lips pursed before he shrugged and stood up and you rose with him. “Well, okay then! We’re having another baby.”

Penny squealed, shoving her baby doll aside—oh, how fleeting was her favor—to clap her hands, practically bouncing on the cushion.

“Weh my baby?”

“Right there.” Eddie pointed at the baby doll before he pulled you into his arms, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. You were having his baby, again, and his baby girl was fine with it. He’d been expecting one of her tantrums that ended with her spread out on the floor, bashing her fists and kicking her feet against it while she screamed till she was blue in the face but the reality was so much better.

“No, daddy. Not dat.” And to emphasize she wasn’t talking about the doll, Penny lifted her leg, making sure the baby doll was under her foot before she kicked it off the couch. “I wan’ my baby.”

“Jesus, Penny. What have I said about throwing your toys?” He frowned, chin resting on the top of your head while you stayed quiet and nestled against his chest. You weren’t docile or anything, you just wanted him to be the bad guy this time.

Penny ignored him, once more voicing her question with a great amount of exasperation and her hands flailing, “Weh my baby!?”

“Still in my tummy, Penny.” You informed her, hand moving to rest over your lower abdomen. There still wasn’t much change there, but you knew life was growing just beneath your palm.

Eddie wished so damn badly that he had the camera to capture the look on Penny’s face at your statement, her mouth dropped open, eyes wider than he’d ever seen them with a mixture of outrage, horror and disbelief.

“YOU ATED UH BABY?!”

#pennyverse #pennyverse asks #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #dilf!eddie munson #girl dad!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #dad!eddie munson #joseph quinn #joe quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x pregnant!reader #dad!eddie munson x reader

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fanficgirl429 · 10 months

Text

Returning Home

Prompt: Y/N returns home for Iceman’s funeral and runs into her ex, Bradley Bradshaw.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: sex

------

It had been nearly five years since Y/N had stepped foot in Fightertown. It held a lot of good memories but there were also memories that she had tried to erase.

The moment she had learned that Iceman had passed, she dropped what she was doing and booked a flight to her hometown. Ice had helped her father out in more than one way and she couldn’t imagine missing the funeral.

Her return flight was merely hours after the funeral ended- she had decided that she didn’t want to stay any longer than she needed.

Her boyfriend had offered to accompany her but she told him to stay home- she would only be gone for two days. Although he had looked slightly offended, he eventually agreed to stay.

Y/N and her father had just left the wake and after much protesting from her dad, she had agreed to one drink at the Hard Deck.

“Maverick!” Penny called, walking towards the father and daughter duo. “How are you doing?”

She pulled him in for a quick hug before looking over at Y/N. “Y/N! It’s so nice to see you again. Your dad has been sure to keep me up to date on how you have been doing.”

“It’s nice to see you too!” Y/N replied. The last time she had seen Penny was five years ago. At the time she had no idea in just a few years Penny would be dating her dad.

“I wish it was under other circumstances but I’m glad you’re here nonetheless.”

Penny walked behind the bar and handed Maverick his favorite beer. “What can I get you?” she asked Y/N.

“Oh water is fine,” Y/N said. “I want to be conscious for my flight.”

Penny laughed and filled up a clear plastic cup with water. She glanced around the bar, surprised to find that not much had changed. The piano was still in the exact same spot as well as the classic jukebox.

Memories flooded her head as she remembered standing around the piano singing with her friends and trying to find the perfect song to play on the jukebox.

“How’s Jack doing?” Penny asked, referring to Y/N’s boyfriend of just over a year.

“He’s doing good. He just got a huge job promotion yesterday,” Y/N told her, smiling.

“That’s wonderful. Hopefully I can meet him soon.”

Y/N agreed and looked over at her father. “How is Top Gun going?”

“It’s going ok. Some people aren’t too keen on my teaching strategies,” he told her, picking at the label on his bottle.

Y/N nodded all to familiar with her father’s flying antics. “Did I tell you that Bradley is there as well?”

Bradley was Y/N’s ex boyfriend. They had been together for nearly 4 years before she had decided to end things.

Y/N looked over at Maverick, eyes wide. “N-no you didn’t. How is he doing?”

Maverick shrugged. “Well he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Well you did really hurt him,” Y/N said, taking a sip of her water.

Right after they had broken up, Y/N had learned that her father had pulled Bradley’s papers to stop him from flying. Of course, Bradley had been pissed and stopped talking to Maverick. Her dad had reached out numerous times to him to apologize but Bradley had never responded.

Y/N looked around at the numerous people at the bar. There were a few couples sitting at tables and nursing their drinks. She had learned from her dad that pilots from Top Gun often came to the Hard Deck to blow off some steam. After learning the news about Bradley being back in town, she hoped that he wouldn’t show up.

Y/N looked over at her dad, who had a scowl etched across his face. He was watching a group of young pilots who had just walked in.

“That’s about half of my class right there,” he said, nodding in the pilot's directions. “If they bother you, let me know.”

Y/N’s eyes wandered over to a tall blonde who was rather good looking. Next to him, stood another pilot- this one all too familiar. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, and a mustache (that was new). Bradley Bradshaw. Y/N’s ex boyfriend.

Things between the two of them had not ended well. Their relationship had been rocky for a while and after a big argument which resulted in the two of them not speaking for days, Y/N had decided to end it. It was one of the hardest decisions that she had ever had to make. Their lives were going in two different directions and they had both been young.

Bradley’s eyes locked with hers and he gave her a small smile. She smiled back, thoughts racing through her head. Should I go say hi? Should I wait and see if he’ll come over? Maybe he’ll come say hi to my dad as an excuse to come see me?

Minutes ticked by and neither of them made any attempt to talk to each other. Growing restless, Y/N excused herself and walked towards the restroom. She quickly glanced over at Bradley, who was currently talking to a female pilot. A small bit of jealously hit Y/N. Shaking it off, she walked into the bathroom to have a moment to herself.

Y/N took a deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom. Her plan was to pay her tab and then leave and get ready to go home.

Bradley was leaning against the wall, arms folded against his chest, as if waiting for Y/N to come out of the bathroom.

“Y/N, can we talk?” he said.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Y/N told him and began to walk away.

His hand gently wrapped around her arm, pulling her back towards him. Her heart skipped a beat from his touch as she looked at him.

“What do you want Bradley?” Y/N asked.

Bradley sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I-I’m not sure. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Y/N let out a laugh. “It’s been five years, Bradley. You could have just picked up the phone if you wanted to talk that badly.”

“Would you have answered?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was really angry with you.”

“Clearly. You left town.”

“I had to. I think if I would have seen you again, I would have come running back to you but we were so bad for each other at the time. I think that maybe if we were older and had our lives figured out a bit more we could have made it work.”

Bradley’s eyes went wide at Y/N’s honesty but he knew that she was right. Timing was everything.

“There hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know that it has been years but when I said that you were the one meant for me, I truly meant it. I still think that you’re meant for me,” he told her.

Deep down Y/N knew that he was right. She thought about him at least once a day. The question of did she make the right decision was also constantly on her mind. Sure, she loved Jake but it was different than when she was with Bradley. She thought that maybe it was because Bradley was her first true love but after seeing him now, she knew it was because she was still in love with him.

Slowly reaching out, he laced his fingers with hers and pulled her closer to him. She quickly glanced around to make sure there were no prying eyes. Luckily the bathrooms were in the back and they would be able to hear if anyone was coming down the short hallway.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Bradley’s waist as he hugged her tightly. He was more toned than she remembered but she wasn’t complaining. He still smelled exactly the way that he used to and when he held her, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Slowly, Bradley leaned down and placed his lips against Y/N’s. Together their lips moved in sync, almost as if no time had passed between them. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tangling with hers.

Bradley’s hands moved down to Y/N hips and gently pushed back her so that her back was pressed against the wall. His thumb slipped underneath the hem of her shirt and made slow circles against her hip. Goosebumps rose in their wake as she remembered exactly what Bradley’s touch did to her.

A dull ache began to form between her legs and she squeezed her thighs together, hoping to make it go away but knew that it wouldn’t.

Bradley’s body was pressed up against hers and she could his erection pressing against her stomach. Reaching down, she gently squeezed him through his jeans and he let out a low moan, pulling away from her.

“Fuck Y/N,” Bradley breathed. “I want you so fucking much.”

Without pausing to think about the consequences, Y/N grabbed Bradley’s hand and pulled him towards the womans one person bathroom.

“Are you sure?” Bradley asked, hesitantly.

“Yea.”

When the door was closed and locked behind them, Bradley reached down and pulled Y/N’s t shirt over head, revealing her black lacy bra. She gave herself a silent applause as she was thankful she had chosen her good bra as opposed to her old beat up one.

Bradley eye’s went wide as he started at her in awe of her body. It was better than he had remembered. He pulled her back against him and locked his lips back to hers. This time the kiss was full of need and lust.

HIs fingers toyed with the waistband of her jeans before unbuttoning and unzipping them. He slipped his hand down to her core and ran his fingers along the outside of her underwear before pushing the material aside.

Y/N let out a moan as his fingers found her sensitive spot and began to rub against it. Closing her eyes, Y/N let the sensation take over her body. Her breathing picked up speed as she felt herself reach her climax.

Bradley placed a hand over her mouth as she cried out, reaching her high.

After a moment, Y/N opened her eyes to find Bradley smirking. She playfully hit him in the arm and he let out a laugh.

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down along with his black boxer briefs.

Precum had already formed on his length and Y/ reached out and ran her thumb along the tip. Bradley sucked in a deep breath as she wrapped her hand along his length and slowly moved it up and down.

“I’m gonna come now if you don’t stop,” Bradley warned as he placed a large hand on top of hers. “And I want to come inside of you.”

Y/N removed her hand and reached down and unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down along with her underwear down to her knees.

Bradley placed his hands on her waist and turned her around, facing away from him. She reached out and placed her hands against the wall to steady herself. Bradley ran his length along her core, teasing her.

“Bradley,” Y/N whined as he pressed a finger against her sensitive spot.

Bradley lined himself up with Y/N’s core and slowly pushed into her. She let out a small gasp from the feeling before he pulled out and pushed back into her. He began to move his body slowly against hers.

One his hands gripped her shoulder, well the other one held onto her waist, keeping her steady. Y/N’s hands were still placed against the wall as she kept herself steady.

The small bathroom was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and occasional sounds from the other side of the door, reminding the two of them where they were. Somehow no one had knocked on the door yet.

A knot began to form in Y/N’s stomach as she climbed closer and closer to the edge. Shew knew that Bradley was close because he began to move quicker against her.

WIthin moments, her walls clenched around him as he released into her. The two of them stood still for a moment, catching their breath.

When Y/N was ready, she stood up and Bradley pulled out of her, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her against him. Her legs were wobbly as she held onto him, not wanting him to let go. It felt right when his arms were wrapped around her but then reality hit.

Y/N pulled away from Bradley, feeling her face turn a deep shade of red.

“Oh my god,” she said quietly, reaching down and pulling up her underwear and pants.

“Y/N, whats wrong?” Bradley asked.

“I-um-I have a boyfriend,” she told him, scrambling to pull her shirt on.

Bradley stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I meant everything that I said earlier. I want to be with you but if you don’t want to be or if you need time, I respect that.”

At this point, Y/N wanted nothing more than to be with Bradley but she hated the thought of letting Jake go, however she knew that she had to. What she had with Bradley was too strong to resist.

“I’ll call you in a few days,” she told him, kissing him quickly before leaving the tiny bathroom.

She was terrified about what was going to happen but also could not wait to see what the future held with Bradley.

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