#Box Truck Inspection

[bayshoretruckcenter]

How to Choose a Reliable Used Box Truck – Why Bayshore Ford Stands Out

When buying a used box truck, inspect the engine, transmission, brakes, and suspension for any signs of wear. Check tires, electrical systems, and the cargo area for safety and durability. Reviewing the vehicle's history and maintenance records helps gauge its reliability and past care, giving you confidence in your purchase.

[rheeblogs]

★ — HELP WANTED

★ — pairing : canon/contractor!abby anderson x fem!reader

★ — as a new homeowner, paying full price to get a remodel on things was so expensive. luckily abby anderson gave pretty faces major discounts.

★ — warnings : sexual content

🔖 : @thaatdigitaldiary @d3arapril @rosemariiaa @ashortyluvsports

you weren’t much of a handyman—or handywoman, for that matter. when you moved into your new house, you quickly realized that the charm of its old bones came with a laundry list of things that needed fixing: a leaky faucet, creaky doors, shelves that threatened to collapse if you so much as looked at them.

that’s how you met abby anderson.

the first time you saw her, she was unloading a truck across the street, all lean muscles and work boots, her blonde braid sticking out from under a baseball cap. you didn’t think much of it at first, too busy trying to wrestle a box through your own front door. but when you dropped it with a loud thud, she appeared out of nowhere.

“you need a hand?”

her voice was warm, slightly teasing, and when you looked up, you were momentarily struck by her presence. abby was… well, extremely beautiful. sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and a crooked smile that could melt steel.

——

after helping you with the box, abby quickly learned about your diy incompetence.

“so,” she said a few days later, leaning against the doorframe as you struggled to fix a curtain rod. “you always this good with tools, or am i just special enough to witness it?”

you turned, rolling your eyes at her smirk. “yeah, yeah, laugh it up. at least i’m trying.”

she chuckled, her gaze dropping to the small pile of mismatched screws and nails at your feet. “tell you what—how about i come by this weekend and help you out? i’m pretty handy, if i do say so myself.”

you hesitated, but the truth was you needed the help. “are you sure? i don’t wanna intrude.”

“darlin’,” she said, stepping closer and giving you a lopsided grin. “it’d be my pleasure.”

——

that sunday, abby showed up in a tank top and work pants, a toolbox slung over one shoulder. she whistled low when you opened the door.

“well, look at you,” she said, her eyes dragging over the black cropped tank you had on, showing off the bold tattoo on your right shoulder. “you dress up for me?”

you blushed, shaking your head. “you wish.”

“maybe i do,” she replied, her voice dropping slightly as she brushed past you, her shoulder grazing yours.

the day passed with abby fixing things at lightning speed while you hovered nearby, asking questions and offering her water or snacks. she made it impossible to concentrate, the way her muscles flexed when she tightened screws or hammered nails.

at one point, she caught you staring.

“enjoyin’ the view, ma’am?” she asked, smirking as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

you stammered, “i—i was just tryna’ make sure you were doin’ it right, that’s all.”

“uh-huh.” she leaned closer, her voice dipping into something more intimate. “if you’ve got any other… inspections in mind, let me know.”

your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.

——

by the time the sun set, abby had fixed more in one day than you thought possible. the two of you were sitting on the floor of your living room, surrounded by tools and scraps, laughing about the crooked shelf you had tried to install before she arrived.

“i can’t believe you thought duct tape would hold that up,” she teased, nudging you with her knee.

“look, desperate times, desperate measures,” you defended, shaking your head. “besides, you’re the expert. that’s why i have you now.”

her smile softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded. “yeah,” she said quietly. “you do.”

the air between you shifted, tension crackling like a live wire. abby’s gaze dropped to your lips, and you felt your breath catch.

“i—“ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat when abby reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“you’re something else, y’know that?” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “been drivin’ me crazy all day.”

your heart hammered in your chest. “abby…”

“tell me to stop,” she said, her forehead nearly touching yours now. “i will. just say the word.”

instead of answering, you closed the gap, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was so soft at first but quickly deepened. abby’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as the tension of the day finally snapped.

when you pulled back, breathless, she smirked. “so… does this mean i’m gettin’ that ‘thank-you’ dinner you promised?”

you laughed, tugging her back in. “dinner can wait.”

——

abby had you sprawled against your bed, the same bed that she fixed hours earlier. your bra was thrown across the room, landing on the vanity she just remodeled.

“fuckin’ beautiful, i fuckin’ knew it,” she says, looking at you like prey, and you can feel yourself salivating at the way her muscles bulge when she manhandles you. “spread those legs, sweetheart, lemme’ see you.”

you spread yourself to abby’s liking, your pants and panties discarded on your rug, leaving you fully bare in front of your next-door-neighbor.

her mouth damn near waters at the sight, your folds glistening in slick, simply because she talks to you nice. abby eats that shit up, making sure the neighborhood knows she does this to you.

“let me in, baby.” she says, as her fingers start pumping in and out of your pussy, the squelching noise driving her batshit crazy. she’s on top of you, kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “pussy’s talkin’ to me, isn’t she?” she says, inserting another finger inside of you.

“shitttt, abby, don’t talk like that.” you whimper, causing abby’s pace to speed up when she hits that sweet spot inside of you, causing your moans to grow louder and louder.

“shh… gotta be quiet sweetheart, you just got here—you want the neighbors to know my name already?” she whispers against your skin, leaving messy kisses along your tits.

she’s forcing you to grind into her fingers, the show your giving alone making her boxers a soaked mess.

“p—please, abby…” you pant, your head spinning and baby hairs sticking to your forehead.

“i’ll give it to ya’ sweet girl, always so fuckin’ patient, yeah?” abby’s breath starts to hitch as you dig your nails into her back, her chest clad with a black sports bra.

“gonna… abby please, i’m so close—,” you manage to let out, and abby takes this as a signal to let you finish. she holds your body down, pumping at lightning speed, listening to your moans grow and watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“c’mon sweetheart, all over my fingers.” your stomach snaps, and sudden flow rushes through your body and right onto abby’s digits. you were shaking, abby’s thick fingers leaving you in a trance, all of her handy work being put to use.

“jesus, abby. you do this to all your new neighbors?” you say, attempting to catch your breath.

“nah, just you honey.”

——

the night stretched on, filled with whispered laughs and stolen kisses, and for once, you were thankful for all the broken things that had brought her to your door.

[sadhours]

steve with a degradation kink 👀 jokingly calling him a pervert and he gets so flushed and embarrassed

heheh no I love this

steve harrington x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, steve and reader are childhood best friends, one use of y/n, perv!steve, degradation kink, oral (f receiving), hand stuff

💖💖💖💖

you noticed your best friend reacted strangely to criticism. depending on the person. when his dad criticized him, his face went stoic and he replied to Mr. Harrington with one word answers. same kind of thing when his boss did it at work, though he wore his annoyance on his face then. when robin did it, he rolled his eyes. but when pretty girls who weren’t lesbians, at least to his knowledge, did it, his face got all flushed and his pupils would about double in size. and you found that intriguing. you’d done it plenty within the long years of your friendship but you’d never actually looked at how he responded. until one day.

a winter day. it was too cold to chill by the pool and the harrington’s were home. so you were confined to his horridly designed bedroom. god awful lamp lighting the room dimly as the sun was beginning to set. steve was propped up on the floor, back against his mattress as he tossed a baseball up and caught it. over and over. he looked as bored as you felt.

you got up from the floor and decided to go digging through his bedroom. not entirely sure what you were looking for but there had to be something entertaining in here. you start with his desk, opening drawers and scoping out the insides.

“yeah, just go through my stuff,” steve says with a shrug, voice dripping in sarcasm, “that’s totally cool.”

“oh, wah,” you mock him, “i’m bored. there’s gotta be something interesting tucked away in here.”

steve throws you an annoyed look, “yeah and that’s why i’m playing catch with myself.”

you ignore him, continuing to file through his belongings. you manage through his desk, then his dresser drawers and nightstand. it’s when you drop to the floor and peek under his bed that you find something. a box. you pull it out and steve scrambles to slam his hand on top of it.

“alright, ha ha ha, you had your fun! stop going through my stuff,” he says, eyes wide and worried.

you scoff, lips curling up with the exhale, “oh, no, that reaction tells me i just found the jackpot. what’s in the box, steven?”

“none of your business,” he says sternly, moving to slide it back under the bed but you stop it, fingers hooking into the lid and steve lunges forward, almost crushing the box with his body as he looks up at you panicked. “i mean it, y/n.”

“now i really gotta see what’s in here,” you go to tug it away and steve bear hugs the box. “c’mon, steve, i know every single one of your secrets. this can’t be that bad.”

“it’s personal, something’s you don’t need to know,” he insists, lips dropping into a frown.

you pull again, resulting in the pair of you wrestling for the box. the motions knock it over, spilling the contents out on the rug. to no one’s shock, it’s porn. magazines and two tapes. but kind of surprisingly, there’s panties and uh, Polaroids of Nancy. Not explicit by any means. Just photos of her smiling.

“oh, Steve,” you grab one of the photos and hold it up to inspect, “Nancy made it in the spank bank? Ya know, these aren’t even dirty, you don’t have to like, hide them.”

“Please, for the love of God,” his face is as red as a fire truck, it’s kind of… cute, seeing Steve so embarrassed. He’s usually so calm and collected. The coolest dude you know. “Stop looking.”

“Why?” you giggle, “This is by far the most interesting thing in this room.”

Then you tilt your head as you see it. Oh. That’s why. There’s Polaroid of you. In a bikini. In the backyard, lounged by the pool. Steve scrambles for it but you’re able to snatch it first.

“Oh, my god,” you gasp, examining the photo carefully. You remember the day it was taken. Just this past summer. You’d gotten a new bikini, you were excited to wear it. Red. “Like Phoebe Cates,” Steve had said and you uh, surprisingly didn’t pick up on it. That Steve looked at you like that. Looking back, it makes sense, the way he ran in to get his camera. The fact he compared you to a celebrity he’d been Gaga over.

He’s completely silent as he watches you connect the dots. Steve is attracted to you. Steve jacks off to you. You’ve made it in the spank bank. This information is intoxicating. It’s a mutual attraction. Hell, you can’t even count the amount of times you’ve laid back and flicked the bean with your best friend, Steve Harrington, in mind. The day he sprouted chest hair and his body got a little more muscular, you’d been bombarded with an overwhelming attraction to the guy. You swallow hard, then your eyes drop as Steve’s hand moves to grab a pair of underwear that was also in the box. You drop the photo and grab his wrist, eyes meeting his and the absolute panic in his eyes is… weirdly arousing to you. Then you see the pair, eyes scanning over the white cotton and faded print of cherries decorating them.

“Are those my underwear, Steve?” you ask, glancing back up at him.

“No,” he lies, won’t meet your eyes as he stares down at them in his hand.

“Did you steal my underwear, Steve?”

“Why would I do that?” he replies, looking up at you finally, trying to look nonchalant.

You swallow hard, you should be furious but you’re… you’re not. You’re turned on. This absolute creep behavior, but coming from Steve, it’s so… sweet and vulnerable. Makes you look into those big brown eyes and want to kiss his face all over. But Steve seems to like the humiliation. And it’s making your body erupt in desire.

“Because you’re a pervert,” you tell him, watching as his pupils double in size and he inhales sharply. He swallows and you see his Adam’s apple bob with the motion.

“No, I’m not,” he says, voice quiet and breathy.

“Yes, you are,” you tug the underwear from his hands and look down at them, trying to remember the last time you’d worn them. You and Steve has countless sleepovers, your parents trusted him beyond belief and his parents were rather distant. There were so many opportunities to fool around but it never happened. Which now you think is a little surprising, considering there was that attraction and you’d shared beds as hormonal teens. Can’t believe you’re discovering it now as “adults”. But maybe that’s why you feel bold enough to push him on his back, crawling over to straddle his waist and you can feel his erection hidden underneath his jeans. You hold up the panties, “You smell these while you jerk off to me?”

It’s almost as if you’re not yourself, watching this unfold from a outside perspective. You haven’t even been this confident with boyfriends before but you know Steve, and you’ve been wanting more than a friendship for quite some time. Steve jerks off to you, it’s new information that makes this almost impossible not to act on. It inflates your ego, makes your heart swell twice in size. Because the implication, he knows you better than anyone else, clearly the attraction has to be more than purely physical.

He doesn’t reply, swallows hard again and just stares up at you. His big brown eyes look hazy, aroused and you can feel that he is where your ass is sat against his crotch. He can’t deny he’s turned on. And you wiggle against him, to silently tell him you are too. Fuck, he’s your best friend. How long as he felt this way? Because you’re sure you’ve been in love with him for years. And to find out this way? Not to mention that he seems to be reacting to you calling him a pervert.

You shove the panties up against his nose, “You totally do. You sniff these and stare at the picture while you jerk off! You’re such a perv, Steve!”

He writhes against you, moaning pathetically against the cotton.

“That’s disgusting,” you laugh, playing the part and he whines this time, closes his eyes and sniffs the panties. it’s so hot, and embarrassing at the same time. You’re almost at a loss for words but he seems to like when you make fun of him. “You’re so pathetic, oh my god.”

He opens his eyes, begging you silently. You inhale sharply before continuing. “Bet they don’t even smell like me anymore. I’ve been missing these for months,” you comment, shoving them against his nose once more before standing up. Steve watches you intently, frozen on the ground. You slide the pair of panties you’re currently wearing down your thighs, kicking them off and picking them up before you straddle Steve again. You can feel how soaked they are in your palm. So you shove them against his nose, giggling as you ask, “They used to smell like this?”

Steve’s eyes widen before they roll back as he inhales your scent, no doubt feeling how wet they are.

“You like that?” you laugh cruelly, “god, steve. i didn’t know you were such a sad, pathetic pervert.”

“fuck,” he moans, rolling his hips up at you and the rough denim catches against your clit, pulls a noise from you that has your eyes widening and your dominant demeanor faltering as you grind back down on him. Steve’s eyes meet yours and Christ, he looks pretty and desperate.

“You like me telling you what a perv you are, huh?” you ask.

“yeah,” he breathes out, hands closing into fists by his sides as he rolls his hips up again.

you gasp, trying to maintain composure as his jeans run against your clit again. you wonder if steve can feel how wet you are, if you’re soaking through his denim.

“such a pathetic loser,” you mutter, rubbing your soiled panties against his face, “so desperate for your best friend. wanna taste? go ahead, pervert, taste them.”

with your permission, steve opens his mouth and licks against your underwear. you shove them against him harder and he closes his lips around a bit of them, sucking your juices from the fabric. Moans when he does it, which makes you grind down harder against him.

“bet you’ve been dreaming about the real thing,” you breathe out, “huh, Stevie? you stroke your cock and imagine licking my pussy?”

“mhm,” he replies, still sucking on the cotton. his eyes are so wide and pretty as he stares up at you.

“such a loser,” you pout, tilting your head as you watch him. “think you deserve it?”

“please,” he begs, rolls his hips again.

“desperate for my pussy, aren’t you?” you ask but it’s funny, because you’re desperate for him.

Steve keens, jerks his hips up as his hands venture towards your hips before he drops them back at his sides. Like he’s nervous to touch you. You lean down, tossing your underwear aside as you hover your lips over his. Then you whisper, “Do you wanna eat me out, Steve?”

“Please don’t be fucking with me,” he replies, all soft and wrecked.

“That a yes?” you retort, licking your lips.

He nods, the motion makes his lips graze slightly against yours and it’s difficult not to kiss him. But your core is aching, just the idea of his gorgeous mouth on your heat has you a little feral and you rut down against him before inching up.

“Can I sit on your face, Stevie?” you ask, voice coming out more wrecked than you’d intended. Sounds weird on your ears. Didn’t know you could sound so sultry.

“Please,” he begs, writhing underneath you. “Fuck, please, pretty please sit on my face.”

You’re languid with the motion, pulling your skirt up as you climb up him and into position. He’s staring at your cunt, lips parted and pupils as wide as saucers. Licks his lips and you giggle, peering down at him as you begin to speak, “Look so desperate…”

He replies by wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down on him. His mouth is warm and wet and determined. Steve elicits a moan as soon as he makes contact and it sends vibrations through your whole body. You gasp, holding your skirt up with your left hand while you push his hair off his forehead with the other. Steve is working his mouth on your cunt like he’s making out with it, tongue lashing and lips sucking all while he stares up at you and keeps moaning against your folds. You’ve had other men eat you out before but never like this. Never so determined, never seemed to be enjoying it so much.

There were rumors about Steve, you’d heard girls talk about this. You’d always feigned disgust. He was your best friend, you didn’t wanna hear about his bedroom skills. But deep down, you’d always wondered what he did differently. You haven’t ever had the urge to brag about the men you’d been with. They’d all been pretty mediocre.

The difference is Steve loves this. He’s hungry for it. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you firmly against his mouth and he’s… he’s moving his head with the motions. Groaning into you.

Your lips fall open, brows knitting together as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. Staring down at your gorgeous best friend as he devours you. Then his hands move up, snaking under the hem of your shirt and he unclasps your bra in quick time, impressing you briefly before his hands move knead and grope at your breasts. With the grip on your thighs gone, you’re able to move your hips and they grind down on his face on their own volition. Fuck, you’re trying to keep quiet but it’s hard. His tongue flicks against your clit, flat and repetitive as his fingers swirl around your pebbled nipples. You whine, riding his face as you chase your high. The deep, tight coil in your stomach is threatening to snap at any second. You don’t think you’ve ever cum so fast in your life.

“God, you fucking pervert,” you whine, writhing against his mouth, “Feels so fucking good.”

Steve moans his appreciation, eyes rolling back slightly. He pinches your nipple and you’re a goner. Eyes squeezing shut as bright stars of light dance around behind your lids. Steve’s taking it well, sucking and licking up all that you give him. Doesn’t stop until you’re pulling off of him and rolling onto your back beside him. You’re breathing heavily and it quickly turns into pleasure fueled giggles. Then Steve’s reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers, squeezing.

“So, uh, now you know my biggest secret,” he breathes out, and you turn to see the sweetest smile on his face.

You smirk, “That you’re a sick pervert? I did know that already.”

He flushes, turning and shoving his face against your neck. You roll over to wrap your hand around his middle and squeeze him. Your mouth against his ear as you whisper, “I uh, also touch myself to you. Just like thoughts though, not uh, not pictures.”

“I get it,” he mumbles, “I’m a giant perv.”

“You are,” you giggle, “But I like it. Should’ve known it when I wore that bikini and you said it reminded you of phoebe cates.”

Steve laughs at that, “Yeah, you’re kind of oblivious.”

“Shut up, perv,” you reply, moving your hand lower and palming against his cock strained by his jeans, “Or I won’t help you get rid of this.”

“Oh, you wanna help?” Steve asks, the humor wavering as he rocks his hips up at your hand.

“Uh-huh,” you pull back just slightly, so you can look at his face while you unbutton his jeans. He helps you get them down his thighs, briefs following suit. You lick your palm before wrapping your fingers around his cock, glancing down and gasping. Fuck, he’s huge. Your eyes dart back up to his face and he’s smiling, all cocky. He knows it’s big. You’re sure he’s been told so a hundred times so you don’t say anything. You squeeze him while gazing into his beautiful brown eyes, you’d always loved how they sloped just slightly down. And they were so big and wide, so expressive. They are right now as you start to slowly stroke him. He blinks rapidly, licking his lips.

“Can’t believe you look at a photo of me while you jack off,” you mumble, “Seriously, Steve. It’s pretty pathetic.”

There go those expressive eyes, full of arousal— desperation. You don’t avert yours as you squeeze his base, slow and deliberate as you stroke up and swipe your thumb against his weeping tip. You raise an eyebrow, “You get this wet when you’re jerking off to me?”

He whines, bites his lip as his eyebrows furrow. Looks so sweet and needy. It’s the prettiest Steve’s ever looked.

“It’s pathetic because Stevie, you could’ve had me this whole time,” you mumble against his lips, fingers spreading his precum down his shaft and he’s really so wet, you can hear it as you stroke him up and down. Making sure to squeeze where it counts, base and head. Repeatedly. He whines against you. Bucks his hips because you’re going too slow. So you pull your hand away, “Ah-ah, you need to be a good boy for me, Steve.”

He whimpers, music to your ears, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good. Don’t stop, baby.”

The pet name warms you all over. Can’t help but grip his cock again, stroking him more deliberately this time. He whines, all high pitched and pretty against your lips. You give up the teasing, determined to get your best friend off. Curving your palm on every upstroke, whispering against his lips, “Cum for me, baby. Show me what a sick, little pervert you are.”

Steve groans, moves his hand up to cup your jaw as he bucks his hips again. But you let him. Let him fuck your fist. His mouth falls open in a silent moan as he coats your hand in his release, eyes squeezing shut. It’s so hot, you feel your own slick coating your thighs from it.

You let go of him, he rolls on his back and smiles as he sighs, eyes still closed. You clean his mess up with your skirt, a problem to deal with at another time. And for the first time in your friendship, you and Steve are absolutely speechless. Laying side by side. But he’s the one to break the silence.

“Should we like, make out now?” he asks, propping himself on his elbow as he looks down at you, “Ya know, so it’s not weird.”

“Yeah, cus that’s what would make this not weird,” you tell him but you hook a leg over his waist and straddle him, grabbing onto his face and kissing him stupid anyways.

[cjlouwho]

For a prompt: bucktommy moving in together and the 118 helping them move? 🥰 or them throwing a housewarming party

this turned... dirtier than expected. they both really enjoy clipboard buck, I'm sorry!

“You'll notice some boxes have green stripes, some are red, others are blue, purple, etcetera. You'll also notice, when entering the house, that there is a color on every door or along the entryway to each room. Each box should be placed in the room with its designated color. Example-”

“Buck,” Chimney groaned from where he stood inside the moving truck, “we get it.”

“Example,” Buck continued with a glare. “The living room has been given the color blue. Only boxes with blue stripes should enter the living room. Pop quiz! Maddie, should green boxes go in the living room?”

She responded with a glare.

Buck got the point. “Moving on. Bobby, if you happen to come upon a box that doesn't have a color, what should you do?”

“Make a citizens arrest?”

“No.” Buck pointed the pen in his hand at Tommy, “But that's a good idea for later,” he said, earning him gagging sounds from the majority of the people surrounding them. All except for Tommy, who simply smiled and winked.

“You see,” Buck explained, “Tommy went to the store for more boxes and accidentally purchased 7 of them that had no color on them. Not a single stripe to be found. Those particular boxes are miscellaneous. They should go directly into the garage until I can open and inspect them.”

He glanced down at his clipboard, marking off a few things before looking back up at the group. “Alright, I believe that's it. Does everyone know the jobs they've been given?”

The majority of responses were given in grunts and hums.

“Excellent. Please bring any and all questions to me. I will be wandering around throughout the house all day. I should be easy to find. If you cannot find me, please head over to Tommy, who will then direct you to me. There will be a provided lunch arriving at noon. A designated thirty minutes for eating. If there are currently no questions, you may begin.”

As everyone began to disperse and started unloading the truck, Tommy smiled over at Eddie. “Is he not the cutest thing you've ever seen?”

“Oh dear God,” Eddie replied with a grimace. “You two really are meant for each other.”

*****

“You were amazing today,” Tommy said, peppering kisses down Buck's neck. They were laying on the couch, surrounded by blue-striped boxes.

Buck hummed. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to give Tommy more space to work with.

“Mhm. Took control of the whole thing. Had it all planned perfectly. And when you yelled at Eddie after he put a red box in the bathroom?” He bit lightly against Buck's pulse point. “That was so hot.”

“God, Tommy,” Buck replied breathlessly, before adding, “he should have known better. Purple was posted on the door.”

“I know it was. It was very clear.”

“It was clear,” Buck agreed. “Purple and red are very different.”

“Very different.” Tommy continued to alternate between sucking and biting on Buck's neck as he brought a hand down and slowly began unbuttoning Buck's shirt.

Buck ran his hands down Tommy's back, pushing his hips down when he reached his ass, causing their bodies to grind together.

“I could call him up,” Buck suggested, “yell at him some more. Or call Chimney and tell him I- I know he was the one who chipped the paint on the front door. Tell him I'm sending him a bill.”

Tommy responded by smashing his lips against Buck's in a wet kiss, licking his way into Buck's mouth. “I'd love that, Evan,” he said, parting just enough to speak, “but Eddie already told me he wouldn't be answering your calls for two days. And I'm pretty sure Howie blocked your number.”

Buck nearly growled, his eyes darkening. “God, I love your dirty talk.”

They kissed again, even sloppier this time with hands roaming and grabbing, shirts being tugged on and nails dragging against skin.

After a minute or two, Tommy pulled back with a gleam in his eye. “Now, about that citizens arrest you mentioned earlier...”

Buck grinned. “Bedroom,” he demanded, giving Tommy's ass a couple of pats to get him up.

Tommy pressed one more kiss to his lips with a, “Yes, Sir,” before getting up and letting Buck lead the way.

[tiddygame]

ghost’s civilian wardrobe is nothing but hawaiian shirts. soap is in utter disbelief the first time he sees it. ghost says they’re good bc:

it’s so fucking ugly, no one can stand to look at it for too long so he doesn’t draw attention

No one thinks the ghost would wear something so bright and stupid meaning he’s completely under cover every time he’s on leave

they’re cheap and an easy thrift

but he just really fucking likes how goddamn ugly they are

…

at least, that’s what he tells soap. and himself. in reality, they were always tommy’s thing. he always wore them to the point everyone knew that the safest gift to get him was the ugliest patterned shirts they could find. in every family photo, tommy was the easiest to spot with the brightest eye sore worn proudly with a smile.

after that cold night in december, all of their stuff was either donated or thrown away.

one day, ghost was thrift shopping (because even though now he had more money, habits from being raised in a poor home die hard) and saw one of them. he froze. at first, he thought it was just one that looked similar. but when he inspected it, it even had that old tear tommy had gotten simon to fix and sew up for him.

he grabbed it in a daze. he searched every rack in that store and found a few more hawaiian shirts. if they were tommy’s or not didn’t matter. he bought them. for days, he hunted through every thrift store in town buying every stupid patterned shirt he saw.

knowing that the few shirts he collected was the only thing he had left of his baby brother finally broke him. he probably looked insane, sitting in his old beat up pickup truck, surrounded by shopping bags from different stores, crying into a yellow and orange button up with flowers on it, and one sewn up tear on the sleeve. but it was tommy’s. and it was all he had.

at first, they were hidden away in a box. he lied to himself that it was because he wanted to keep them safe, but in reality, he couldn’t look at them without either wanting to cry or punch holes in the wall.

but, one christmas, he finally pulls his head out of his ass and grabs them. visits the cemetery in a stupid yellow and orange monstrosity of a shirt and complains that tommy couldn’t have had a better fashion sense.

he wears another when he has to go grocery shopping. and again when he runs errands. and again. and again. and again.

the first time one of them got something on it, he almost cried and pulled every trick his mother taught him about removing stains. the shadow of it persisted but the pattern covered most of it.

eventually, they became a staple of his wardrobe.

years later, soap watched ghosts careful routine he had for washing the shirts. they were always washed separately on delicate and air dried with routine inspections for any holes or tears. it would click later, when finding an old family photo, one with a young boy on simon’s shoulders and another man next to him in a familiar yellow and orange shirt, that perhaps simon hadn’t been entirely truthful when he said he just liked them.

simon was scared the first time soap did his laundry, but johnny always washed them with the same level of care, following the exact same routine. he still made fun of him (lovingly, of course), saying that crimes against fashion must run in the family.

…

and further down the line, years later, they will be old and graying with wrinkles, wearing matching hawaiian shirts. johnny will complain about how ugly they are yet will still wear it happily (and tune out simon reminding him that it was johnnys idea to start matching)

[seospicybin]

TASTE PREVIEW.

CHAPTER II: SWEETBITTER.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen.

...

This is a preview for chapter II of Taste series. Full fic will be posted this Friday, January 10!

The morning light streams through the tall windows of Farfalle as you walk down the hallway, the crisp click of your shoes echoing faintly. With a light knock on the door, you wait for Chris’s faint, “Come in,” before pushing it open slightly and poking your head in.

“Good morning!” you chirp, a bright smile on your face.

Chris glances up from his desk, clearly surprised by your sunny demeanor. His own lips curve into a smile as he leans back in his chair, arms crossing. “Well, someone’s in a good mood today.”

You shrug coyly, stepping into his office and making your way to his desk. “Maybe,” you say, your tone teasing. From your pocket, you pull out a small bottle and place it in front of him with a sly smile.

Chris’s brows furrow, and when he realizes it’s a digestive drink, he fixes you with a playful glare. “Really?” he says, exasperation coloring his tone.

“Just in case your stomach acts up today,” you quip, barely able to suppress your grin.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and then shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Never,” you say with mock seriousness, before leaning forward slightly. “I also came to give you a warning.”

His brow arches, curiosity flickering across his face. “A warning?”

“Don’t act too friendly towards me,” you say, your tone playful but laced with faux seriousness. “And definitely don’t behave in a way that could be misunderstood by everyone—especially Chef Lee.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “And why’s that?”

“Because if you, even for a second, make me think I’m your favorite, I’ll start expecting special treatments,” you warn with a grin.

His smile widens, and he leans forward on his desk. “What if I told you that you already are my favorite? Tell me what kind of special treatments you want from me?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “At least try to pretend like I’m not your favorite.”

Chris chuckles again, the sound low and warm. “Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll try my best.”

With a triumphant grin, you reach into your pocket again and pull out a lollipop, placing it on his desk. “Since we've reached an agreement,” you say with a laugh.

Chris stares at the candy for a moment before sighing, his smile softening as he hurriedly puts the lollipop in a pocket of his navy suit. “This is exactly why you’re my favorite.”

You laugh as you turn to leave, waving over your shoulder. “Have a great day, Manager Bang!” You say in a veiled formality and a suppressed smile.

His quiet chuckle follows you out the door, leaving a small, satisfied warmth in your chest as you return to the bustling kitchen which immediately puts you on edge.

Your eyes widen as you see them hauling boxes of ingredients into the kitchen, the clattering of crates and the shuffle of hurried feet filling the air. A knot of dread forms in your stomach—you should have been helping with this.

You sprint to the back entrance, weaving through the bustling staff. Sure enough, Minho is there, standing at the edge of a delivery truck, clipboard in hand as he meticulously checks off the contents of each box. His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding, as he instructs everyone to carry the ingredients inside. He’s inspecting two styrofoam boxes when you cautiously approach.

“Why do we need fish roe?” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at the label.

“It’s for the new dish,” you answer quickly, hoping to be helpful.

Minho’s head snaps up, and his sharp eyes lock on yours. His gaze narrows further, the intensity of his stare making you freeze. “And where,” he starts, his tone low and dangerously calm, “have you been?”

You avoid the question entirely, choosing instead to give him your sweetest smile and hope that you can get away with it.

Minho’s lips curl into a sly, almost mocking smile, and he tilts his head slightly. “Come here,” he says, motioning with two fingers.

Warily, you step closer, and before you can react, his hand darts toward your forehead. You instinctively close your eyes, bracing yourself.

“Keep your eyes open,” he scolds, flicking your forehead hard enough to make you wince.

“Ouch! Chef!” you protest, rubbing the sore spot with a pout.

He merely smirks, unbothered. “If you have time to smile like an idiot, you have time to work.”

You grab a box of ingredients hurriedly, eager to escape his glare. “I’ll take this inside,” you mutter, hoisting it up.

“You should be,” he replies smoothly, not missing a beat. “You’re part of the kitchen staff, remember?”

“Yes, Chef,” you answer, louder this time. As you’re about to carry the box away, he stops you with a hand on the edge of it.

“Not that,” he says, taking the box from you with ease. “Take the sack of short-necked clams.” He nods toward the truck bed. “You’re in charge of vongole, aren’t you? These clams are your precious babies.”

You hesitate, staring at the heavy sack with dismay. Gathering your courage, you grab it and attempt to lift it. The weight nearly pulls you off balance, but you hold on, determined.

Minho watches your struggle, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “What? Are you going to act like a girl now?”

You glare at him but straighten up, adjusting your grip on the sack. “No, Chef,” you snap, gritting your teeth as you finally manage to lift it.

“Then hurry up,” he barks, his voice loud enough to make you flinch.

“Yes, Chef!” you shout back, stumbling slightly as you head toward the kitchen with the sack.

You can feel his eyes on your back, no doubt ready to pounce if you falter. Despite everything, a strange thrill courses through you. Minho’s treatment of you in the kitchen is as cold and exacting as ever, but the contrast to how he was last night only makes it more intriguing. It’s a game of hot and cold, and you find yourself enjoying the uncertainty of what might come next.

...

Check Taste masterlist for more!

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun

pairing: storm chaser!joel miller x storm chaser!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.5k

summary:

Storm chaser-turned-weatherman Joel Miller hunts down his old crew in an effort to serve his wife with divorce papers. When a storm interrupts his efforts, he finds himself falling back into old routines and old feelings.

A Twister (1996) AU

author’s note: are you someone, like me, who was fucking obsessed with the movie twister and at one point made it your entire personality (maybe even at too young of an age)? then this fic is for you! this may be one of my favorite fics ever and i hope you enjoy it, too. please consider reblogging or commenting or even dropping into my ask box if you like the fic, i would love to hear from you!

amazing title art by @atinylittlepain

tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ only, minors do not interact), explicit language, undefined age gap, able bodied reader (actions include running, lifting, climbing), no reader physical characteristic descriptions, dual pov, established relationship, estranged marriage, mentions of divorce, alternate universe - movie: twister (1996), not a direct rewrite of the movie but pretty close, storm chaser!joel, storm chaser!reader, natural disaster action scenes, mild angst, mention of reader’s parent’s deaths, praise, dirty talk, pet names, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cum eating, minor character death.

masterlists: all characters | joel miller

support for palestine

The first person to notice Joel’s truck pulling up to the makeshift weather station site is his brother, Tommy.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” He says, hands on his hips. Joel gets out of his truck and Tommy envelops him in a strong hug. “Had no idea you were comin’ out here.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” Joel admits. He waves the envelope in his hand. “But I can’t get her to sign ‘em unless I track her down myself.”

The expression on Tommy’s face drops and he nods, clearing his throat. “She’s around here somewhere.”

“Probably hiding from you,” another voice chimes. Tommy’s wife, Maria, jumps from the back of a nearby pick up truck where she had been fixing a satellite. “Welcome back, Joel.”

“I ain’t back,” he grumbles, giving her a quick hug. “How’re you, Maria?”

“Sweaty,” she replies. “Heard you got yourself a nice channel gig. Must explain the suit.”

Joel looks down at his outfit of tan slacks and a matching suit jacket over a white button up shirt. He tries to think of a response, but another familiar voice calls out his name.

“The prodigal son returns!” Tess shouts. Her short hair has grown out since the last time he’s seen her, but the ever present camera around her neck remains the same. 

He notices movement from the back of one of the vans. You emerge, wiping your hands on a grease stained rag and for a brief moment, a bolt of longing courses through him like a lightning strike. 

“Joel,” you say, a smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wasn’t expecting you out here.”

“You won’t answer any of my calls,” he replies. A tense silence falls over the group until Maria nudges Tommy in the ribs and drags him off while Tess mumbles an excuse about checking the radio and escapes in the other direction. “Have you looked at the papers?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t signed them?”

“Been a bit busy,” you say, gesturing to the camp. “I got something you’ll want to see.”

You brush past him and Joel sighs, rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation before turning to follow you to one of the trucks. You pull yourself up into the bed and stand beside a large metal container.

“She’s here, Joel,” you say proudly, hitting one of the buttons. The lid on the unit pops open. “ELLIE.”

“No shit?” Joel asks, climbing onto the truck for a closer look. He picks up one of the spherical sensors, holding it up for inspection. “I’ll be damned. You really did it.”

“We did it,” you respond quietly. The expression on your face is painfully familiar, that combination of pride and sadness that he’s grown accustomed to in the last few years. He murmurs your name, tries to think of something else to say, but a shout interrupts his efforts.

“We’ve got action!” Tess yells. 

The camp explodes into a flurry of movement. Equipment is packed away with speed and efficiency while anything else that isn’t fragile is tossed into the nearest truck or van. Joel watches it all and remembers when he used to be part of this machine, calling out orders and getting on the radio for coordinates as he hit the gas and peeled out in a cloud of dirt and dust.

He’s so caught up in it all that he almost forgets why he was here, and when he remembers you still haven’t signed the papers he curses, running for his truck and taking off after you down the rural roads.

“You comin’ with, brother?” Tommy’s voice crackles over his truck radio. 

“She didn’t sign!” Joel says back. 

“Keep lying to yourself, Joel!” Maria calls back. 

It’s a race against time and God, the storm clouds overhead dark and churning ominously. The air is filled with static, lightning striking in the distance. Joel can feel it all in his veins, the adrenaline thick as he keeps speed with the rest of his former crew. The honk of a horn draws his eyes to the rearview mirror, where a gleaming black Surburban is gaining speed on him.

“Son of a bitch,” he snaps. He grabs the radio. “We got company!”

The Surbuban pulls up beside him, a woman in the passenger seat that refuses to look his way. Marlene, once a lab mate of yours and Joel’s in the early days of your career, is now the face of FEDRA’s corporate sponsorship. Sold out for shiny toys, Joel once said. 

“What’s Marlene doin’ here?” Joel asks. 

“Bet she’s wondering the same thing about you!” You chime in.

The convoy of uniformed vehicles speeds past him, the old trucks his crew still uses no match for them. In his distraction, he narrowly misses a fallen tree limb, careening off the dirt road with a loud bang.

“Fuck!” He shouts. His tire has gone flat.

This is the last thing he needs.

You watch Joel through the window of the little diner you’ve all made a stop at once the storm broke up on the radar as you had been driving to catch it. He’s across the street at the mechanic to get a new tire, having driven in on the spare that Tommy circled back to help him put on. You twist the plain gold band on your finger, lost in thought.

“Hey,” Tess says, sliding onto the stool beside you. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” you reply quickly. Her keen gaze makes you fold. “Weird. It feels weird.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s in a suit.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“He looks good.”

“Sure, if you like ‘em with a stick up their—“

“What’s channel four doing here?” You ask, cutting her insult off. The news crew is unloading their gear from their van as the anchor speaks to Marlene, who’s gesturing to a piece of equipment that looks suspiciously similar to the culmination of your life’s work sitting in the bed of your truck. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you snap, racing for the door. 

“This is ABBY, the first unit of its kind. It’s built to give us a look inside of the funnel, allowing more precise storm prediction that could mean a world of difference for preparation and survival,” Marlene says proudly. “Inside are hundreds of sensors that, once deployed, will spiral inside of the tornado and report back real-time, accurate measurements.”

“Hey!” Joel barks, coming up to the scene from the opposite direction. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“Cut!” The anchor yells as Joel crowds in close to Marlene.

“You really think you can get away with rippin’ off our idea?” Joel snaps. 

“I only took your idea and made it a reality,” Marlene responds, holding her hands up placatingly. “Face it, Joel. Your team doesn’t have the same resources to get this idea off the ground. Literally.” She laughs. “Besides, what are you doing here? I thought you retired.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. ELLIE isn’t just a dream anymore. We’ve got her here.”

Marlene’s smile falters. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Joel says. “And she’s going to be the first in the air.”

“We’ll see about that, Joel.” She steps back, addressing her crew. “Pack it up. Let’s hit the road.”

You stand there together watching as they pull out of the parking lot and back onto the two lane highway. When they’ve disappeared from sight, you give Joel’s shoulder a tentative pat. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you tell him. “Hopefully you’re right.”

The look he gives you is serious, a furrow between his brow that you used to smooth with your thumb, back before things fell apart. You smile at the memory. The tension eases from his shoulders and his lips curl up the slightest bit, as if in response. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tommy says, breaking your attention from his brother. “But we got another development on the radar.”

“Alright, let’s get her,” you reply, breaking away from them to get to your truck. Joel is still standing there when you chance a look over your shoulder. “You just gonna stand there, or are you coming?”

“You still haven’t signed the papers!” He shouts back.

“I can sign them in the truck!”

He curses but jogs after you, coming up behind you and beating you to the driver’s door. “I’m drivin’,” he says.

“No,” you argue. “This is my truck.”

“You think I forgot how to drive this thing?”

“I think you’re out of practice!”

“You’re wastin’ time, just get in the fuckin’ truck,” he snaps. You roll your eyes and do as he says.

Some things never really change.

“You have to get ahead of it!” You shout. Hail pelts the roof of the truck and bounces off the windshield as Joel drives down the dirt road. Wind whips through the trees and lightning flashes in the fields while the clouds churn and peak at threatening speed.

“I know!” He shouts back, both hands tight on the wheel. “I can’t fuckin’ see anythin’!”

“Just cut across the field!”

“I can get us further ahead on the road!”

“We’re going to get stuck alongside it!”

“Do you want to drive?!” 

“I’d love to!”

Joel huffs, accelerating faster. The clouds gather more tightly, stretching from the sky towards the earth. He glances out of his window and catches a glimpse of the storm, his heart pounding as he watches the funnel organize. He watches it for a moment before slamming on the breaks, the truck fishtailing as it comes to a screeching halt.

“What are you doing?!”

Marlene’s team speeds by with angry honks of their horns, but Joel’s attention remains fixed on the tornado. “It’s goin’ to shift its path.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, squinting. 

“Look at it, it’s a sidewinder. It’s headin’ left,” he confirms. He throws the truck in reverse, speeding back towards the road they passed. The rest of the team has caught up and follows them down the one lane road. 

“There it goes!” You shout, smacking the dashboard in your excitement. You grab the radio. “Alright, tell us what you’ve got, Maria.”

“F2, shifting south. Repeat, shifting south. This thing is unstable,” she says, voice crackling over the speaker. “You guys have a shot but you’re going to be cutting it real close.”

You look at Joel, and he sees that spark in your eyes, the determination he’s always admired, even loved, and he knows he can’t say no. Not to you.

“Let’s get it.”

“We’re running out of time,” you tell him, binoculars held up to your eyes. “We’re not going to make it.” 

“We will,” he insists. Joel brakes after another half of a mile and you’re out of the cab before the truck even comes to a complete stop. 

The rain immediately drenches you, soaking through your clothes and wrapping you in an icy chill. You’re removing the tethers that hold ELLIE securely to the truck bed and turning the unit on when Joel joins you.

“We have to get it on the ground!” You shout, barely audible over the wind. One of the tethers is stuck, strap not coming loose from the buckle no matter how hard you pull. Joel jumps into the bed and tries to help but with the rain and wind, both of your hands keep slipping.

Joel looks up, eyes going wide. His hand wraps around your bicep, pulling. “We have to get out of here!”

“But ELLIE—“

“Now!” He shouts. 

A sound similar to a freight train reaches your ears and panic courses through your veins. Joel pulls on your arm again and this time you follow, jumping from the truck and running as fast as you can. He reaches an arm back towards you, grabbing your hand and tugging you along. He veers to the left, the two of you sliding down a muddy embankment and landing in a ditch. 

“Get up,” Joel urges, helping you to your feet. “We gotta get down over there by that bridge, come on!”

Together you trudge through the mud, wind picking up speed around you as the cyclone draws closer. You have your arm held up to shield your eyes from debris and your other hand in front of you, gripping Joel’s jacket tightly. 

You make it beneath the cover of the bridge, a slight reprieve from the wind and rain. Joel squeezes his body tightly to yours, pressing you against the dirt and shielding you from the storm. You open your eyes, peering past his shoulder to where you can see the edge of the wide tornado base and the debris it kicks up in its wake. 

Suddenly, the world grows quiet. The air goes still, the rain slows from a downpour to a shower. You can feel Joel’s chest heaving with breath against yours, cadence of it matching the pounding of your heart. He backs away slowly and lifts his hands, gently cupping your face.

“You okay?” Joel breathes, eyes searching. You wrap your hands around his wrists and nod. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, slowly, before he releases your face. “Good. That’s…good.”

“Hey! You’re alive!” You both look up to find Tess at the top of the embankment, hands on her hips. “Tommy owes me twenty bucks!”

“He should know better than to bet against me,” Joel says. His attention returns to you. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Back at street level, you assess the damage. Your truck has been flipped, the ELLIE unit dented but still intact. More notably, the sensors didn’t deploy.

“Fuck,” you curse. “All of that and it didn’t even open.”

“There’s always next time,” Tess assures you.

“You know…we could all use a shower….and a meal,” Tommy says. You shoot him a look.

“No.”

“Come on,” he needles. “You’re covered in mud. We’ll need to get your truck towed somewhere for repairs.”

“I said no.”

“We haven’t had anything but shitty diner food and granola bars for four days,” Maria adds.

“You must really want a hot a meal if you’re willing to face Uncle Bill.”

“That a yes?” Tommy asks. Everyone watches you expectantly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Joel rides in the van with Tommy and Maria while you go with Tess in her truck. It doesn’t take long to reach the familiar ranch style home that sits on four acres of farmland, complete with a barn that’s become more for show than for function in your Uncle Bill’s older age. 

When the van pulls up to the house, Bill’s husband, Frank, is outside on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair with a drink in hand. He waves as Tommy honks to announce their arrival.

The front door opens, Bill’s large frame filling the doorway. His beard has grown since the last time Joel saw him, and it seems as though his ever present frown has too. Joel watches you run up the porch steps and wrap your arms around both men, though Bill is quick to shove you off when he sees the state you’re in. Despite the reaction, Joel can see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Joel stays towards the back of the group as they approach. He won’t go so far as to say he’s hiding, but it’s a near thing. Handshakes and hugs are exchanged right up until Bill catches sight of him.

“Joel,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Uncle Bill,” Joel replies.

“Just Bill is fine.”

Joel clears his throat, avoiding the man’s gaze. you appear behind him, breaking the tension. 

“I’m going to take a shower and then I can help you with dinner,” you tell Bill.

“Who said I was feeding you?” 

“Frank did.”

“Sorry, honey!” Frank yells from the kitchen. 

Joel escapes Bill’s attention with your distraction, darting into the kitchen to join the others. He helps Frank peel and dice potatoes while Maria and Tess make biscuits and Tommy helps Bill grill up a towering plate of steaks and burgers. Despite his outward show of annoyance, your Uncle Bill is a good guy who always takes care of the crew when they come rolling into his driveway, half starved and exhausted. 

“Didn’t expect to see you back,” Frank comments, tone light. 

“Didn’t expect to be back,” Joel replies. 

“What brings you here, then?”

“Got tired of waitin’ on her to sign the divorce papers.”

Frank hums in response and Joel braces himself for a speech but a minute passes in silence. Then two minutes. Frank sets his potato peeler down and leans his hip against the counter, facing Joel.

“It’s a real shame,” he says, shaking his head and staring out the window to where Bill and Tommy are laughing together. “You two were really good together.”

Joel doesn’t reply, because what is there to say? Frank is right. You and Joel were good together. Where Joel was hotheaded, you were calm. Where Joel took things too seriously, you were more carefree. But perhaps the greatest difference between you two was where Joel let fear stop him in his tracks, you let it drive you. 

It’s what started the arguments in the first place. He started feeling like he was getting too old, too worn out for chasing storms. He wasn’t as sharp as he used to be, not as quick, and it was starting to hang heavy over his head. Thoughts of retirement came to him more frequently and each time he brought it up, it would ignite an argument until he just didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. It was just easier to walk away.

“Shower’s free,” you announce as you enter the kitchen, no longer caked in mud. 

“My turn,” Joel says. Frank gives him a sideways glance but doesn’t say anything about his silence and swift exit.

Dinner is ready when he's finished with his shower and he takes a seat in the open chair beside you. The whole scene, the normalcy of it, makes Joel feel like a ship returning to port after rough seas. He missed this -- the inside jokes, the playful ribbing, Bill's annoyed huffs and Frank's wide eyed stare as he listens to you recount the events of the day. You even pat his knee when you notice his leg bouncing beneath the table, like the gesture is second nature, even though you haven't done it in the two years since he's left.

He helps with the dishes after everyone has finished eating and puts away what little leftovers remain. Tommy and Maria decide to go to bed in one of the guest rooms while Tess remains in the living room, watching a rerun of Jeopardy with Frank. Joel notices that you're nowhere to be found, but he has a feeling he knows exactly where you've gone.

He leaves the house through the back door, heading through the field towards the barn. The sun is setting, casting everything in an orange glow as the sky begins to turn shades of purple instead of blue. The old wooden doors creak as he pries them open and steps inside the building, the smell of hay hitting him in the face like a wall.

There's a loft, accessible by a ladder, that he knows you've made your own. It's been your escape ever since you were a kid, when you came to live with your Uncle Bill after a storm that destroyed your home and ripped your parents from you. He climbs up to the loft, hoisting himself onto the platform.

You're sitting on the wood floor, a quilt from the house spread out beneath you. You’ve brought a lamp up with you, warm light beating back the rapidly oncoming darkness. You look up when he stands.

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer. He kneels onto the quilt with you.

“Hey.”

You shift your weight until you’re lying on your back and Joel does the same beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. You’re both quiet for a long moment, sounds from the field drifting in through the cracks in the wood. 

“When will it be enough?” Joel finally asks. You sigh.

“Not this again,” you complain. 

“What is it about retirement that scares you so damn much?”

“Retirement doesn’t scare me. I could take the easy way out, too. I could make a pretty little weather woman for some local news channel, but that’s not what I want. It’s never been what I want.” You take a deep breath. “So stop acting surprised that I won’t change for you or anyone else, for that matter. And if that’s something that you can’t love about me—“

“It ain’t about not lovin’ you. I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you,” he interrupts, lifting himself so that he can look at your face. Your eyes are glassy, streaks of wetness stretching from the corners to your temple. “But I can’t ever be enough for you.”

Your expression changes, shifting from sadness to surprise to anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m gettin’ older, I’m not as good at this gig as I used to be.”

“That’s why you left? Because you think you’re…what? Holding us back?”

“Wasn’t I?”

“No! You big fucking idiot,” you snap. “I can’t believe this.” You sit up, shoving his shoulder and knocking him onto his back. You throw your leg over him, settling over his lap. His hands settle on your thighs, a reflex that hasn’t faded. Your expression is stern as you stare down at him. “You will always have a place with us. With me.”

Joel lets your words sink in, the light of them illuminating the dark parts of his mind that had convinced him you were better off without him. He slides a hand up your belly, over your chest, curling it around the back of your neck and urging you forward.

You come to him easily, your lips finding his.

It feels like coming home.

Joel’s mouth is eager as he kisses you, devours you, hands hot on your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You missed this, the feeling of being consumed by him, from your body and down to your soul. 

He rolls the two of you over, easing you down onto your back and hovering over you. You gaze up at him, noting the deeper creases by his eyes and the grey that has started to become more prominent in his hair and the only thought that comes to you is how beautiful he is. 

Joel leaves wet kisses on your neck in three spots — just below your ear, right over your pulse, and just above your clavicle, a pattern he established years ago. The warm air chills the spots he’s left behind as he moves lower, down your chest, pushing up your shirt to give the same attention to your belly. It makes your stomach flip, the way he peeks up at you with dark eyes when he reaches the waist of your jeans. 

Instead of moving lower, his focus returns to your breasts. He moves the cups of your bra down to reveal your tight nipples, warm tongue circling each bud in turn. You squirm beneath his weight, cry out when his teeth scrape the sensitive skin. You can feel the smile that graces his lips.

“Still so sensitive,” he says. You gently whack his head in retaliation. “Quit it. Be a good girl or you won’t get your reward.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmur. 

“That’s it, knew you could be good for me.” He squeezes your breast in one large hand. “Just needed the right motivation.”

He sits back on his heels and makes quick work of unbuttoning your pants, tugging the zipper down before curling his fingers into the waistband and dragging them down your thighs along with your underwear. Barrier discarded, he settles on his belly between your thighs, face close enough to your core that you can feel the quick brush of his breath on your needy cunt. You wiggle your hips, hoping to spur him into action, but a strong arm holds you still and you let out a low whine.

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Joel asks, fingers lightly tracing your skin. “Somethin’ you want? Somethin’ you need?”

“You,” you mumble.

“Louder.”

“You, Joel.”

He kisses your inner thigh, stubble scratching the sensitive skin and making you shiver. Your breath catches in anticipation as he draws nearer to your heat. 

The first swipe of his tongue through your folds is like a bolt of lightning to your system, every nerve ending lighting up and your blood coursing hot in your veins. He starts off slow, just the way you like it, broad circles over your clit until you’re squirming in his hold. Then he dips lower, thrusting the tip of his tongue inside of you while his nose continues to nudge your aching clit. 

He brings you to the very edge of release before backing off, just enough that you don’t tip over before he’s ready for you to. It drives you crazy, has you cursing his name and begging for him in equal measure, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, generous yet greedy.

“Joel,” you cry, his name a plea. “Are you going to let me come?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says. His chin is shiny with with spit and slick when he looks up, eyes a little wild and hair messy from your fingers. “But not yet.”

“Fuck!” You snap, head dropping to the wood floor with a thud as he presses two thick fingers inside of you, curling them with each drag from your body.  His mouth rejoins the effort, lips wrapping around your clit. It’s too much and so good, that wave of pleasure finally coursing through you as you shatter from his ministrations.

He works you through it, tongue gentle and fingers stilling inside of you, your cunt pulsing around them. When your muscles finally relax, he sits up, holding his hand up to your face and pressing his fingers to your lips. You open your mouth obediently, the earthy taste of your release exploding across your taste buds as you lick the digits clean.

“Missed this,” Joel murmurs, watching you intently. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,” you reply. You reach your hand up, running it down his chest until you’re cupping the prominent bulge in his jeans. “Missed this, too.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking with the force of it. It pulls a smile from you, your beautiful man so carefree, no sign of that troubled wrinkle between his brows and his cheeks flushed with life, the same way they are when he’s coming down from the adrenaline of a chase. He unbuttons his jeans, shimmies the denim down just enough to free his cock.

Joel grips himself at the base, flushed head peeking from his fist. He teases your entrance, slipping his length through your wetness and bumping your still sensitive clit. Your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, one that Joel echoes himself as he slowly, slowly, slowly pushes inside of your tight heat.

“Joel,” you whisper, fingers curling tight into the quilt beneath you. “Joel.”

“I know,” he says. “God, I know.”

When his hips are flush with yours, he leans forward, elbows on either side of your head propping himself up. His cock fills you so perfectly, the stretch almost too much to bear as he starts to move. Each purposeful thrust has you seeing stars, has you gasping and moaning his name. He silences you with his lips, so messy and uncoordinated it can hardly be called a kiss. You clench around him, desperate to keep him inside of you with each drag from your body. 

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” Joel groans. “Can you come for me, baby? One more time?”

“Mhm,” you hum. He picks up the pace, quick strokes that hit your g-spot with impressive precision. You feel the knot of your release grow tighter, tighter, until it finally unravels, every nerve ending lighting up like you’ve been struck by lightning. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as he presses deep, cock twitching and spilling inside of you.

Joel presses his forehead to yours as you both catch your breath, sweat cooling on your skin as minutes pass. When he lifts his head and stares down at you, it’s with a smile on his face.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you agree. “See? You still got it, old man.”

“Nevermind, I still want a divorce.”

You laugh, loud and carefree. For the first time in years, you feel a sense of peace.

A sense of home.

The two of you get caught in an unexpected downpour as you leave the barn and Joel follows the sound of your laughter as you run through the field back to the main house. Inside, you press a kiss to Joel’s lips, water dripping to the floor beneath you. You’re smiling and he swears he’s never felt more alive, even when chasing the biggest storm.

When you break apart, you whisper that you’re going to take another shower and change. Joel tells you he’s going to clean up the mess to avoid Bill’s wrath. Another kiss, and another, until you finally break away and shut yourself in the bathroom down the hall. He stands there for a moment, lost in thought, until the sound of the shower running spurs him into motion and he goes to search for a towel to clean up the water that’s pooled in the hallway.

As he passes by the living room, heading for the linen closet, he notices the TV is on, the room illuminated in its flickering glow. He stops in the doorway and Frank looks up at him, a knowing smile on his face.

Joel smiles back.

For now, it’s their little secret.

The next day, Bill deems your truck operational. It has a fresh new set of dents and scratches, but it’ll otherwise drive despite the abuse. You spend some time inspecting the unit and determine the lid latch is a little too secure, which explains why the sensors couldn’t deploy. Joel helps you loosen the bolts, the simple task taking twice as long with how often he distracts you when your crew members aren’t looking. You replace the latch with another tether strap that can be quickly released on deployment.

When all is said and done, everyone takes turns saying goodbye to your uncles. Frank tells you to be safe and Bill tells you to not be stupid, which is essentially the same thing. You watch as Joel receives a handshake from Bill that’s a tad too firm, if the grimace on his face is anything to go by. 

“Alright, let’s head out,” Maria says, eyes scanning a computer screen. “Radar’s got something forming about twenty miles north of here.”

“What kind of something?” You ask.

“A big something.”

Joel catches your eye and gives you a wink. 

“Let’s go get ELLIE into the air.”

The sky ahead of you is pitch black, clouds churning ominously. There’s a certain liminality when you’re driving into a storm that never ceases to amaze you, the image in the rearview mirror bright with sunlight but a foreboding darkness ahead of you. 

“You okay?” Joel asks, drawing your attention. His hand rests on your thigh, fingers tapping against your knee. “Not gettin’ cold feet, are you?”

“About this?” You nod towards the sky. “Never.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Guys? You won’t believe this,” Maria says over the radio. You grab the transmitter.

“What is it?” You ask.

“There’s two cells. Radar maxed out.” 

“They’re funneling back,” Tess adds. “This isn’t looking good.”

“You saying we can’t do it?” You ask.

The radio is quiet for a moment before Tommy says, “If anyone can, it’s you two.”

“What are we up against?” Joel asks.

“Cell one is measuring at the cusp of a three, cell two is reaching four,” Maria continues.

“Joel.” You tap his arm. “Look.”

A funnel has formed ahead of you, still teetering in the air and not quite making contact with the ground. It’s only a few miles ahead and Joel hits the brakes as he takes it in. 

“What’s the trajectory of this?” He asks.

“Northeast.”

It’s heading your way. You both scramble from the truck, climbing into the bed to prepare ELLIE — Joel removing the tethers while you turn the unity on. The wind picks up speed as you work, dust from the road whipping around you and making it difficult to see.

“Let’s get her down!” Joel shouts. He jumps to the ground and together you ease the equipment onto the ground, removing the lid tether. After what feels like ages, ELLIE is ready and you both return to the truck.

Joel turns the truck around and drives in the opposite direction of the cyclone’s path. He stops and you can hardly breath as you watch the storm tear across the landscape.

“This is it!” Tess shouts through the radio. 

You grab Joel’s hand as the funnel nears ELLIE, the wind making the unit shift and sway. You swallow nervously.

“It’s too light,” you murmur. 

“No it’s not,” Joel says confidently. 

Closer and closer the funnel moves, but ELLIE doesn’t lift from the ground. You’re biting your lip so hard that the taste of copper blooms across your tongue.

“We’ve got a shift!” Maria says. “We’ve got a shift, due north. Due north.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, slamming a hand on the steering wheel.

“Guess who just showed up?” Tommy adds.

Far across the field, a familiar caravan of black vehicles speeds towards the cyclone. 

“What channel are they using?” You ask. There’s a brief silence until Tess calls back, “Six. Why?”

You switch the channel. “Marlene, you have to anchor the unit.”

“I’m a little busy right now,” she calls back. “Trying to make history over here.”

“Listen to me. Unless you manage to position your unit right under a touchdown, it’s not going to get picked up. And if it doesn’t pick up, it doesn’t deploy.”

“Maybe that’s just an issue with your unit. I can assure you ABBY will succeed where ELLIE failed.”

“Goddamnit,” you snap, tossing the transmitter down. 

“Can’t fix stupid,” Joel says. He hits the gas, bringing the truck back to ELLIE. “Let’s load her back up, maybe we can catch the second cell.”

Pack loaded once more, you return to the cab. Joel is about to put the park in drive when you place a hand over his chest. 

“Do you see what I see?” You ask.

Joel watches the twister, then Marlene’s team. He grabs the radio. 

“Marlene, listen to me. That monster is going to shift and if it does, you’re in the path of destruction and that base is too wide for you to get out of there. You have to hang back now.”

“Radar isn’t showing a shift. I’m not missing this chance,” Marlene replies.

“You gotta look at the funnel action, too. Not just the radar. You’re goin’ to get yourself killed!”

“Clear this channel, Joel. I’ve got work to do.”

“Fuck!” Joel snaps. 

Sure enough, the cyclone shifts its path, a minute change with dire consequences for Marlene and her team. The twister barrels toward the caravan, vehicles lifting from the ground. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. 

“I know,” he says. His throat bobs around a pained swallow. “We did what we could.”

Joel switches the radio back to your team’s channel, a flurry of panicked voices filling the cab. Maria’s voice snaps your name.

“Do you read me? The second cell has organized, five miles east moving north along 80.”

“Copy that,” you say as Joel drives in her suggested direction. “What’s it looking like?”

“Too soon to tell but the cloud base is massive.”

Joel drives parallel to Maria’s path suggestion, racing to get ahead of the storm. The funnel begins to form, dropping down from the restless clouds. It’s one of the biggest you’ve seen, more of a column of wind than a tapered cyclone. The strength of it grows as it hits the warm air, touching down with a contact point as wide as the funnel base.

“Wind speed is measuring at an estimated 270 miles per hour. We’ve found ourselves an F5,,” Maria says. “She’s slow, but strong. Movement only measuring at ten miles per hour, still heading east.”

Joel changes direction, heading towards the storm from the back, rather than trying to get ahead of it. 

“ELLIE needs an anchor,” you remind him.

“I know,” he says, looking over at you. “I’m giving her one.”

“We’re using the truck?”

“You got a better idea?”

“No, no, go ahead. Can’t wait to explain this one to insurance.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and take the radio one more time. “We’re sending the truck up with ELLIE. If this works, get ready for the best data in history.”

“Roger that,” Tess replies. “Ready for the feed.”

Another mile ahead, Joel gets the truck speed up to fifty miles per hour before setting the cruise control. He unbuckles his seat belt and you follow suit, throwing the passenger door open and holding onto the grab handle.

“One,” Joel shouts. “Two!”

“Three!” You finish, jumping from the cab. You hit the ground hard, rolling through your landing, the air punched from your lungs. When you’ve caught your breath, you get yourself on your hands and knees, frantically searching for Joel.

He’s kneeling in the road, watching as the truck continues to barrel towards the twister. You crawl to him and he pulls you close, an arm around your waist to hold you up beside him.

“Go, go, go!” He shouts. 

The sound of brakes squealing has you looking back over your shoulder to see your team has arrived. They gather behind you, Tess snapping photos at rapid speeds, Tommy recording video, and Maria’s eyes glued to her computer. You look ahead, just in time to watch the truck disappear into the swirling mass of debris.

Everyone is silent for a long moment, waiting. Watching. Hoping.

“I’m getting a read!” Maria shouts. “She’s up! ELLIE is flying!”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Joel, we did it.”

“You did it, baby,” he says. 

The twister doesn’t last long. Its power wanes, the cyclone breaking up and retreating back into the sky. You have no idea where your truck has landed, but you don’t care. You and Joel stand up, your legs shaky from the rush of adrenaline. He takes your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss.

“You owe me one hundred dollars, Tommy!” Tess shouts.

Joel pulls away with a laugh. “What did I tell you about bettin’ against me?”

“Does this mean you’re back?” Maria asks.

The arm around your waist tightens, pulling you closer.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I’m back.”

[obsessive-valentine]

How would Dark-Yandere!Farmer react to finding reader taking Polaroid photo shoots of his retired senior dogs in silly clothing like sunglasses, hair clips, etc. Btw love your writing keep up the good work!🫶🏼

Dark-Yandere!Farmer x GN!Reader

TW - Readers def developing Stockholm Syndrome or something of the sort, nothing else though this fix is sweeter as an apology for the intense one last time about reader being punished. This was meant to be a qick paragraph or two as an answer but I got to deep into lore and this sweet scenario as it’s a side of him we don’t see much. Thanks for the idea glad you’re liking this blog❤️

I’ll proof read later

You’d expressed an interest in his old cameras after he let you rummage through a few boxes he’d stored away. In a box he’s got a old digital camera a Polaroid one and then a really fragile one that’s much older than the rest, you didn’t dare pick it up in fear it would fall adapt just by touch. Then at the bottom of the box, a few images, some developed film some printed. You recognised him in some home images or family portraits, he looked like a happy kid with a cheesy grin sometimes even pictured on this very farm but most of them look to be taken in a small town house.

It’s weird to imagine at one point he was just a normal kid, living a normal life, photos of him blowing out candles on his birthday or with some older family members reminded you that no ones born ‘bad’. Makes you wonder why he’s the way he is now, what happened?

A part of you wanted to take one of those sweet images of him as a child and hide it away, to uncover and re-remind yourself he’s not a living monster but a human and a kind one at times. To ground yourself when he gets angry and all you can see him as is a living demon. To set the aspiration that if he was once so -he can be again.

You recognised a woman from the images as his mother because he kept a image of her in the bedside draw, she looked loving and kind. But he’d never talk about her, answering your careful questions about her with “she was a good mother” or “she was an admirable woman” he seemed emotionally withdrawn about it so you didn’t push it. You figured since she’s dead he’s just remembering her face.

The rest of the pictures seemed to be from the building of this farm, dated on the back in scruffy hands writing, maybe by his father or grandfather. You could look through this pile of history for hours, not just to learn more about your captor but about the history of this place and the his family that he’s so reluctant to talk about.

The ladder to the attic creaks behind you and his distinct heavy boots land with a thud and groan on the ladder steps “what’s got you so occupied up here?” You felt like you’d been caught looking in something you shouldn’t have despite having permission “j-just these cameras, I had a polaroid camera once” you turned to him showing him the old camera, he now off the ladder and standing over you.

“Hmm, old thing -maybe older than us” he gently took it from you hands to inspect it “probably still works if you want it, not any use just sitting up here” he hands it back “thank you” you reply with a smile he waves you off and crouches down beside the box with you. He shuffles through it completely ignoring the images from his past and he rummages in search of something “No film stacks though, I’ll pick some up from town next time”

“Really?” You look over at him in excitement, he shrugs “sure” he stands up ready to head back down stairs “had I known you’d be so happy I’d have gotten you one sooner” he chuckles at your excitement over something so small.

To you it’s much more than a old camera to take up some free time when you get bored. It’s yours, you can control it, keep it for your own. You don’t have much things that’s yours anymore but the collections growing.

...

You’d basically forgotten about getting film for your camera as a week or two had passed. But he hadn’t, he returned to the truck once again being one of may shops he had to stop at. But this time he didn’t have heavy bags of stock or material and tools for the farm but just 3 small boxes that he could carry in just one hand.

He sat down in his seat and extended his hand to give you the boxed, you furrowed your brows in confusion until you read one of the box’s. A big smile plastered you face when you got to the word ‘film’ “that should be enough to last you a long while” “thank you” you grinned giving him a quick hug out of appreciation.

Once you both pulled into the driveway of the farm you had already thought up many picture opportunities, and you couldn’t wait to get to it. The car parked and he gave you the go ahead “You can finally get to your photography, take some pretty pictures” you practically ran to the house to retrieve the camera.

...

You’d been in the house for a hour or two at this point and he’d began to get a bit concerned, usually you’d come outside now and then or spend the afternoon in the barn playing with the animals. But no sign of you. He put the final nail into the fence he was fixing and decided to come check on you.

He got to the front door and could hear you laughing before even opening it “good boy Berty, you’re so handsome” his curiosity peaked at those words, he quietly made his way to the room you and presumably Berty the elderly farm dog was in and observed from the door frame.

There you sat, infront of Berty whose dressed up in various items and fabrics mimicking clothes. The camera clicks and your silent as you watch it develop, Berty still sits patiently. “We got the picture, look at how dapper you look” you praise him and he gets exited leaving all the items fall off his as he runs up to you to get pet.

“When I said pretty pictures I was envisioning landscapes or with artistic vision” he jokes still standing in the door way unable to not smile at such a bizarre but cute sight. You stand shocked for a moment, he’s not one to creep up on you, it when you see his amused smile you loosen back up. “This is artistic vision, and Bertys my muse, look at how handsome” you joke and show him the photo “it’s something alright” he almost laughs out.

“Hey, this is worthy of a museum, the composition the choice of colours the muse, it all tells a story” you continue to joke, he just shakes his head unable to wipe away his smile “as long as your happy, I guess” “I am, thank you again” moments like this you forget everything you went though and are able to exist in ignorance.

Those moments are becoming more frequent now especially since he’s began to become more relaxed, he wasn’t as authoritarian anymore, your sure if you pushed it he wouldn’t have a 2nd thought of going back to the way things were. There’s always that lingering threat but it’s not as pronounced anymore. You’re starting to see the love he has for you, sometimes unconventional and deranged possessiveness but moments like this, seeing him smile and joke you can delude yourself into believing he’s a normal partner.

He brings you in closer by the hips “you’re so cute” his grin is akin to the little boy in those pictures, you’ve seemed to restore a part of his childish cheer. He pecks your lips “I bet the barn animals are missing you, maybe you should take this photography session to them, I’m sure they’ll appreciate the attention”

And that’s what you did, dressed up the chickens though they didn’t stay still -the cows were great models -but a few animals tried to eat the accessories and clothing which made things harder. The farmer got less work done than normal that afternoon as he found it quite amusing and cute watching you through the cracked barn door trying to wrestle a bow onto a goat.

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 26

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: smut sorta brief

A/N: ONE MOREEEEEEEEEE

----

It was late afternoon, and you had been nursing a cup of coffee, scrolling through potential second hand furniture finds on Facebook Marketplace. Sliding your finger across the screen, you answered with a warm, “Hey, Wilson. How’s my best friend doing?”

Sam’s chuckle filled the line. “Don’t let Bucky hear you say that, I’m doing good, though. How about you? What’s been going on?”

“Everything’s good here,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “Boston is becoming more real by the day. I can’t believe I can say I’m a homeowner, we just had the inspection guy out and everything is perfect.”

“You’re really doing it,” Sam said, his voice tinged with excitement. “I’m still in shock that you’re finally moving out of the city.”

“It feels right,” you admitted. “Bucky and I have been talking about this since we started at NYU, way too busy and hectic. Never thought we’d do it together, and honestly? I’m ready for something new. A fresh start.”

“Speaking of fresh starts,” Sam said, his tone turning playful, “when are you going to drop the bomb on the rest?”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “I’m telling Wanda and Nat during girls’ night in a couple of days. Steve’s a little more complicated. Bucky’s going to help him move into his new apartment upstate, and that’s when he’s going to tell him.”

“Wow, real division of labor there,” Sam teased. “You get wine and face masks, and Bucky gets a moving truck.”

“Hey, it’s strategic,” you countered with a laugh. “And I have to confess something else.”

“Oh, I love secrets,” Sam said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Lay it on me.”

“I don’t think I’m going to work in editing anymore,” you said, feeling your stomach flip at saying it out loud. “I’m thinking of writing my own book.”

The line was silent for a moment before Sam practically yelled, “Shut up! Are you serious? About time! You’ve been hiding that talent of yours for too long.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said, your cheeks flushing even though he couldn’t see you. “It’s just an idea right now. But Boston feels like the perfect place to start.”

“It’s more than an idea if you’re telling me about it,” Sam said knowingly. “I’m so proud of you. Seriously.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, your chest warming at his sincerity.

“So, how’s everything else?” Sam asked, his tone casual. “Things with Barnes are still good?”

“They’re amazing,” you said, the smile evident in your voice. “Better than I ever thought they could be. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Sam said. “I’ve also heard from a little birdie that Steve and Nat have been spending more time together. Any truth to that?”

“There definitely is,” you confirmed, grinning. “They’ve been hanging out a lot. It’s nice to see them finally figuring it out.”

Sam let out a satisfied hum. “Good. I was rooting for those two. Look, let me know the date for the housewarming party once you’re settled in Boston. I’ll be there with bells on.”

“You better be,” you said, laughing. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Sam’s voice softened slightly. “It’s good to hear you so happy. You deserve this.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “You’ve always been my biggest cheerleader, you know that?”

“Don’t make me cry,” Sam joked. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

---

The apartment was a maze of half-packed boxes, bubble wrap, and the faint scent of pizza from the night before. You were crouched over a pile of books, trying to fit them into an already-too-full box when Bucky walked in, holding two mugs of coffee. His hair was tousled from running his hands through it, a few strands falling lazily over his forehead, and the plain white t-shirt stretched over his chest just right. He looked effortlessly gorgeous.

“Coffee delivery,” he announced, his voice warm and teasing as he set one of the mugs on the table near you.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said, reaching for it, your fingers brushing his briefly. A spark, familiar yet thrilling, ran through you. “We’re never going to get this done in time.”

“Not with that attitude,” Bucky teased, leaning against the wall, his muscles shifting under the thin fabric as he sipped his coffee. “Besides, we’ve got time. You’re just stressing out for no reason.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Maybe, but I like being ahead of schedule.”

Bucky stepped closer, crouching beside you, his scent—coffee, a hint of cologne, and something undeniably him—enveloping you. He peered into the box with mock seriousness. “You sure you’re not just stalling because you don’t want to leave this apartment?”

You shrugged, the weight of his presence making your heartbeat quicken. “Maybe a little. There are a lot of good memories here.”

Bucky’s grin softened, his fingers brushing a stray hair from your face before leaning in to kiss your temple. The kiss was brief but lingered, its warmth spreading through you like sunlight breaking through clouds. “We’re going to make even better ones in Boston. Just wait.”

The tenderness of his touch, the promise in his voice, it was too much. You turned your head, capturing his lips with yours, your kiss soft at first, then deepening. Bucky's hands framed your face, his touch grounding yet electric. You let the coffee mug slip from your grip, forgotten as your fingers found the soft cotton of his shirt, bunching it as you pulled him closer.

The world around you blurred, the half-packed boxes and looming deadline fading into irrelevance. Bucky shifted, the heat of his body pressed against yours as his lips moved with practiced ease, drawing you deeper into the moment. A subtle tug of your bottom lip made your breath hitch, and you couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped you—a sound that seemed to ignite something in him.

Without breaking the kiss, Bucky guided you backward, his movements careful yet unrelenting. You both tumbled over a pile of empty boxes, landing in a tangled heap on the floor. A surprised laugh bubbled out of you, your back against the hardwood as Bucky hovered over you, his weight deliciously pressing you down.

“Guess that’s one way to take a break,” you said, breathless, brushing a piece of hair from your face.

Bucky’s grin was devilish as he propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, still catching your breath. “That we need to be more careful with the boxes?”

He shook his head, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down your spine. “It means we have to make a new memory here before we leave.”

“Bucky,” you protested weakly, even as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Don’t fight it, doll,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline, then lower, to the sensitive curve of your neck. “Let me take care of you.”

The protest died on your lips as his hands skimmed down your sides, his touch reverent yet possessive. His lips found that spot just below your ear, the one that made you gasp, your back arching against him. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent heat pooling low in your belly. He paused, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm and tantalizing. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You bit your lip, your pulse pounding in your ears. Instead of answering, you slid your hands up his chest, over the hard planes of muscle, and pulled him down to you, your lips crashing together with a need that made your head spin.

“Thought so,” he muttered against your mouth, his tone smug but affectionate.

Bucky’s hands slide beneath your shirt, his touch deliberate yet achingly gentle, like he’s savoring every inch of contact. His fingers skim along the curve of your waist, warm and rough against your softer skin, as he slowly pushes the fabric up and over your head. His eyes flicker to yours as he tosses it aside, the air between you charged with unspoken words. When his gaze finally drops, it’s not just hunger you see—it’s reverence, like you’re something sacred.

You feel your chest rise and fall, your breathing uneven beneath the weight of his stare. A blush blooms across your skin, and you wonder if he notices how the anticipation makes you tremble.

“You’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. It’s the kind of tone that makes you believe every word, even as your instinct is to look away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention. But you don’t, because you can see how much this moment means to him too.

He leans down, his lips brushing against the swell of your breasts, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. He presses open-mouthed kisses there, his pace unhurried, and you feel the faint scrape of his stubble—a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. His hands follow the curves of your body, his touch familiar yet thrilling, like he’s rediscovering you all over again.

Your body responds instinctively, arching into him, and your fingers tangle in his hair. You tug lightly, guiding his mouth lower, and he follows without hesitation, his lips and tongue teasing the sensitive peaks of your chest. The heat of his mouth against you sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body, and you can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes you.

“Bucky,” you whisper, the sound somewhere between a plea and a prayer.

His name falls from your lips just as your hips shift against him, unbidden, desperate for more. The hard length of him presses against your thigh, a tangible reminder of his own desire, and the realization sends a flush of heat coursing through you.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to sit up and tug his shirt over his head. The motion is fluid, practiced, but there’s something almost shy about the way he pauses, letting you take him in. Your eyes roam over him “Beautiful,” you murmur, your voice soft but full of meaning.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, his hand brushes over yours, steadying you as you reach for the button of his jeans. Your fingers fumble slightly, and you both laugh quietly, the moment laced with affection despite the heat simmering between you. When you finally slide the zipper down and free him from the denim, his breath hitches, and you feel a surge of confidence.

You wrap your hand around him, your touch slow and deliberate, and his response is immediate—a low groan that vibrates through you as his hips buck involuntarily. His lips find yours again, the kiss messy, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough.

Without warning, he pulls you back down to the floor, his body covering yours, his weight grounding you as his hands resume their exploration. Every touch, every caress is a silent declaration, a promise etched into your skin. His fingers slide lower, finding the heat between your thighs, and when he slips inside, your gasp turns into a broken moan.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice a soft command. You do, your eyes meeting his as he watches you fall apart under his touch. The intimacy of it, the vulnerability, is almost too much, but you don’t look away.

“Please,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he seems to understand exactly what you’re asking for.

He withdraws his hand, and the loss makes you whine softly, but then he’s shifting, positioning himself between your thighs. The weight of him, the way his body fits against yours, makes you feel like you were made for this—for him.

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “I love you,” he says, the words thick with emotion.

Your chest tightens, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “I love you too,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

When he finally presses into you, it’s slow, deliberate, as though he’s savoring every second. The stretch is perfect, a mix of pleasure and ache that has you gasping, your body instinctively rising to meet his. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, and you can see the effort it takes for him to hold back.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nod, your hands sliding down his back, anchoring him to you. “Perfect,” you murmur.

He moves then, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. His eyes never leave yours, and it’s that connection—the raw, unguarded intimacy—that undoes you.

Time seems to blur, the world outside fading until there’s nothing but the two of you. His movements grow more urgent, more desperate, and you meet him with equal fervor, your bodies finding a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing.

When the tension finally snaps, it’s overwhelming, a flood of sensation that leaves you trembling beneath him. He follows moments later, his body shuddering as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

In the aftermath, he doesn’t move right away, his arms wrapped around you as though he’s afraid to let go. You press a soft kiss to his temple, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his back.

“I love you,” he whispers again, the words barely audible but heavy with meaning.

“I love you more,” you reply, and in that moment, there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s true.

“Most romantic floor sex ever” Bucky laughs brushing a strand of hair from your face as he rolls off of you.

Your phone started to ping over and over again “Told you we didn’t have time for this,” you teased, your voice hoarse and shaky as you turned your head to meet his gaze.

“Worth it,” he said with a lazy grin, his thumb brushing against your hip in lazy circles. “But I guess we should get going.”

You groaned, half in exasperation, half in contentment, as you pushed yourself up, reaching for your discarded shirt. Bucky’s gaze followed you, his expression a mix of admiration and mischief.

“Keep looking at me like that, and we’ll really be late,” you warned, pulling the fabric over your head.

“Noted,” he said, chuckling as he sat up and pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “Till next time.”

----

The sun was high as Bucky carried another box up the steps of Steve’s new apartment. The place was smaller than his last one, but it had character—exposed brick, tall windows, and just enough space for Steve to live comfortably. Still, it was far. Far from Natasha, Wanda, and even farther from you and Bucky.

“You sure about this place?” Bucky asked as he set the box down just inside the front door. “It’s far from Nat’s, and Wanda’s, and our place.”

Steve shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow as he came up behind him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Yeah, I know. But it’s closer to work. The commute was killing me. Besides,” he added with a small smile, “the only reason I moved closer to you guys in the first place was to stay near everyone.”

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, nodding. “I get it. Makes sense.” He paused, watching Steve organize his stuff. “Speaking of moving…”

Steve froze mid-step, turning to look at Bucky. “Speaking of moving, what?”

Bucky shifted his weight, scratching the back of his neck. “Me and Y/N… we’re moving to Boston.”

Steve blinked, the words taking a second to register. “Holy shit,” he finally said, setting the bag down. “Boston? That’s a big move. Congratulations, man.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, smiling softly.

Steve studied him for a second, his brow furrowing slightly. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me, does it?” he asked, his tone careful. “Because I’m working on it, you know. I’m starting to see things differently. I actually… I asked Nat out on a second date.”

Bucky straightened at that, a grin spreading across his face. “Did you now?”

Steve nodded, a little bashfully. “Yeah. She really is something.”

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Bucky teased, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “And no, this isn’t about you. Me and Y/N just want a house, something with a yard, and we’ve been thinking about the future. Boston just felt right.”

“The future, huh?” Steve said, his lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “Like a family?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice softening. “A family.”

Steve let out a low whistle, leaning against the counter. “Man, we’re getting old.”

“Hell yeah, we are,” Bucky replied with a laugh.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking out at night, getting into fights over the stupidest shit.”

“Like that time you dared Y/N to climb the water tower, and she actually did it,” Bucky said, laughing. “She was halfway up before the cops showed up, and we had to book it.”

Steve groaned, covering his face with a hand. “God, I’ll never forget that. She was fearless. Still is.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes softening. “Yeah, she is.”

Steve glanced at him, his expression turning contemplative. “You’ve got something good, Buck. She’s… she’s one of a kind.”

Bucky nodded, his smile small but sincere. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I hope things with you and Nat work out. You deserve it, man.”

Steve looked away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “She really is something,” he repeated quietly.

Bucky clapped him on the back, his tone lighter. “So, when’s this date?”

“Tomorrow night,” Steve admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think she’ll say yes to a third one?”

Bucky smirked. “If you don’t screw it up, maybe."

They both laughed, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. For a moment, it felt like old times, the weight of life and change lifting just enough for them to breathe.

“Man, life,” Steve said after a moment, his voice soft with nostalgia.

“Life,” Bucky agreed, his gaze distant but warm.

-------

The wine glasses clinked together as you, Natasha, and Wanda settled into the plush couch in Natasha’s living room. The music was soft in the background, and the mood was light, filled with laughter and the warmth of wine. It had been too long since you’d all spent time like this—just the three of you, unwinding and sharing pieces of your lives.

You swirled your glass, grinning. “Speaking of life—”

“YOU’RE PREGNANT!” Wanda blurted out, her eyes wide with excitement.

Your mouth fell open in shock, nearly spilling your wine. “Excuse me?!”

Natasha burst into laughter, smacking Wanda’s arm. “Wanda! Oh my God, reel it in! Let the girl finish a sentence before you start naming her unborn child, she wouldn't be drinking if she was Wanda."

Wanda raised her hands in defense, her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry! But look at her! She’s glowing!”

“Glowing?!” you repeated, glancing down at your stomach in horror. “Do I look pregnant? Oh my God, is it the wine? Am I bloated?” You started poking at your belly, your tone spiraling into a ramble. “Okay, so relationship weight is totally a thing, and Bucky does make the best pasta, but I’ve been good about not going overboard! Besides, doesn’t sex burn calories? We’ve been doing plenty of that—”

Natasha was nearly doubled over, her laughter loud and unrestrained. “Stop, stop! Oh my God, you’re killing me.”

Wanda was laughing now too, shaking her head frantically. “No, no! It’s not like that. I just meant you have that look, you know? You’re happy. Content.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, clutching your chest. “Thank God. You really had me questioning everything for a second.” You paused, side-eyeing her. “But for the record, you should know better than to accuse someone holding a glass of wine of being pregnant.”

Wanda giggled. “Noted.”

Natasha wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Alright, Miss Glow. What were you going to say?”

You straightened in your seat, taking a sip of wine for courage. “Well, I was going to say that Bucky and I are moving to Boston.”

Natasha froze, her wine glass halfway to her lips. Her eyes welled up immediately, and her voice cracked as she said, “What? Boston?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, glancing between them. “We found a house we love, and well, we can work from home, plus Bucky only has to come into the office once every 6 weeks and well that means guaranteed day to see everyone. Plus, we just… we want to start fresh. Somewhere new.”

Natasha set her wine glass down carefully, and then, much to your surprise, she started crying. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I really am. But first Sam, then Steve moving upstate, and now you and Bucky… it’s just—I’m going to miss you both so much.”

Your heart ached at the sight of her tears, and you reached out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Nat, we’re not going anywhere far. Boston isn’t the moon, and you’ll always have a place with us. Always.”

Wanda hadn’t said anything yet, her expression unusually quiet. You turned to her, concern tightening in your chest. “Wanda? Are you okay?”

She sighed heavily, setting her glass down as well. “I’ve been meaning to tell you both something, actually.” She hesitated, her voice soft. “At the end of the year, I’m moving back home.”

“What?!” you and Natasha said in unison, both of you sitting up straighter.

“My work contract is up,” Wanda explained, her tone bittersweet. “And I decided not to renew it. It’s been amazing here, but I think it’s time for me to go back. Be closer to family.”

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling in. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, the three of you huddled together in the middle of the couch, your arms wrapped around each other tightly.

“I’m so proud of you both,” Natasha said through her tears. “But this really fucking sucks. This feels like the end of an era."

Wanda laughed weakly, her own tears spilling over. “I know. But we’ll always have this. We’ll always have each other.”

“And road trips,” you added, your voice wobbly. “So many road trips, and Nat its just the beginning of so many new wonderful chapters."

The three of you stayed like that for a long time, holding each other and crying—tears of sadness, of joy, of the inevitable changes that life brought. It wasn’t the end, not really. Just a new chapter. But saying goodbye to the comfort of what you had now still hurt, and none of you pretended otherwise.

“You’re both stuck with me,” Natasha said finally, sniffling. “No matter where we are.”

“Always,” you and Wanda echoed, squeezing her tighter.

----

Bucky and you stood by the moving truck, the last few boxes stacked neatly inside. It was surreal seeing the apartment building that had been your home for years now reduced to a memory. The truck loomed large, a bittersweet symbol of everything changing. Natasha, Wanda, and Steve were there, huddled together on the sidewalk, their expressions a mix of pride and sadness.

Natasha was the first to approach, her arms crossed as if trying to keep her emotions in check. “So, this is it,” she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. This is it.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, her usual sarcastic edge melting away. “I’m gonna miss you, you know that?” she murmured, her voice cracking.

Tears stung your eyes as you hugged her back just as fiercely. “I’m gonna miss you too, Nat. But you’ll come visit. And we’ll visit you.”

She pulled back, her hands gripping your shoulders as she smiled through watery eyes. “You better. And if I don’t get weekly updates, I’m coming to Boston to drag them out of you myself.”

Wanda came next, a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand that she pressed into your arms. “For your new home,” she said with a small, sad smile. “You’ll make it beautiful, just like you always do.”

You hugged her tightly, the scent of lavender and roses filling the air. “Thank you, Wanda. For everything.”

Bucky and Steve were nearby, their conversation quieter but no less meaningful. Steve clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, his expression calm but reflective. “You’re gonna do great, Buck,” he said. “Both of you are.”

Bucky nodded, his voice low. “Thanks, man. And… I hope things work out with Nat. You deserve it.”

Steve looked down for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile. “We’ll see. One step at a time.”

When it was Steve’s turn to say goodbye to you, he hugged you tightly, lingering for just a moment longer than usual. “I’m soproud of you,” he said quietly, his voice thick. “And I’m gonna miss you like hell.”

You blinked back tears, squeezing him tightly. “I’m gonna miss you too, Stevie. But we’ll keep in touch. I promise.”

The goodbyes felt endless but fleeting all at once, each hug, each word of encouragement, making it harder to leave but also more meaningful. When you finally climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, Bucky squeezed your hand, his own eyes red but his smile steady.

“You ready?” he asked softly.

You nodded, your voice trembling. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As the truck rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb, you looked back through the rearview mirror. Natasha was wiping her eyes with Wanda’s sleeve, and Steve had slung an arm around Natasha’s shoulder, pulling her close. The sight made your heart clench, but then you couldn’t help it—you squealed softly, clutching Bucky’s arm.

“What?” he asked, startled.

You pointed out the window. “Steve and Nat! Did you see that?”

Bucky glanced in the mirror and let out a chuckle. “Well, would you look at that? Those two are finally figuring it out.”

Your laugh bubbled out, mixing with the tears still on your cheeks. “About damn time.”

As the city skyline faded in the distance, the weight of leaving was tempered by the excitement of what lay ahead. The road stretched endlessly before you, and Bucky reached over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Road trip playlist?” he asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You laughed, reaching for your phone. “You mean the one I specifically made for this drive?”

“Of course you did,” he teased. “Let’s hear it.”

[daisynik7]

“S&M” by Rihanna for Toji Fushiguro - smut

S&M

I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.0k

cw: smut - PIV sex (doggy style), cunnilingus, mild S&M practices - whips, blindfold, handcuffs, protected sex (for once lol), use of safe word, rough sex, pet names (cutie, sweetheart)

Summary: You are next-door neighbors with a man named Toji Fushiguro. You don’t know much about him, except for the fact that he’s a divorced father who spends every other weekend with his young son, Megumi. On the weeks he doesn’t have him, you notice the same trio of women visiting his house. One night, his package gets incorrectly delivered to your door. Too curious, you walk over to return it, only to find the front door unlocked and a naughty secret to discover.

Author’s Notes: Thanks for the request anon! I love Rihanna, so it’s no surprise that she’s on the y2k karaoke party playlist! I personally am not well-versed with S&M practices, so this was an experience to write, definitely a little bit out of my comfort zone, but I hope it’s still okay! This is more on the milder side, I'm sure. Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are always appreciated, thanks for reading! MDNI divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

You’re not usually this nosey when it comes to your neighbors, but something about Toji Fushiguro draws you in. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a divorced dad who takes good care of his adorable son, Megumi. Or maybe it’s the mysterious trio of women who frequently visits his house on the weeks he doesn’t have his child. Or maybe it’s his obvious good looks and impressive physique that you can’t help but notice every time he steps foot outside. Whatever it is, whether it’s a combination of all of the above, you just can’t get Toji Fushiguro off your mind. 

On this particular Friday night, you’re staying in, binging a TV show with a glass of white wine in your hands and a frozen pizza that you just baked in the oven. There’s a knock on your front door, which surprises you because you aren’t expecting anybody at this hour. You give it a few moments, seeing if there’s another knock. When none comes, you get up to scope it out, finding a large package directly in front of you and a delivery truck driving off in the distance. You check the shipping label, reading Toji’s name on it instead of yours. You glance at his front yard, spotting his car parked in the driveway and no one else’s. His girlfriends must have already left; you noticed their vehicle earlier beside his. 

Not bothering to change into anything presentable, currently wearing your sweats and fuzzy slippers, you carry the wrongly delivered package to its rightful owner, hoping if you can find some truth behind your neighbor’s unique bi-weekly ritual. You’ve thought about it before, the most likely answer being a polyamorous relationship or group sex. Still, it’ll put your mind to rest to know exactly what he does in there when little Megumi is away and Toji is free to play. So, you carefully lift the box, which isn’t heavy, over to his front door, setting it down to ring the bell. You push the button, then notice that the door is already open, slightly ajar. Another ring, and no one comes, though you’re certain you hear movement inside. 

You should turn around. Go back home, sink into your couch, continue the night as normal. Yet, your feet guide you in, closing the door shut behind you, tip-toeing farther into the house, waiting to catch Toji in the act, whatever that could be. Eventually, you make it to the living room, where you stand in the doorframe, searching for your neighbor, who you find sitting on the couch with his shirt off, scrolling through his phone. 

You knock on the wall, announcing your presence. He looks up, confused, inspecting you carefully before saying your name. “What are you doing in here?” He’s way more cavalier than you imagined he’d be, which you’re thankful for. 

You present the box to him, a nervous grin on your face as you explain, “This just got delivered to my house on accident. I rang the bell, but no one answered. And your front door was open, so I figured I’d just come inside to give it to you.” It’s a poor excuse; you really shouldn’t have barged in without permission. 

He seems to buy it though, rolling his eyes, muttering, “Damn Kimi. She’s always doing that.” He approaches you, grabbing the box from your hands. “Thank you for getting this to me. Been waiting for it all night, so I was bummed it didn’t come in on time.” He sets it down on the floor, kneeling beside it, ready to unwrap. 

You search the room, trying to find any clues of what they could be doing inside here. It looks normal, nothing nefarious standing out. Slightly disappointed, you take this as your cue to leave, turning on your heel to make your way back home. Before you can, Toji calls out your name and asks, “Don’t you want to see the little present I got? After all, it was almost yours. Would have loved to see your reaction if you opened it by accident.” His tone is playful, yet there’s something wicked behind his words. Something naughty.

You swallow hard, mouth already salivating. This isn’t how you planned your night to go, but you’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about it before. You face him again, stepping towards the box slowly, sitting on the other side. He uses a pocketknife to slice through the tape, eyes lighting up as he reaches inside, holding up his delivered item like a treasure. It’s a riding whip, soft leather on one end, handle on the other. He smirks at you, slapping it against his palm, making a loud crack sound. You jump up, startled by the noise. He barks a laugh at your reaction, laying the whip down on the coffee table next to him. He reaches in again, pulling out three sets of fuzzy handcuffs, twirling one around his fingers. “Damn, would have been fun to use these tonight.” Glancing over at you, legs squeezed tightly together, arousal seeping through your panties, he scans you up and down, giving you a wicked smile. “You want to try these out, neighbor? I promise, I’ll go easy on you.”

It's ridiculous, right? Completely silly and irresponsible for you to agree to this, right? You blurt out your answer before you can even contemplate those questions logically. “Yes.”

He chuckles, biting him lip, eyes focused on your loins currently throbbing against the fabric of your sweats. You really wish you dressed up now, but it doesn’t matter, as he commands you to, “Strip.”

Almost too eagerly, you obey, kicking your slippers off and undressing, starting with your shirt, which you toss behind your shoulder. He studies you carefully, eyes following your every move as you slip out of your pants, down to only your underwear and bra now. He licks his lips, stepping closer to you. “Yeah,” he purrs, breath hot on your skin. “This will definitely work.”

~~~

Within minutes, you find yourself naked in his bedroom, blindfolded, wrists handcuffed behind you, face buried into the pillow, and ass up, perfectly vulnerable for him to do as he pleases. The two of you establish a safe word: mignon, because he thinks you’re cute, and the filet mignon is his favorite cut of meat. He suggests several acts he wants to perform on you and lets you decide which ones you want to go through with. You make your choice, asking to be spanked with the new whip he received. Something about breaking in one of his new accessories turns you on. 

Not being able to see anything, you listen carefully to what he’s doing behind you. You hear him unwrap the condom wrapper, sliding the latex over his cock. Then, there’s a squelch, most likely the lube he’s pouring into his hand, coating his shaft with it. “Are you ready, cutie? I’m going to start with the whip first, okay?” You nod, heart pounding in your chest, nervous and thrilled all at once.

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words. I have to hear you say it.”

You swallow your spit, trying to speak coherently. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“Good. That’s a good girl.” You feel the cool leather against your skin, anticipating it as he counts down. “Three, two, one.” Then, smack. It’s quick, painful for only a few seconds. You can tell he’s holding back, cautious of you. “Did you like that?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you say, wiggling your ass to him. “Give it to me harder.”

He chuckles, swearing under his breath. “Fuck, okay. I’ll go harder then.” He counts down once more, the slap definitely more intense this time. Your skin stings from the contact and it feels like you’re already gushing from your cunt, core tight with pleasure. 

He continues this until he’s delivered ten smacks to each of your ass cheeks. Your body is sweltering now, the skin on your ass surely hotter than the rest of you. Your pussy flutters, aching to be filled, clit throbbing, desperate to be licked. “Toji,” you whimper, drooling from the sides of your mouth. “Fuck me.”

There’s that laugh again, low, taunting, so fucking sexy. “Not yet. Want to make you come before I fuck this pretty cunt.” He positions himself beneath you, between your legs. “Fuck my face. You can be rough with me. I can take it.”

His grip is firm on your hips, guiding you as you ride him, spreading yourself over his wide tongue and gaping mouth. He’s eats you better than any guy you’ve ever fucked before, sloppy and wet, as if he thoroughly enjoys slurping at your juices. He slides his hands over your ass, massaging the skin made raw from his spanking. And before you get a chance to warn him, you come all over his face, gushing into his mouth. 

“Fuck yeah,” he muffles, lapping up your slick. “So fucking good for me.”

Desperate now to be filled, you beg, “Please, Toji. Fuck me. Need you inside me.”

He slides out from beneath you, positioning himself behind you with his cock pressed between your ass cheeks. “I need it too, cutie. Need to pump my fat cock inside this perfect pussy.” He moans loudly as he slides himself inside you, stretching you out, inch by inch, until you swallow him whole. He thrusts into you, slowly at first while you adjust to his length. Gradually, he picks up the pace, pounding you hard and fast, his grip on your wrists, still bound by the handcuffs. The stretch in your shoulders is starting to burn now, arms pinned way back as he uses it for leverage. It’s not enough to coax the safe word out of you, yet. You need more of him to satiate this overwhelming desire.

“You’re taking it like such a good girl,” he moans, pumping himself into you. “Did you ever think about this before? Think about me?”

“Fuck yes. All the time,” you admit, drooling onto the pillowcase. 

“Shit, I knew it. I knew I should have slutted you out sooner,” he growls, bullying his way deeper. It’s almost too much. Almost. A couple more strokes and it actually is, your shoulders sore, nervous they’ll pop out of its sockets. You’ve had your fill of him, your guts feeling like they’ve been rearranged by his massive cock. You’re tempted to stay quiet, not wanting this to end just yet. But your body is begging you for a break. 

“Mignon,” you croak out, throat dry from the incessant moaning.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling out, immediately unlocking the handcuffs on your wrists and untying the blindfold. “You were taking that so good.” He flips you over on your back, inspecting you. For the first time since you started, you make eye contact with him, your heart swelling from the genuine smile on his face, gazing at you fondly. “Are you okay, cutie?” He brushes the tears from your eyes, cupping your cheek in his calloused palm.

You nod, mumbling an exhausted, “Yes,” closing your eyes to lean into his touch. 

He cuddles you, kissing your neck as he continues to stroke himself off. He trails down your chest, latching his lips around your nipple, sucking until he comes inside the condom. When he’s done, he removes it, tying the open end closed and tossing it into the waste basket next to him bed. 

It’s silent for a few moments as the two of you relax in each other’s arms. Eventually, he clears his throat to say, “This was fun. I usually don’t do this outside of the group.”

You understand that he’s referring to the trio of women who you saw earlier, and finally, the mystery is solved. Slightly disappointed, you respond, “I’m sorry if I messed anything up.”

He smiles at you. “You didn’t.”

You snuggle closer, kissing him softly. His lips melt into yours, tongue slipping inside your mouth. When you break apart, you ask, “Then, should I only show up when they show up?”

He shakes his head, smirking. “No. I think I want you as my own special plaything from now on.”

[yatsurinamikaze]

Into the Fire (Mafia AU!)

Yakuza! Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

Summary: Your asshole of an ex breaks up with you out of the blue. Fortunately, your brooding mysterious new neighbour becomes a welcome distraction. What happens when you realize you’ve left one nightmare, only to fall into the arms of something far more dangerous?

Chapter 2: We need to talk.

3 months earlier.

It was just another cold, gray, miserable Wednesday. You’d had one of those days where even the coffee didn’t hit right, your computer froze three times, and your publisher had the nerve to schedule a last-minute meeting at 4:55 p.m. Just as you dragged yourself back to your small, cozy house in the cul-de-sac, phone in hand, it buzzed.

"Hey… Y/N. We need to talk."

Ah, the dreaded “we need to talk.”

You braced yourself, knowing that Shirabu was about as emotionally complex as a wet mop, but this call caught you off guard. Ten minutes later, you found herself gaping at your phone, the call abruptly ended, and with it, your relationship. “I’m just not feeling it.” he’d said. Simple. Cold. Like canceling a freaken dentist appointment.

And just like that, he was gone. No explanations, no reasons—nothing. It was brutal, sure, but not exactly heartbreaking. Shirabu had been the safe choice, the “good on paper” guy. And you’d invested real time, real effort. So yeah, it stung—a little.

You shuffled into your kitchen, slammed the door with a little more force than necessary, and let out a groan that echoed through the empty room. Grabbing a spoon and the emergency ice cream stash from the freezer, you took a seat by the window, muttering to yourself.

"Goodbye, Shirabu," you grumbled, pointing the spoon at the frozen dessert like it could somehow understand your pain.

The universe, apparently, found this scene ripe for more drama because, just then, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Across the street, a moving truck sat parked in the driveway of the small, dark house that had been vacant for months. You leaned forward, squinting through the window, and saw a tall figure unloading boxes. You hadn’t seen his face yet, but his clothes stood out: all black, from his dark coat down to his boots. He moved with a cool, almost intimidating air—like he didn’t want anyone approaching him, and if they did, he’d probably glare them into submission.

Then he turned, and you saw him clearly: dark hair, piercing eyes, and a black mask covering his face. And if that wasn’t enough to intrigue you, there were two small moles on his forehead, giving him an air of mystery that felt out of place in your quiet little neighborhood.

Curiosity took over, and you decided to step outside under the pretense of “taking out the trash.” You carefully strolled down your driveway, doing your best not to look like you were snooping, just as he happened to walk around to the front of his driveway. You glanced over casually, trying not to be too obvious.

And then… you tripped.

Your foot caught on a random stone, and before you knew it, you were pitching forward in what felt like slow motion. Your arms flailed as you tried to catch your balance, but fate wasn’t on your side. Down you went, landing with a loud thud on the grass, a leftover piece of trash in your hand waving like a white flag of surrender.

To your horror, Mr. Mysterious had stopped, arms folded as he watched you with what looked like mild interest, his head cocked to the side as if he were trying to solve a very confusing puzzle.

"Are you… okay?" he asked, his voice low and, surprisingly, a little amused.

Mortified, you scrambled to sit up, brushing off grass from your clothes. “Yep! All good here! Just… you know, measuring the length of my grass. One more inch before I cut it!”

He didn’t laugh, but you could’ve sworn you saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. Straightening up, he nodded slowly, like he was weighing his words carefully. “Glad to know you’re thorough with your inspections.”

You offered a sheepish smile, standing up and trying to salvage what was left of your dignity. “Well, you know… it’s important work.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Who was this guy? And why was he so… mysterious? There was something unreadable in his gaze, like he was always in his own head.

"I’m Y/N, by the way. And, um, welcome to the neighborhood."

He looked at you for a moment, then, almost reluctantly, introduced himself. "Sakusa Kiyoomi." His voice was quiet, controlled, like he wasn’t used to talking. Up close, he was even more intimidating—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence calm but somehow intense. And that mask, half-covering his face, made you wonder what kind of secrets he was hiding behind it.

Just as he nodded to you, a loud, metallic creak echoed from the moving truck, followed by a sharp crash as a stack of boxes toppled over in the back. Sakusa didn’t react, standing there with the same unfazed expression. Finally, he glanced at the mess, then back at you.

“So much for first impressions?” he asked dryly, the hint of a smirk barely visible behind his mask.

You chuckled, biting back the ridiculous urge to make a joke. “Yeah, I think we’re both off to a rough start,” you sheepishly said, glancing at the chaotic pile of boxes.

“Looks like it,” while he didnt smile, you saw the corner of his eyes crinkle slightly. He nodded and swiftly turns around. And just like that, he was gone.

Let me know your thoughts! Im sorry I haven't edited it. Taglist is open. :)

[specialagentlokitty]

Negan x reader - trade skill

Hello. I was wondering if you could please do Negan X reader, where Negan is unable to find Lucille and thinks that someone has taken her. So he has people to search every area in Alexandria (I think it is), only to later find out that Y/N took Lucille in order to clean and repair her, and accidentally forgot to notify him. - Anon💜

You didn’t know why a lot of the saviours were taken to Alexandria, you had a thought maybe it had something to do with Rick not doing what he was supposed to be doing.

You weren’t all too sure but you didn’t really have the time to find out either, you were busy with your own project which is why you refused Dwight when he came to get you to go with him.

Was it the smartest choice?

Definitely not, and you knew you were going to get it in the neck from him and most likely Negan after, but you were always in some kind of trouble.

Sitting on your bed, you picked up the pair of wire cutters, carefully getting ready to cut the barbed wire.

You had already caught your arm once, you just tired a bandanna around it and carried on working.

You had to be careful, you didn’t was to break it, and you had to do everything exactly right otherwise you would be more screwed than you were going to be.

Setting the old barbed wire aside on the floor, you picked up the new one and looked at it.

It was a little rusted with the weather, but it was in a lot better condition than the other one.

Wrapping it around like the other was, you nodded to yourself a little.

Setting the bat aside, you got up, grabbing everything you had been using to fix it you shoved it into a box and left the room.

Making your way down to where the workers were, you walked over and set the box down.

“I’ve not used it all so I’m sure someone can get some use out of it.” You said.

The man looked up, nodding her head as she set the box on the floor.

Humming to yourself, you began to browse through the other things that were laid out on the table, looking for something of interest.

Finding nothing, you decided to head outside instead, looking for some part of a fallen tree or a decent sized branch for a new project.

“Hey (Y/N)?”

You looked to one of the other saviours.

“We got problem with the walkers out front, a few got free somehow.”

You sighed, stopped what you were doing and you pulled out your knife, following him to the front where some of the walkers were banging on the fence.

“You said a fucking few, this is a mini horde dumbass.”

He just shrugged and you glared at him.

“Go get the fucking pole idiot.”

He grabbed the pole and you tried to make quick work of clearing the walkers that were building up.

You heard the cars and trucks pulling up and you ignored it, stabbing the final walker in the head, you turned to the man who went to leave.

“Not so fast, you’re waiting here I’ll deal with your ass in a minute.”

Opening the gate, you walked through the bodies, maybe your way to the far end of the fence, slowly looking along it.

For the walkers to get in the gap would have had to be pretty big, so it wasn’t hard to finally find it.

Kneeling down, you carefully inspected the fence and grabbed some zip ties from your jacket to seal it temporarily for now.

Making your way back over you looked at Simon.

“Sort your dumbass out Simon, this fucker hasn’t been checking the fence, there’s a massive hole.”

“You fix things, you sort it.” He said.

“Not my job asshole.”

He stuck his middle finger up at you and you did the same thing, walking over to the doors to head back inside but you stopped by Dwight.

“What was the trip about anyway?”

He glanced at you.

“He’s pissed someone took that stupid bat of his, I’d stay clear.”

You slowly nodded your head and glanced at the leader.

You had three options, either sneak the bat back into his room, leave it somewhere for someone else or come clean.

You didn’t want someone else to take the heat for your actions, and you couldn’t exactly sneak it into his room so with a heavy sigh, you walked over to where he was stood.

“Negan?”

“What?” He snapped.

He turned around and glared at you and you subconsciously took a step back.

“I know where Lucille is…” you mumbled.

“Where?!”

“I uh… could you follow me?”

Negan didn’t say anything as he trailed behind you, and you took his to your room, opening the door and you gestured to the table.

He walked inside, picking up the bat, carefully inspecting it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with her?”

He slowly turned around and you stepped inside the room, closing the door so nobody passing by could look in.

“I uh.. I forgot to tell you…”

“What the fuck were you doing with her?” He growled out.

You sighed, heading under your table you pulled out a box and set it down, showing him to contents.

“I noticed that Lucille was breaking, and you left her on the table so I decided to fix her and forgot to tell you.”

“Why?”

You shrugged a little.

“I like fixing things a guess, plus you wouldn’t be Negan without Lucille.”

Negan stared at you and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you could feel his eyes practically burning into you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still angry or not, and part of you didn’t want to know.

At least if he wanted to kill you for taking his beloved bat then you wouldn’t see it coming so it would make it easier.

“Look at me.”

You took the box, setting it back under the table and began to inspect a few of your things, just doing anything to avoid looking at him.

“I said look. At. Me.”

You turned around, connecting your eyes with his, he wore a blank expression and you watched as he slowly began to grin.

It was that grin that sent a chill down your spine, the same grin that you knew was the last thing some people saw.

“She looks just as good as the first day I made her, shit (Y/N), if I knew you were so handy I woulda moved you ranks ages ago.”

He put the bat on his shoulder, stuffing a hand in his pocket as he looked at you.

“What do you want? Name me one thing and it’s yours.”

“Anything?”

“Damn straight.”

You went quiet for a moment.

“You got anything else I can fix?”

Negan blinked a little in confusion.

“I just gave you permission to ask for anything, anything you fuckin’ want, anything at all, and you want to fix shit?”

You shrugged a little and he laughed.

“Fucking weird as ball man, but alright. I got a few things for you, you’re to return them directly to me.”

“Yes sir.”

Negan began looking around at a few things you had already repaired and made.

It was why he kept you around at first, you were just handy when it came to fixing something that had broke.

He turned around to look over at you.

“How’d you know how to fix her?”

You paused what you were doing.

“My dad owned a repair shop, mostly just household shit, but he could fix up other crap too, loved baseball.”

Negan slowly nodded his head.

“Next time you take Lucille without asked I’ll start breaking fingers.”

“Understood.”

He smirked at you, and he picked up a little figurine you had fixed of a baseball player you didn’t even know the name to.

“I’m taking this too.”

With that he left and you let out a sigh of relief.

Maybe you shouldn’t have drawn more attention to yourself, but in the world it was now, you needed to have people you could rely on, so you needed to prove yourself to Negan if you wanted a chance of being kept around and surviving.

Maybe you didn’t agree with how he did things, but you sometimes had to do these things in order to survive

[indigoflorals]

hi! can i request a smuit one jj with a reader that has a praise kink please

gravity (18+)

JJ Maybank x Reader

Sum: You and JJ get high and he reminds you what you’re worth.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, drug use, sex while under the influence of drugs, smoking, praise kink

𖥸

Your best friend handed you the makeshift gravity bong with a low laugh. “You’ve really never hit a gb before?”

Sticking your tongue out, you snatched the water bottle from his hand and inspected it. “Not everyone was a druggie in high school, JJ.”

“Okay, wow, hurtful,” He mocked you, “Anyway, let me help you,” he took the bottle from your hands, “I bet you don’t even know how to use it.”

You began to interject but silenced yourself. You didn’t know how to use it. He wasn’t wrong.

You watched carefully as his nimble fingers packed the small metal piece at the cap with what weed you had provided. After, he pulled a lighter from his back pocket and rolled it to a flame.

“Now,” He made eye contact with you, “I’m gonna light it, take a deep breath, hold it, then breathe out.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ve smoked before, J.” You grumbled, pulling the bottle from his hands after he lit it. Exhaling sharply, you placed the cap to your lips and sucked in a strong breath. The smoke burned your throat and lungs but you held back the cough out of embarrassment.

You breathed out, coughing a few times and your eyes watering.

“Not so bad, huh?” He smiled, taking the bottle to hit it himself.

You coughed. “Not so bad.”

The rest of your night together was spent making corny jokes and passing the bong back and forth between you in his truck. You had never been in a hor box before but this time was certainly relaxing.

“And that’s how I broke Pope’s arm,” The blond laughed, sinking back into the drivers seat, “What’s your best story?”

“Shit,” You breathed, scanning your memory. “Oh I have a fucking good one.”

“Oh yeah?”

You laughed to yourself as the memory came to you. “I was seventeen. Seventeen and super stupid.”

JJ took another hit of the bong before offering it to you. “Weren’t we all?” He coughed.

“Well,” You took a hit, “I was like lose my virginity to Rafe Cameron stupid.”

JJ spun to face you in an instant and you burst out laughing at the shocked expression on his face. “No shit? How long have we been friends and you didn’t tell me?”

“It was embarrassing!” You protested, placing the water bottle in a cup holder, “I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

He was silent for a moment. “Different? I’d really only feel bad. I’m sure he treated you like shit.”

“Fucking tell me about it. What kind of guy does absolutely zero foreplay?” You huffed, reclining back to put your feet on the dash.

The blond didn’t respond, only stared at you for a moment before looking away.

“What, JJ?” You asked, sitting up to lean toward him. “Jealous of me fucking Rafe?”

Okay. You were certain you were way too high now. This was your best friend. Why would you say that?

“Not jealous,” He turned to face you, eyes locking with yours, “Just upset he couldn’t make you feel good like you deserve.”

You felt a flush of heat to your core at his words. Certain that your cheeks were dusted pink, you turned away. “Fuck why are we even talking about this. I’m too high.”

JJ turned to you with an expression that only made your panties wetter. His face scanned yours and his eyes ran up and down the expanse of your body. “You’re fine, baby.”

At this point you were definitely shaking from the nervousness of being this close to someone so attractive. You had hardly thought of JJ as more than a friend before today. Suddenly the feelings of attraction were clearly mutual.

“Do you wanna get in the back?”

You didn’t hesitate to nod, scooting up onto your shins to climb over the divider into the bench of the truck. JJ followed immediately after and wasted no time pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was like an attack. There was a hunger behind it. It was filled with lust and need and the feeling of doing something so foreign with someone so familiar was strange.

His tongue swiped your bottom lip and slid into your mouth. He tasted then of weed and mint, and you made a note that you liked it.

The blond pulled away, sliding his face into the crevice of your neck. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He moaned, kissing your neck.

His hands slid up your chest to palm at your breasts. You leaned back into the door to give him more room, and he slipped a hand under your shirt to feel you over your bra. You arched into his touch, his palms cold on your sensitive skin.

Pulling away from from your neck, he leaned back to reach for the hem of your shirt. He pulled it upwards, careful to go slow over your breasts to drop them and watch them jiggle. When you were completely shirtless, he only stared, watching the way your tits pooled over the cup line of your bra.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He groaned, leaning in to suck and plant love bites on the top of your chest. You reach behind yourself, thinking at the clasp of your bra. After a few distracted tries, you unclipped your bra, your tits falling outwards.

JJ places his face in between them and motorboated you. “Oh my fucking god they’re perfect.”

“Stop.” You giggled. “You’re so high.”

“Nah.” He kicked one nipple, sucking it and releasing it with a pop. “You just have the best fucking tits.”

He continued to suck on your tits while working to unbutton your shorts. He popped the button, and unzipped them full before releasing your nipple and pausing to breathe. “Can I take these off?”

“Please.” You moaned. “Need you to fuck me JJ.”

A feel groan erupted from his throat at your words. “Can’t say shit like that.”

You lifted your hips to allow him to pull your shorts and panties down, and he leaned back to undress himself. You watched as he exposed his muscular arms and chest, and pulled out his cock to slap back against his stomach.

“Bigger than Rafe?” He teased.

You slapped his face gently and he crinkled his nose. “Oh shut up.” You mumbled before scooting over fo straddle him.

“Look at you,” He reached a hand to fist at the fat of your ass, “So fucking gorgeous for me. My girl.”

You leaned down to kiss him, and felt his right hand slide to your pussy. Two fingers poked at your vagina while his thumb rolled circles on your clit. You moaned into his mouth as he pushed his fingers inside of you.

He pulled back and you hurried your face into his neck. “Does that feel good baby? You’re so good. Doing so good for me.”

You shuddered, whining quietly when he curled his fingers to rub your g-spot.

“That’s it baby. Just relax into me. Be my good girl.”

His pace against your clit quickened, and you felt a sensation begin to burn in your lower stomach. “J, I’m think I’m close.”

“Look at me.” He spoke softly, and a strong hand came to the back of your neck to pull you. Blue eyes locked with yours as you felt the coil begin to snap. “Cum for me baby. Be a good girl and cum all over my fingers.”

You sobbed as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and liquid rolled down his fingers and onto his thighs. “That’s it baby, so good for me.”

His hand contained rubbing circles into your back as you came down from your high.

The blond placed a soft kiss to your temple. “Think you’re ready for me?”

Your only nodded, too tired to respond.

He lifted your hips gently, lining himself up with your hole. Slowly, he dropped you down onto himself, and you came to life at the feeling.

You sunk your nails into his biceps. “J! Oh my god! Feels so good!”

He moaned your name at the feeling of you clenching around him. “Holy fuck. You’re so good baby. Feel so fucking good. Best pussy I ever had.”

You cried, leaning your face into his shoulder as he contained to fuck up into you. Before you knew it, your second orgasm washed over you in a warm flurry. As you squeezed him, you felt him throb inside you.

“Oh you feel too good I can’t last holy fuck. Holy fuck.” He moaned, whining a bit as you felt him pulse, starting to cum inside of you.

With a strong pull, he lifted you off of himself, cumming on your pussy and thighs. He lowered you down to relax into him, and you cuddled into his chest.

“You did so good baby. I hope I made you feel good.” He rubbed your head.

You hummed in response.

“As much as I don’t wanna move, we gotta go get you Plan B.”

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Content Warnings: tiny whump, faerie whump, injury, recovery, rescue/caretaking perceived as capture by whumpee

---

To his credit, the human seems to feel awful about unknowingly using Shae as a washcloth. He is more attentive than ever, giving Shae all the food, water, medicine and warmth he could possibly want, his hands extra careful when handling the injured faerie. The man apologizes often, and though he isn't overly affectionate, he rubs his thumb in little circles on Shae's back when Shae is scared and wipes his tears away when he cries.

Still, Shae does not speak to him and never looks him in the eye. He came close to feeling safe before, and all it got him was banged up and nearly drowned. Whatever the human's intentions, he is dangerous.

Shae heals more with each passing day, and gets more used to the human's routines and presence. The man spends most of the daylight hours out in the shed, except when he stops in to grab lunch or a drink and check on Shae. Every so often he will load some of his work into his truck and leave for the day; Shae eventually learns that he sells things at local markets, a human tradition he has only heard stories about.

When he's home, the man seems pretty ordinary. He eats, sleeps, bathes, cleans. Sometimes he talks quietly to himself or has music on in the background; other evenings he will bring a project into the living room to paint while watching TV. Too curious to resist, Shae will peek out from his box and watch. The human notices, but doesn't say anything.

One evening the man is scrolling through the channels when the sound of tires on gravel outside makes both he and Shae perk up and look over. Shae can't see a thing from here, but the human seems to recognize whatever it is. He sets the remote down and gets up to go to the door.

On the TV, a late night talk show has just resumed from its break. The host announces a guest - a man from a show called Fairfield Faerie Hunters. Shae isn't paying full attention until he hears that, his head whipping back over to see a man waving to the audience, shaking the host's hand, sitting on the couch. Two others emerge from backstage carrying something large and rectangular covered in a sheet, which they set down and then promptly leave.

The two begin speaking and Shae listens in horror as his fears are confirmed - the guest's job is capturing and selling faeries, and it seems that other humans watch him do this as entertainment. It shouldn't surprise him...Shae has seen more than his share of human cruelty. But something about this, in particular, makes his stomach churn.

"And of course, all our traps are 100% humane, and - yes, thank you," he pauses while the audience claps and cheers at the declaration, "and we inspect every client we sell to, to make sure they are following all the ethical guidelines regarding faerie care. You know, zoos, universities, faerie gardens...places where these rare, precious creatures are given all the best care."

When the applause fades, the host asks, "and I believe you've brought one of those rare, precious creatures here for us to see today?"

"That's right!" He leans forward and pulls the sheet away. The audience gasps.

Beneath the sheet is a large terrarium, lush with plants and flowers and a little pond. To one side is a little hut made of sticks. The camera moves in close and pans across it, showing all the details. At first it appears empty...then a faerie steps out from inside the hut.

"Now of course his actual home is much more spacious than this...we call this his mobile home, and as you can see, it is a pretty faithful recreation of its natural environment..." The man opens door at the top of the container and reaches a hand inside; the faerie obediently goes to him and allows itself to be lifted and held up to the camera. It seems healthy enough, but there is a distance in its eyes that gives Shae chills.

"If he seems a little tired, that isn't jet lag," the man continues, giving the faerie's cheek a little rub. "We give them a mild sedative - totally safe - before public appearances like this. Helps settle their nerves. Did you know that heart failure is the third most common cause of faerie deaths?"

"Okay, well now I have to ask, what are the first two?"

"Number two is animal attack, of course, they have so many natural predators out there. And number one, I'm sad to say, is human activity. You have poaching, pollution, habitat loss, you know, getting hit by cars and lawnmowers, things like that." The audience makes a sympathetic sound and the man nods in agreement.

"And about how much would a client pay for one? Let's say him."

"Why, are you interested?" The audience laughs. "Well, we don't like to talk numbers, this is really all about finding clients who meet our standards...but I'd say - this one is young, healthy, and very docile - he'd go for upwards of 800k?"

The host gives an exaggerated whistle. "So do you have Black Friday deals, or...?" As the audience laughs again, the host turns to the camera. "When we come back, our guest will share the dark secrets of the faerie secondhand market..."

At some point, the woodworker returned to the living room and sat on the couch again, but Shae was too fixated on the TV to notice. He startles when the man leans forward and takes in Shae's stricken expression.

"Are you...no, you're not okay." the human quickly grabs the remote and changes the channel. "No more of that." He reaches over and pets Shae's hair a few times and frowns when he feels Shae trembling. "You're safe here, okay? I'm not going to sell you, if that's what you're thinking."

It was one option, Shae thinks dejectedly. The human might be telling the truth; he might not sell Shae, but that does not mean Shae will like whatever he has in mind. He stays quiet, allowing the man to comfort him a little longer. Then he pretends to go to sleep, but stays up for hours, planning his escape.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Can we get human wally? And puppet reader

[Sure!]

[I'm going through asks as fast as I can! I know I missed the party!]

-

《Human Au》

Wally hums along to the music playing from the old stereo his gramps' had pulled out from storage. Idly gazing at the strangers and a few of the neighbors going through the boxes.

"Wally my boy! Do you mind getting out a couple of other boxes! I left them in attic!" His grandpa calls out, helping one of the customers move a item to their truck.

Wally throws him a thumbs up, heading inside the creaky red home as he heads up the stairs.

Carefully avoiding a few loose boards, Wally's pampador loses itself as he trips over some hidden fabric. The young man scowls at the sight of his lose hair dangling down his face. "I should've used the ultra-hairspray today.." He mumbled sourly, pushing his strands away as he sat up.

Glaring at the rotten fabric that tripped him, but paused when giving it a closer inspection.

Moving the old thing away, a giant box was placed there. Definitely tucked away from the prying eyes of anyone coming up to the attic, no longer though. Now that Wally discovered it.

Pulling the tape and flapes away, Wally couldn't belive what he saw!

A puppet!?

Hesitantly pulling it out to take a closer look, his heart became mush when gazing at the felt friend lost to time. Not noticing the bright red marker words saying "1979. Don't Remember." Scribbled on the sides of where you came from.

"Look at you, your color scheme, design, even your hair! Aren't you just darling~!" The young man laughed, wiping a bit of soot and dust off the puppet's clothes.

"WALLY! WALLY DARLING! YOU ALMOST DONE UP THERE!"

The blue-nette, startled by his grandmother's wail, he drops your cotton stuffed form back in the box. Quickly giving you a apologetic glance as he calls back down, saying he was fine. Swiping close to his cardigan as he glances over at the box you came from.

He'll look at later, he silently promises. Hiding your puppet-y self away in his guest room as he comes back down stairs. Completely forgetting what he needed to get from the attic.

-

[Dun dun! I wanted to go for a classic 70s horror movie vibe! Did I nail it? Comments, reblogs, hearts, are super, and always appreciated! Thanks u!]

[strangersteddierthings]

Daily Ficlet 7

I’m challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today’s prompt is recipe book.

-

Steve finds Wayne in the hallway, pulling what items he can from the closet there.

"Need some help?" Steve asks as Wayne struggles with a bigger box that seems wedged in pretty good.

"Sure. Just get yer hands up here and ready to catch," Wayne answers, shimmying the box to and fro while Steve moves to follow his instructions. The box isn't by any means light when it falls into his hands, but it's not the heaviest thing Steve's had to catch -don't think about it, don't think about Eddie's limp body awkwardly shoved through a gate. Don't-

"Thanks, son," Wayne climbs back down the stepladder he was on and takes the box from Steve' hands, walking down the hall to place it on the counter. The front half of the trailer is missing, the gate took it, but a decent amount of of the trailer remains (Eddie's room remains) and the government has finally allowed Wayne to return to pack up what he can.

It's better than starting over completely.

"What's in the box?" Steve asks, because it's the only item Wayne hasn't just demanded he load into the moving truck outside.

"It was supposed to be Eddie's graduation gift," Wayne says softly. "'Suppose it'll have to be a 'glad you woke up from yer coma' gift instead."

"Yeah," Steve says, even if he doesn't believe it. Eddie's been asleep months now. They saved the world, killed Vecna, closed the gates, Max woke up, and the kids have started Sophomore year; Eddie remains comatose. "Can I get a sneak peak at the present?"

"It's not much, and ain't nothin' new," Wayne says, opening the box and beginning the process of pulling things out. It looks a bit like the contents of a hope chest. Things to start living on your own with. Robin's mom has one for her that Steve's seen, and even contributed to. There's an envelope of $500 tucked along the side of Robin's chest.

"This was his grandpa's. My dad's," Wayne says, pulling out a belt buckle. "And my ma made this, not for anyone in particular, mind you, but just because she liked to keep herself busy." It's a blanket, thick and a little scratchy when Steve touches it. "And this. This is the most important." Wayne pulls out a binder from the bottom of the box, handing it over to Steve for inspection.

He takes it carefully even though it looks sturdy. Holding it in one hand, he flips it open. He was thinking maybe it would be a photo album or something but it's not. It looks like a recipe book. All the recipes are hand written on looseleaf paper, with post it notes sticking out randomly. "What makes this special?"

"That's his mom's handwriting," Wayne smiles but he sounds sad. "Eddie lost her when he was five. She got real sick, y'know, and never got better. But she wrote out all them recipes. I'm amazed Al kept the thing, but I guess I shouldn't be. No real value in a binder of recipes 'cept to the people close to the author."

Steve looks back down at the binder. He still has both his parents, however distant they might be, so he doesn't know if he'll ever fully understand the significance of getting this piece of someone back. "Does he not have anything else with her writing on it?"

"No, not writing. We got plenty of things they used to own. Eddie's caseworker let us go through the whole house, after Al'd been shipped off to the penitentiary, to gather anything Eddie might want or need. Was supposed to just be his stuff, mind you, legally speakin', but I think that lady knew if we didn't take other stuff, Eddie'd never see it again.

"So, Eddie's got things that were hers. But nothing that's uniquely hers. There's jewelry, and a coupla blankets, but all that stuff is replaceable and not... Well, I dunno what I'm tryin' to say, but that's just stuff that was hers. But this. This was her. Y'understand?"

And Steve does. There's a difference between having something that belonged to someone once, and something that really feels like them when you hold it. Steve doesn't have anything like that, personally, but he knows there will come a time when the difference matters. When everyone grows up and scatters into the future. He imagines a hand written letter from Dustin will mean much more for him to find after a long time of no contact than it would to find his old Roast Beef t-shirt in the back of a drawer or something, moth bitten and musty.

"I can't wait to find out if Eddie's an angry emotional, or a sad one."

Wayne laughs. "He can be both."