#Locking Bone Plate

[siorasurgical-post]

The Locking Extra Articular Small T-Plate (Head 4 Holes) finds application for the management of displaced intra-articular and extra-articular fractures of the distal radius along with osteotomies and nonunions. They are also suitable for the stabilization of small bone fractures in adults. These small T-plates are designed to have a low-profile design that helps minimize soft tissue irritation while ensuring better patient care. You can avail of these plates from Siora Surgicals Pvt. Ltd., a leading orthopedic manufacturer in India.

[siora-surgicals]

Locking Plate Orthopedic Implant

Locking Plate is an advanced trauma implant that is used for the fixation of different types of fractures. These plates are designed to have threaded screw holes that provide a fixed-angle construct. Special locking screws are used for the application of these plates that lock against the corresponding threads present in the plate. Siora Surgicals Pvt. Ltd. is a renowned manufacturer of a CE-certified range of orthopedic locking plates and other trauma implants. They are available in different sizes and titanium & stainless steel.

[siorasurgicalsblog]

The human body is an incredible machine, but sometimes it needs a little help. Orthopedic implants come into play when bones fracture, joints wear down, or deformities require correction. These medical devices act as internal tools, offering support, stability, and improved function. In this post, we will delve into the world of orthopaedic implants and explore their different types and uses.

[books-and-strawberry-tea]

Adjusted my TBR…again…for the millionth time.

I won’t be able to read all these next year obviously. But if I don’t like something, I can just DNF it. Life’s too short to force yourself through a book you don’t like.

Have you guys decided yet??

[interrogatormentors]

psii, what do you think of Sollux Captor? He's a chill guy in my opinion.

Your opIInIIon II2 noted and IIrrelevant. He exII2ted for a tIIme IIn my 2IIght

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and nece22IItated my helmIIng code be updated. HII2 pre2ence and re2II2tance two my condIItIIonIIng 2o IIt progre22ed at half the rate of the average fIIll2 me wIIth the clo2e2t thIIng two annoyance a helm2man can feel

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a2 IIneffIIcency II2 not tolerated IIn the EmpIIre. He wa2 caprIIcIIou2, 2tubborn IIn all thIIng2 mechanIIcal and per2onal--

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two 2ay nothIIng of the fact hII2 per2onalIIty 2hould have been eroded away by the tIime of hII2 decomII2IIon--and a paIIn IIn my bIIowIIre-rotten 2IIde two keep out of the network2 confIIdentIIal fIIle2. II monIItored each and every one of hII2

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traIInIIng2 for becomIIng an IInterrogator two 2ee IIf 2uch IImpertIInence contIInued and

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luckIIly for the EmpIIre IIt dIid not. HII2 current 2tatu2 II2

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unknown

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and IIt IIs the hope of the EmpIIre he reappear2 2ooner rather than later two fIInII2h the job he 2tarted.

[riverashes]

Thoughts halfway through NtN (i dont know a damn thing really): I really hope we get a little actual Harrow-Nova-action in canon in AtN. Harrow's body has been stretching and exercising and lifting things, and I'm sure she's going to have to defend herself in the future with more than just her theorems. Let her steal the chain of Samael. Let her blaspheme her own house to defend her blasphemy against God. Let her and Kiriona fight side by side and shoot terrible banter back and forth again

something something "God Harrow you make the worst nun ever" and "I swear to Jod Nav I will make you eat bone in every hole you've got, natural or not" and "learn how to swing it without taking your body with it and then you can talk, idiot"

[kateswallofweird]

JASON TODD IS THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND TO . . .

cw angst ish fluff ish, mugging, implied physical fighting, forgetting to eat

jason todd would let the world burn for you, but for now, he settles on loving you with all he has.

the echoes of your recent argument still ring loudly in your mind (it was something trivial, it always is), but you're grateful when jason drops down from the fire escape, coming between you and the poor muggers who'd chosen wrong tonight. despite his helmet and the domino mask covering his eyes, you can feel the anger washing over him in waves. he doesn't turn to you, but you avert your eyes and when you find him again, red stains his leather jacket and his gun is holstered at his side again. behind him, the men are bloodied and unconscious. "i didn't think—" you started, but he scoffed (not coldly, but like he knew what you'd say). "even if we're fighting," he answers your unasked question. even if we're fighting i will be there for you, and it's a quiet reminder that his love always supersedes his anger.

grumbling under his breath as you continue to work on your laptop, jason nudges a plate of food to you. it's warm and smells like heaven, and when you glance at the clock, you realize the time. it's late, and you've forgotten to take care of yourself amidst all the work you'd been doing. jason sets down utensils in front of you and a glass of water before taking your laptop and setting it down elsewhere. "eat," he says softly. "you can't work if you're not capable." he doesn't have to say it outright, you can hear the worry in his voice and you know what he means. i care for you is whispered through the hot meal he spent the last hour and a half making for you.

in the quiet of the night (or as quiet as gotham gets), jason slips in through your bedroom window. he locks it behind him and sheds his uniform—his helmet, leather jacket, and finally his armor. he leaves it in the corner so you don't trip over it when you get up, and he makes sure to wash up before slipping into bed. still, the faint smell of cigarettes, cologne, and gunpowder linger. he smiles when you curl into his touch, relief settling in his bones as he presses a kiss to your forehead. he doesn't have to speak because even in your sleepy stupor you know what he's saying, i love you.

the red hood may be a terror to the streets, but to you, jason todd was home. he was warmth, like sunlight on a cold day, solace in a storm. a heart that was once dead now beat to love you, and yours did the same.

💭 tbh i've never read any dc comics so my characterization of jason todd is from other fanfics

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. ���And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Eyes Wrapped in Wool

Yandere! (ex) husband x amnesiac! fem reader

TW: manipulation, toxic/abusive behavior, mentions of (potential) forced imprisonment, coercion A/N: pretty sure amnesia doesn't work this way (i'm no medical professional) but pls suspend disbelief for the sake of the plot ahahah

Your husband never expected things to turn out this way. But by some stroke of luck—or perhaps divine intervention—you ended up bed-ridden in the ICU, suffering from multiple bone fractures and a terrible, oh-so-terrible, traumatic brain injury. Just last week you were talking his ear off about how you've had enough. How you were done with him controlling what you could wear or who you could see, his suffocating clinginess that devolved into explosive rages when you spent time focusing on work or with friends instead of with him, the negging, the snooping, the smashed plates... Jesus Christ. You just never knew when to shut the fuck up, did you? At some point he had stopped listening. Chalked off your dramatic tirade as nothing more than you acting up because of your period—merely white noise. How many times have you guys had this same broken record conversation? Yeah, he knew this marriage wasn't smooth-sailing. If it were, you'd be less opinionated, less bitchy, more pliant, more dutiful. But what relationship was ever perfect? So, he waited for you to run out of steam, as you inevitably do, before adding salt to the wound:

“You know baby, if you weren’t parading around in those slutty clothes of yours and acted your grown age for once, I wouldn’t be behaving that way.”

The scrunch of disbelief mixed with disgust on your face only spurred him to double down. “And maybe if you actually committed to this marriage like a devoted wife would, rather than prioritize your career and practically everyone over me—your husband, need I remind you—then we wouldn’t be having these issues. Ever considered that, hm?” He purposely dragged out his words, a patronizing lilt to his tone, in hopes of reminding that thick, dumb skull of yours that he always knew best.

It wasn't until you had thrusted the divorce papers in his face that he grew silent, the severity of the situation beginning to creep in. ...What? You couldn't actually be serious... right? This was just some lover's spat. A temporary blip that'd be smoothed over with a few intentionally placed saccharine words and hot make-up sex. Like always. So why the fucking theatrics? Are you really gonna be a bitch about this and d— When you slammed the front door shut with your packed bags in tow, leaving him to stew in your parting words—that you deserved better, so much better than him, and that if he didn't sign the papers, he'd be hearing from your lawyer—did the gravity of it all finally sink in. By the end of the week, your voicemail was battered by his countless furious messages. Are you done being a flighty little piece of shit, huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I swear to god, baby, I'm gonna drag your ass back here. And if I have to lock you in some basement and chain your hands and legs so you'd never think to leave me again, then so fucking be it. Divorce? Yeah right. Over my dead fucking body. Then came an unknown call. It was like whiplash, really, to first hear that you had been involved in a major car crash, and then, upon rushing to the hospital at neck-breaking speed— "I'm afraid she has retrograde amnesia", the doctor solemnly informed him. He could cry. Oh, he could fucking cry.

On the outside, anyone could see how distraught he was, his hands trembling as he processed the diagnosis, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Poor husband that he was, having almost lost his beloved wife in a freak accident, he now had to deal with the news that she didn't remember who he was. Inside, however, raged a war he couldn't reconcile: what was harder? Holding back the tears, or pretending those very tears were out of sadness rather than pure, unbridled joy? Because what this neatly packaged situation had presented him with was a do-over, a chance to mend the broken marriage teetering on the cusp of divorce. And like hell he's about to let you throw away a three-year connection like some ungrateful cunt when he loves you so, very much.

~

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

As he walks up beside your hospital bed, he can't help but revel at how vulnerable you look. The slight furrow in your brows hinting at your confusion, the way you curl in on yourself as if to protect yourself from who is no doubt a complete stranger in your eyes, and your meek "Who are you?"—a far cry from the usual feisty, snarky attitude you used to dish out.

But perhaps most rewarding of all is the tentative gaze you offer him, eyes filled with a sort of curious glimmer, free from the hostility, disappointment, and hurt you'd flashed his way. You didn't look at him with hate. You simply want to know who he is.

Oh, aren't you precious? He'll gladly feed you his carefully spun narrative until you're full of nothing but adoring love for him—the embers of your thoughts about divorce and leaving him snuffed out for good.

"I know how confusing all of this must be for you. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here with you, as your husband, helping you fill the gaps, okay baby?" He delivers this with as much patience as he can muster, softening the edges of his words to avoid spooking you. But you're not soothed. If anything, you're more overwhelmed than ever. "M-my husband?" You echo, tasting the foreign word, sticky like warm toffee on your tongue.

"And...and my family? Where are they?" Your disorientation is a sight for sore eyes; how badly he wants to devour you right now. “Dead,” he intones, a script he’d been desperate to act out ever since you said your vows. The jarring news pulls a barely audible whimper from you, your eyes widening a fraction.

Shit. Too cold. Too careless.

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a facsimile of sorrow as he injects a note of pity into his voice. “They died when you were very young, you see. I’m sorry.” He’s really not.

"What…? How could that be? So my p-parents, they're both—" Your breath hitches, tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

At that, he gently grabs your bandaged arm, wanting to comfort you. But when you flinch slightly, he has to resist the urge to snap at you—Oh, cry me a river. Who the fuck cares?? I'm right here, aren't I? I'm right here, damnnit, so look at me!

Instead, he tempers the resentment that's still fresh in his heart after the divorce stunt you'd pulled by reminding himself that he's supposed to be your kind and gentle partner.

So he settles for cradling your hand in both of his like it's fine china, grazing his lips over your fingertips. "But you have me, sweetheart. And I'm not going anywhere."

He half expects you to question his story—it wasn’t very convincing, even to his own ears—prepared to be barraged by your endless streams of “No, you’re wrong!”, “I don’t believe you!” or some other similar outburst.

But when all you do is gaze up at him with cinched brows, seeking reassurance, blinking at him so sweetly with your hand still snugly warmed in his, he pauses. That’s it? No suspicion, no skepticism, no outburst? Hah! He has to physically restrain himself from snorting because how fucking easy can this get?

Maybe the collision had completely scrambled your brains, rewired you to be more stupid, a little slower—exactly how he likes you.

"You trust me, right?"

And when he feels that subtle twitch of your fingers—what he gathers is your attempt at squeezing his hand back for confirmation—accompanied by the sight of your small, almost shy nod, he breaks out into a giddy smile at how utterly adorable you’re being.

Fuck, it’s hard not to already feel high off these micro-doses of innocence and receptiveness from you. Emboldened by your intoxicatingly sweet naivety, he dares to be a little greedier, creeping to perch on the edge of your bed, his hand now moving to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how worried sick I was when I got the call. I thought you had…” He trails off, his implication clear. His face is mere inches from yours now, breaths as featherlight as his fingertips mapping every divot on your face.

“I love you.” He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, the act agonizingly slow. “So, so, so much.” Each whisper spills out heavier than the last, mirroring the increasing pressure of his thumb—your lip almost bruising from how hard he’s pinching them.

How long has it been? He can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of your touch, your skin… eons too long without your pillowy lips pressed against his has left him completely starved.

“You can’t leave me…” A murmur too quiet to pick up. His gaze, now half-lidded, drifts downward in a drunken daze. “My wife. My good little wife. You love me too, right?”

Without warning, he leans in to close the minuscule gap.

And it’s all too fast and soon because you can feel the suffocating heat of his proximity, the chilling shared breath floating between the tight space. It’s all too much. So, in the last second, you hesitate, pulled from your stupor as you turn your head away.

But he’s not having it. Not when you’re already in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking close. When he can already taste the opportunity to finally take out the trash and parasites leeching off you, to call up that godforsaken shithole you call a stable, steady-paying job and quit on your behalf, to have you all to himself—a blank slate to knock up with several kids and mold into the perfect little housewife he's always wanted you to be. God, he's already hard at the thought.

Grabbing your jaw firmly, he jerks your face back towards him, thumb roughly wedging between your lips and prying your mouth open.

“Baby.” The endearment spills out, sharp and cold, stripped of any warmth it might've once held.

His gentle veneer cracks ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, you see something else. A flicker beneath the mask—raw, ugly, messy. It gnaws at the edges of your mind, dredging up something you can’t quite grasp. A memory?

“Gimme a small kiss, hmm?” Despite the smile on his face, there is no kindness to it. Just a twisted caricature warning you that you shouldn’t push further.

All of a sudden you feel like you can’t breathe, weighed down by the unsettling intensity of his stare. The man in front of you—the one claiming he's your husband and calling you “baby,” the one touching you—feels wrong. He’s a stranger, you remind yourself. An almost involuntary shiver runs down your spine, like your body remembers something your mind refuses to.

At this point, your husband has caught on to your rather obvious spiralling. He’s not an idiot—he can see your doubt giving way to panic. He contemplates smoothing things over by playing nice, but the selfish part of him ultimately wins.

He squeezes your jaw, nails biting into your skin.

“Kiss me.”

It isn’t a request this time.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Sergeant’s Got You

18+ Minors DNI

You’re stressed, he knows exactly how to make you feel better.

Note: I was asked for something like this, so it’s heavy on the love for his dog tags

Pairing: beefy Bucky (but he’s got that fatws attitude) x reader

Warnings: Dom Bucky, basically smutty right from the get go, filthy buck, he has his metal arm (I’m a slut for it), you like Bucky’s dog tags, like really like them, Petnames: sweetness, sweetheart, sweet thing, sweetie, good girl, baby, a LOT of dirty talk, sergeant kink, sir kink, oral (M receiving), unprotected p in v sex, he’s rough, degradation, feral Bucky, squirting, creampie, aftercare.

Word Count: 3.2k *insert cat HUH sound*

You were stressed beyond belief. Your mission ended up having a few more loose ends than anyone was anticipating leaving you to pick up the pieces. Now you were finally back in New York and ready to punch the next person who pats your back sympathetically with a ‘you tried’ look on their face.

Just as you were contemplating boxing the cupboard in the kitchen than wouldn’t stay open two strong arms pulled you back and into a hard body.

“You alright sweetness?” Bucky spoke into the locks of hair at the back of your ear. His cologne had you relaxing already, the fingers on his right hand hitched up your shirt to rub soothing circles over your hip bone. What really got you was the subtle grind of his hips against your ass; he was a filthy shit, you loved it when he knew what you wanted.

You flipped your body around in his arms, your fingers running up from his abs to his soft chest until they wrapped around his neck. He smirked, he knew exactly what you wanted him to do but he was a tease, you had to tell him or he wouldn’t. It’s just the way the world worked for you sweetheart.

You surged forward, desperate for a taste of the cherry lips you missed so much. You hated to admit just how much the man in front of you affected you, how often on your mission your hand snaked down your body and in-between your legs at the photos Sam sent of your lost puppy husband, his wide back and tiny waist wrapped in that blue Henley that had the arms pulled up to his forearm revealing the long veins and thick structure underneath. You needed him, now.

He pulled back just as your lips brushed his, a dark smirk and a filthy blue colour surfacing in his orbs. Fucking tease.

“You know you gotta use your words sweetheart” One of his big hands, his metal one, landed on the back of your skull, the metal thumb dancing over your bottom lip before you sucked it into your wet mouth. He growled at the innocent look you gave him as your tongue flicked over the tip before poking out and running up the underside of the shiny plates.

He pushed down, holding your tongue in place as it travelled, drool dripping from the muscle but he didn’t care, the sight of the rivulets of saliva sliding down the silver had him harder than a rock. One of the most technologically advanced pieces of handiwork and you were sucking on it like a little slut, pathetic.

He had you in his room before you could even blink, the rough slamming of the door vibrating the wall he pushed you up against.

“You’re a little slut ain’t you? Sucking on my thumb like my cock, getting your drool everywhere, you’re so lucky I don’t make you clean it up” he spoke as he hastily pulled your shirt and his off, his dog tags jangling softly as they fell back into place between his huge chest. You moved like a magpie, gripping at the shiny metal tags, giving them a squeeze, his name imprinting for a second of the fat of your palm before letting them slip between your fingers.

He watched you, ever fascinated at just how worked up you got about him, but it was your love for his dog tags that had him curious. You always, without fail slipped a finger around them, whether it was when you pulled him close for a kiss or if your slept on his chest, one of your fingers slipped itself through the chain and held them close to your hand.

He wasn’t stupid though, he could practically smell when you soaked yourself, always conveniently after his swinging tags made contact with your chin or ran up the column in your spine, the way that little pussy tightened around him when the old metal swept over your lips, tapping your teeth as you moaned out in pleasure. It made him embarrassingly weak too.

“You want me to fuck you cute girl?” He groaned into the crook of your neck, his plush lips suckling obscene dark marks downward till he reached the crevice of your breasts, your legs wrapped around him tighter as his hand grazed over your sensitive sides to the meat of your tit, gripping it softly and flicking a warm thumb over your nipple. You jerked into him at the shock of pleasure, your hand carding through his waves of hair and pulling him close as worked on the underside of your other boob.

“Words Sweetheart, I need words” He knew it wouldn’t be long till you hit that sub space, the same thing always happened when you were stressed, you needed your big Sergeant to take the wheel, use you a little bit.

“Please” fuck the whimper in your voice had him grinding up into you, the scratchy fabric of his jeans meeting the barely their material of the shorts you wore under your gear.

“Please what sweet thing?” he moved to watch the deep colour of your eyes swim with lust, eradicating any stress they once held, he was doing his job.

“Please use me Sir” you whined, fingers wrapping around the chain of his dog tags again to pull him close, finally getting that kiss you so desperately needed. His left hand cupped your cheek, rubbing a thumb over the high point softly, a sharp contrast to the bruising kiss you had going on. Teeth clashed with teeth, soft whimpers falling from your lips as he pushed closer, flicking his tongue viciously with your much weaker one, running against the top of it and sucking once it gave up it’s fight. He pulled you in again, tender with his lips this time, enclosing your swollen ones with his, his tongue running over your upper lip soothingly.

“Fuck! You’re making me go crazy” he chuckled as he moved off the wall, backing himself up to the bed till his calves hit the frame. He sat down with both of you, your body straddling him, his right hand pushing you back and forth softly on his bulge. The lust in his eyes mixed with a softness as he looked up at you, his metal hand still on your face although now his shiny forefinger and thumb hooked onto your chin, pulling you forward for a kiss, and another, and another. You whined, you didn’t want kisses and grinding, you wanted him to blow your back out, use your pretty face, anything but this.

Seeming to sense your thoughts he stopped your movements, the right hand coming up to join his left on either side of your face.

“What do you want sweetheart? You want your soldier to ruin you? I can feel how hot you are on my dick… you want it bad don’t you?” You moaned at his words, dripping filthily from his tongue, he sure had a way to fuck you up without even pulling out his cock.

“Yes, yes please. Use me” he smirked, satisfied at your whimpered begging. With a click of his tongue and a flick of his eyes he had you manoeuvring onto your knees in front of him.

He was a sight, he looked carved from marble, each bend of his body, every nook and muscle and vein delicately etched into rock solid stone to be preserved for a lifetime. His bulge strained painfully against his jeans, angrily awaiting your slender fingers offering it reprise from its tight cell. You were glad to give it just that.

Clumsily, you fiddled with the thick belt around his waist, smiling in satisfaction when the rhythmic clanks finally hit your ears. You flicked the button open and were about to pull the zip of his fly when his hand stopped you.

“With your mouth sweetness” his lip caught between his teeth, a soft blush decorated his face and chest as he watched you. Your tongue ran up the metal, the slight tang hitting your tastebuds, you flicked the little tab until sat snug between your teeth and pulled it down slowly, each tooth of the zip clicking as it finally opened.

Once you were done, Bucky pushed the thick material down his legs with a relieved sigh, letting it pool at his ankles before flicking them off with your help. His hard-on raged against the soft grey briefs, a pool of darkness lay at the head, precum soaking through.

His hands met yours, pulling them up his thighs and hooking them around the waistband of his briefs. He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling and neck craned as he watched you both inch down his underwear until it caught on his tip, he hissed as the scratchy fabric pulled over his silky head before it slapped deliciously onto his public bone and stomach.

“God” he chuckled breathlessly at the feeling of finally being free “look at you drooling all over yourself for me, you want a taste sweet thing?” His metal fingers had wrapped themselves around the fat base of his length, pushing it forward till the spongy tip hooked onto your upper lip, his salty precum smearing over it like a x-rated lip balm.

You pecked the tip of his dick, the tip of your tongue barely poking him as you did. You moved down, lips brushing against every angry vein on his cock until you met the metal of his hand in which you slowly licked a thick strip back up until you swirled your wet muscle against his head relentlessly.

“Fuck sweetheart, good girl” he groaned, head lulling back as his hips jittered off the bed softly, pushing his head into your awaiting mouth. You sucked him in greedily, selfishly inhaling his thick musky scent that had your pussy drooling against your lace panties, threatening to spill into your shorts— you didn’t doubt that if he had you naked, your essence would drip all over the wood of the floor— he’d have a field day making you clean it up.

“God you’re so good, ha— making your soldier feel so good, you like your sergeant all needy? Ready to pull you up off that floor and sink my cock into you” You moaned against his length, gagging softly when he jerked up into the back of your throat.

“Shit, Nuh uh get up here, I wanna cum in that pretty pussy, move come on” He pulled you up and off his length like you weighed nothing at all, his fingers ripping the shorts from your body and only stopping when he caught a glimpse of you’re soaked panties.

“Fuck girl, who’s got you like this hmm?” His thick thumb brushed small circles over your neglected clit. You moaned loudly, jerking off the bed with a shudder at the feeling, more of your slick pooling into your already soaked gusset.

“Mmm I can fucking smell you, smell so good baby… bet I could fuck you without prep, you want that?” He spoke, his voice deep, laced with primal lust— nothing like the composed grumpy old man everyone else saw— no, he was raw, unhinged, pupils blown wide with sexual desire. You wanted nothing more than his cock in you.

“Please Buck, just your cock I don’t care just please” you cried when he pushed particularly hard on your aching nub, your knuckles turning white as you fisted then covers beneath you; your legs shook as they threatened to close on his thick forearm, you were close already but you didn’t want to cum without him filling you out.

He gleamed at your form, fucked out, soaked and crying already— he’d barely fucking touched you— he couldn’t wait to see your face as he fucked you raw.

He ripped your panties with renewed vigour, the ruined material pulled away from your sensitive heat to hang around the your ankle that now sat over Bucky’s muscular shoulder. Your thigh quaked softly at the stretch but his cold digits ran softly against the tight muscle, soothing it for the time being.

His fat head tapped against your clit, each wet slap causing your body to twitch off the bed at the electric jolts of pleasure it sent up your spine. You could feel Bucky’s fingers circling your entrance, two of his thick fingers squishing into your tight hole as he prepped you lightly. When they left, a long line of arousal followed, connecting him to you, he growled at the sight before licking the wetness from his rough palm and middle finger.

“Mmm so sweet, if I wasn’t so fucking horny I’d make you cum all over my face… make you soak my mouth, shit” he was talking more to himself than you but you clenched around nothing at the thought, the thought of him eating you out for hours was not impossible, he’d done it before.

His thick tip drooling against your entrance pulled you from your trance, he pushed softly, hooking his head along the tight rim of your pussy as he stared up at you.

“you ready sweet thing?” He leaned over, right hand resting against the side of your head, his thumb flicking stray tears from your cheeks. You nodded softly, eyes unmoving from him, watching as his lips twitched in pleasure as his head popped into you, each inch dragging in slowly, aided by your soaked folds.

You moaned pathetically, his head running over your g-spot had you clenching around him, your orgasm hitting you quickly, your hands tightening painfully against the sheets as white hot pleasure soaked through your nerves. Everything was tingling, flashes of colour dancing over your closed eyelids.

Bucky wasn’t much better as he watched you, having to will his own orgasm down at the sight of you losing yourself over him already. You were a fucking sight to him, your tits bouncing with each sharp breath you took, mouth hung open allowing each whimper or silent scream to escape unabashedly.

“Ohh good girl, that’s it mmmm shit you’re fucking clenching me tight baby” Bucky mumbled, words falling from his lips in verbal mush, his own mind barely keeping up. When you finally came down from your high you open your eyes to look up at him, a shy little smile playing on your lips at the way he bore down at you.

“I’m so-“ you began but he pushed forward, sucking up your moan at the feeling of him hitting your cervix into his mouth.

“Don’t you dare be fucking sorry for that sweetheart, you hear? Fucking almost made me cum like a fucking teenager again, naughty girl ain’t you? I fucking love you” His hot breath panted against your lips as he growled at you, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel ashamed about the pleasure you were feeling. You blushed deeply, it was quite funny just how much his love for you made you blush, even when he was currently pushing against the deepest parts of you.

“Can I move baby?” He asked against your lips, smiling satisfyingly as you nodded before planting a wet kiss on your lips and pushing himself up.

He started slow, letting each vein pull against every nerve in your heat, his teeth clenching at just how tight you’d squeeze every time his head brushed against your sweet bundle of pleasure. His smooth pace never lasted long though, his hips jerked violently against you once he deemed you ready enough, your body slipping up across the sheets at each slam of his hips against your thighs.

He was leaning over you now, your leg pushed up between both your bodies, his dog tags clanging above your face at each jerk of his body. You reached a hand up, encircling the darkened metal, pulling on it as your body twitched with hints of a second orgasm.

“Shit! You like when my fucking tags hang over your face, fucking little slut aren’t you? You like being fucked like this? your sergeant fucking all that stress away? Mmm god, maybe I’ll put them around your neck next time hmm? Have you wear them when you’re riding me, let them fucking swing between those tits— god you’d love that” Bucky rambled, on and on, thrusts becoming sloppy as you clenched around him for the umpteenth time, only this time your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, you could feel yourself soaking Bucky’s dick and thighs— probably soaking the already destroyed sheets below you.

With one final thrust Bucky’s moan caught in this throat as he pushed himself the deepest he could go, hot cum soaking your cervix and pushing out against his length to run along your folds, mixing with your juices. His legs give out forcing himself against you even more, pulling a pained whine from you at the feeling. As your orgasms settled, your breathing slightly less laboured although still heavy, you pulled him close by his tags, kissing his blissed out face right on the lips.

“You were so good for me sweet thing, so fucking good” he praised, his metal hand running through your tangled hair, soothing your heated scalp.

He leaned back up with a groan, massaging your aching leg as he pulled it from his shoulder before slipping out of your pussy. You both moaned at the loss, your heat clenching against nothing as his cum slipped from your body in waves. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your heat, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he watched intently. You giggled shyly at his intense expression, your aching legs closing softly in embarrassment much to Bucky’s dismay.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you to the bathroom. You snuck a glimpse of the sheets as he carried you, the whole area soaked in a mixture of you both.

“Oh my god” you whispered in disbelief against his head.

“What?” He replied as he set you down and began running a bath.

“The sheets are ruined, I can’t believe I did that” you eyed his naked frame from behind, his wide back flushed red but still absolutely stunning, each muscle rippling as he moved methodically, his small waist directing you to his thick globes. It was then Bucky turned to look at you, catching you ogling at his ass, he laughed when you turned quickly.

“It makes me proud when I look at those sheets, I mean who else can make you squirt like that? Fucking no one” he growled the last part against your lips giving you a quick smooch before turning the water off and lifting you both into the hot bubbled water.

His hands massaged your shoulders, working out the knots from your activities as well as any left over stress from your mission, not that there was any after he fucked it out of you.

You two sat in silence, save for the occasional sigh you let out when he hit the right spot, both savouring each other’s presence, reminiscing on the way you exhausted each other. You laugh when you remember his words.

“What? what’s got you all giggly?” he asked, nipping the skin on the nape of your neck.

“Nothing… just… were you being serious?”

“About what sweetheart?” He eyes you curiously.

“About letting me wear your dog tags” you suppress a smirk as you feel him twitch against your back, obviously your words sparking something in him.

“We’ll discuss it later” he rasped causing you to laugh out loud.

Your week had been stressful, with never ending problems and constant nagging from the higher ups to do the job but when you were in Bucky’s embrace, when you had those dog tags between your fingers or dangling over your face, everything melted away into nothingness, leaving you and Bucky alone.

-

So I lied mwahahahaha, I was going to post it yesterday but I love alcohol so I was drunk but here we are.

I’m a little nervous to post this one idk why.

I hope you enjoyed x

(I do not own any of the photos, credits to original owners)

[siorasurgical-post]

Q.C Torque Screw Driver Handle 2.0 mm Tip is a trauma instrument that is used for the application of orthopedic screws to secure locking plates during the stabilization of fractures. You can avail of a high-quality range of trauma implants and instruments from Siora Surgicals Pvt. Ltd., a leading orthopedic manufacturer in India. The company also offers world-class OEM/contract manufacturing services worldwide.

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost lives next to an old woman. She's a pensioner called Wilma who never had children and her husband passed six years ago.

At first, he had no intention of doing anything but offering his neighbours an awkward but friendly wave and keeping it like that.

Then he comes home one day, lugging around his shopping from Tesco and finds her sitting on her front step. It's baltic outside, a glacial chill running down his spine and twisting around his bones like vines. And this woman is sitting on her front doorstep, housecoat and slippers on with her eyes glued to the entrance of their street.

He's quick to approach her and locate the problem: her lock is broken, she went out for her morning smoke and now she can't get in until her landlord arrives and tries to fix the problem she's been telling him about for months.

He doesn't hesitate to bring her into his house, there's no worry about a stranger occupying his space. He treats it like a mission, get Wilma into his kitchen, make her a cuppa and possibly kill her landlord.

She insists on helping him put away his messages, she isn't prying and trying to get a feel for his home. She's genuinely trying to be helpful because she feels guilty that he had to go out of his way to assist her.

That's the day he decides that Wilma Stewart is his friend because that gives him a reason to help her without her trying to insist on owing him anything.

If something in her house needs to be repaired and he's capable of doing so, he'll mend it. If she needs help with bringing in her shopping or taking out her bins then he'll help when she's there. And eventually, he gives her a spare key, so she can pop in and look over his place while he's away for the job.

If she's baking, she'll leave a plate on his kitchen table. That's how he gains a fondness for Mars Bar traybakes.

When he leaves for any amount of time, he comes back to find a small house plant somewhere in his kitchen. Once he finds a knitted blanket hanging over the back of his couch.

When it's the seventh anniversary of her husband's passing, she invites him in for a drink. She tells him all about her husband Jim. A tender, attentive, gracious man who liked growing tomato plants and crocheting. He tells her about his mum, about Tommy, about Beth and about little Joeseph. His mum and her homemade lentil soup when dad was out, Tommy and their fight over a teal crayon when they were both boys, Beth and the way she brightened up the house with vases of flowers in the colours of a sunset, Joeseph and the way the little bugger peed on him the first time Simon ever tried to change him.

They get a little tipsy and watch Father Ted, he wakes up on his seventy-four-year-old neighbour's couch and ponders what past Simon would think about present Simon's friendship with a pensioner.

One day he invites the other lads over to his place, intent on having a drink with them all and catching up. He lives in a two-bedroom, one of the sergeants could kip in with him, Nik and John could take the other room and the last poor sod could sleep on his couch.

They don't end up making it out for a pint. It's a sunny day and she's a forward woman, Wilma talks them into washing her car under the assurance of baked goods. Then the old bird brings out a camping chair Simon wasn't aware she owned and watches them clean her Mini.

The other men seem to get a kick out of constructive criticism.

"Pretty boy, you missed a bit on the window."

"Oi, stache, get the shirt off."

She wins them over with her switchblade wit and the mismatching mugs she serves them all tea in. Kyle seems particularly fond of the Gromit mug she hands him but Simon's favourite is the cunt mug that uses the handle as the C.

Only when her car is gleaming under the sun's rays does she let them call it quits, herding them inside and tutting disapprovingly when Nikolai pulls his shirt back on.

The array of baked goods that she forces upon them all builds an alliance between the infamous Taskforce 141 and one Wilma Stewart.

By the end of the day, the old-timer has a small army rallied behind her and Simon is almost positive that if her landlord dies within the next four days Nikolai will be responsible for it.

[siorasurgicalsblog]

Living with orthopedic pain, whether from arthritis, sports injuries, or everyday wear and tear, can take a toll on your daily life. Under some circumstances, the cause of pain demands surgical intervention. This sometimes may also involve the application of locking plates and screws. For more info read our blog.

[sweetteainthesummerx]

✰ sweet nothing✰

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

nhl masterlist !

pairing: quinn hughes x writer! reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff

song: sweet nothing by taylor swift

summary: 5 times Quinn knew you were the one, and the one time he let you know...

word count: 2.2 k

notes: quinn my sweet boy!! also sweet nothing by taylor swift because her love songs are so superior

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

outside, they're push and shoving, you're in the kitchen humming

quinn pushes open the door to his apartment, exhausted. His face hurts from smiling at fans, and the triple header really, really took it out of him.

he loves his captaincy, really. he loves his boys, the leading, the responsibility. it's hard, though, to live up to all of the jostle and hassle the spotlight brings.

needless to say, the push and shove of stress has taken its toll on him, and all he needs is a hot shower and preferably 8 or more hours of sleep.

through the walkway, he hears a familiar voice, the telltale clatter of pans, a taylor swift song and the aroma of garlic and tomatoes.

you must've used his spare key he gave you.

he smiles despite himself, something warm tugging deep in his stomach.

he calls your name and immediately flushes with how breathy and needy he sounds. the last thing he wants is to scare you away.

"q!" you pop up from behind the counter, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts that drapes long over your slender shoulders and a pair of ratty sweatpants. your hair is pulled back from your make-up void face.

you've never looked more beautiful.

you make your way over while he admires you, and lock your arms around his waist, smiling up at him.

"missed you," you kiss his cheek, and he flushes again. god, why was he like this still?

the two of you have been dating for over than a month now, but he's still so easily flustered by you. maybe it's because you work with words for a living, but you're the sweetest thing he's ever seen (and tasted).

you think it's cute, and you tell him more often than not, reducing him to a puddle of a blushing mess.

he bundles you properly in his arms, kissing you properly.

you're so soft and warm under his fingers, your mouth hot and pliable.

you indulge him for a moment, savouring the time with each other. his hands wander down to your hips, gripping hard like he's afraid you'll be blown away by the wind.

a timer dings, and you pull back. he chases your lips, letting out a whine when you giggle and push gently at his broad chest.

"quinny, stop! i made you lasagna, and I don't want it to burn."

"mm, we'll order take out," he mutters into your neck, breathing in your familiar perfume.

you let out a sound of protest, finally breaking free of his hold. he follows you like a lost puppy as you set the table, plating him an extra large piece.

as he eats, you watches your kind eyes and easy smile with adoration.

the realization jars him, but settles firm in his bones: he wants to come home to you everyday.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

i wrote a poem, you say, "what a mind", this happens all the time

it's the release of your latest book, and quinn watches as you engage with your fans. the biggest indigo in vancouver invited you to come do a meet and greet along with a signing.

you had spent the morning with quinn, his hands stroking through your hair to calm you down. although your other books had success, this one was your proudest piece of work yet.

quinn had been the first person to read it. he was impressed; he knew you were smart and you had a way with words that astounded him, but the whole book was like poetry.

the words flowed easy from you, as easy as breathing.

now, watching you all flushed and a little embarrassed by the attention from the mass of people who showed up, he all but glows with pride.

a young girl, maybe in her early teens, comes up to you with a wide smile and bright, glassy eyes. he can't hear well, because he's tucked near the back of the room to avoid the crowd, but she says something and your face falls.

he's ready to sprint through the crowd to get to you, but you hug the younger girl. she's crying, he realizes. you squeeze her tight, sign her book and send her off with what looks like encouraging words and another hug.

afterwards, while he drives with one hand and the other on your thigh, he asks what happened.

"she told me she's never felt more seen by anyone before. that my book told her it's okay to not know where to be in the world." your eyes feel wet, and he smiles.

god, you're brilliant.

he raises your hand to his mouth and kisses your pulse.

"what a mind," he murmurs, and you laugh softly.

"you tell me that all the time."

"because I mean it, babe."

now he understands when those cheesy movies say "I want you body, mind and soul".

you are undeniably beautiful, gorgeous even. kindness seeps from your very being, and you're mind is bright and soft.

he wants all of you, forever.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

the voices that implore, "you should be doing more"

ellen sees some of the articles and criticisms of her eldest on the internet. quinn has always been the quietest, the most calm and so stoic. but her sweet boy, who worked too hard and did too much was always being told to do more.

so when she called him and he picked up the facetime groggy and hair still damp, she was surprised.

"hey, mom." he answered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"hi, quinn. sorry, sweetie. i didn't expect you to be asleep. i thought i would check up on you."

"all good." he yawns, and he makes small talk.

she wonders if he's seen all of the speculations about his captaincy on the news and headlines.

he tells her he has, because she asks him straight up. he appreciates the straightforwardness, and he has since he was young.

he tells her that you were there.

"she ran me a bath, with those weird salt things that women love so much-"

"hey! they're very nice." she interrupts, laughing at his antics.

"and she made soup. we ate already and I took a nap. she's out getting groceries, but i'll tell her you said hi, mom."

ellen nods, something tangible and comforting in the air around her. her son is in good hands.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

to you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

you find him in the empty change room. he's sitting on a bench, wet hair messy, head hung. you expected this; your boyfriend was nothing if not responsible and too hard on himself.

after another loss, his grief and frustration was normal.

you kneel before him, taking his face, hot from the shower in your cool hands. his pretty eyes are rimmed red, and he leans into your touch.

"hey, pretty boy. you did good out there, captain."

he shakes his head, fingers trembling as he pulls you closer so he can push his face into your hair, inhaling your smell.

"i failed them. i'm a shit captain, and i can't seem to break this cycle we're in-"

"you are not a shit captain." you say those words firmly, and it almost surprises quinn. normally you were soft-spoken and slow, but you tell him this with urgency.

"i should be taking care of everyone, and everything-"

"but who takes care of you?"

your words break a dam in him, and he buries his head in your shoulder. the position is uncomfortable, but you don't shift or mention his shaking shoulders.

"you are a good leader. a good leader is one who stands with his team, even during the tough times. the boys adore you, and you will break this rut. but it takes time, and work, my love. no one works harder than you."

he sniffs, a hovering breath touches your neck.

"you are so strong, my sweet boy." you cradle his neck, pressing kisses to the side of his face. this sets off another wave of emotions, and he easily tugs you up into his lap.

his wet hair drips onto your (his) jersey, but you don't mind.

"and if you need to be strong for them, you can be soft with me. i'm here for a reason. another set of shoulders to bear your burdens."

"i love you, y'know that?" his voice is scratchy, vulnerable and thick with emotion. although the two of you have exchanged those three words countless of times before this, it feels like more this time.

"i know, quinnie. i love you too."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

jack hauls his older brother onto the curb, setting him there, praying that he doesn't fall flat into the road. luke runs out with quinn's jacket, draping it over his shoulders.

it isn't often that quinn gets drunk, especially this drunk. but the boys night was a chance for all of them to let loose during the off season.

the small dive bar near the lake house was the perfect place to get away.

"dude, he is hammered." luke huffs, tugging at the sleeves of his own hoodie, the chill of the night starting to surround the air.

quinn says something under his breath as he sways, and jack sets him upright again.

"bro, what did you say?"

quinn repeats your name, louder this time, with the request to see you immediately.

the way he says your name, with so much love and awe makes jack almost wish he was in a relationship.

"sure, man. i'll call her to pick you up."

you arrive a mere 10 minutes later, hair wet, wearing one of quinn's canucks sweatshirts and a pair of sleep shorts.

"hey guys," you greet the other hughes boys. Luke gives you a side hug, and you pat jack's arm in thanks as you move to help her boyfriend up.

"babe!" Quinn only realizes then that you're here. jack has to laugh, seeing his brother so far gone because of the 7 tequila shots they took.

"jeez, guys. how much did you drink?" you ask, laughing, and Luke starts to regale you with the tale of jack's bad rendition of lady gaga.

"i missed you." quinn is now standing behind you, arms firmly wrapped around your waist, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. he doesn't say it loud, but contented and quiet.

jack watches as you smooth your hands over his forearms, rolling your eyes in amusement.

"yes, yes, I missed you too, you clingy baby."

"hey! m'not clingy." he protested, his whole body pressed up against every inch of yours.

jack snorts, giving you a sympathetic look, "good luck with that one."

you jokingly flip him off, as you try to maneuver your much larger boyfriend.

"c'mon, hughes." quinn frowns at this.

"I only answer to quinny, my love, sweetie and baby."

"that's your name?" jack asked, only to be met with a dirty look from his brother. luke snickers as you shrug quinn into the passenger seat.

"thanks for watching him." you say as you walk over to the driver's side.

"thanks for coming to get him. did we interrupt anything?"

"nah, except your mom was showing me your guys' baby pictures." you eyes shine with mirth as they groan.

"please tell me she didn't-"

"yep, the bathtub pictures too." you smile, and quinn yells something from with in the car.

"okay, I should probably get the big baby home. you guys don't stay out too late, okay?" you tell them, and they bid you goodbye.

he watches you guys drive off, quinn probably saying something stupid as you laugh.

"y'know, i really hope she's the one." Luke tells him as they head back into the bar.

jack has never, ever seen his brother so happy. he's never seen him smile so willingly for anyone, and clearly, you have him wrapped around your finger.

"yeah, me too, man."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

+ all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

you're wearing your blue light glasses, a tank top and a pair of his plaid boxers as you sit cross-legged in your shared bed, hair loose around your shoulders.

you're working on something new, and quinn studies your features as you concentrate.

without looking up from your laptop, you grin, "stop staring, stalker."

he laughs, "you love it."

you meet his eyes as he crawls next to you. he lets you wipe at his mouth, where he's sure there's still remnants of toothpastes.

"i love you." you offer instead, and he pulls you onto his lap. his fingers inch up your thighs but stop there.

he just wants to feel you, before he has to leave for another roadie.

"i love you." he tells you matter-of-factly, "and i'm going to marry you one day."

"babe, we've only been together a little over 8 months," you protest, but he sees the glow of joy on your cheeks at his words.

"i know," he says confidently, "but i'm going to make you my wife, one day. all i want is you."

you melt at his words, laying your head on his shoulder, "all i want is you, and your sweet nothings."

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[vmpireslut]

babies.

more of baby!daddy eren as requested by anon ♡︎ + nsfw becuz he can’t keep his hands off of you. minors dni, please, i will send toji to get you.

Pitiful. That's exactly how you felt. Pitiful for letting the man you vowed to never let touch you again have had you in a headlock while he fucked you. Hazy, that's what your memory is as your eyes flutter open.

Trickles of light flood in, and it only takes a second for you to realize you're in his bed. The room smells like him—woodsy and slightly smoky, a scent that clings to your skin. You groan, throwing your head back, the ache in your neck a reminder of last night's intensity. It feels like you're doing the walk of shame as you saunter out in one of his shirts, the fabric soft and familiar against your skin, carrying his scent with you.

You round the corner to see the girls and then him. He's leaning casually against the counter, a cup of coffee in hand, his eyes locking onto yours with that same glint that got you into this mess. The girls are giggling, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. The tension in the room is palpable, and you can feel his gaze following you, making every step feel heavier.

"Mommy!" The two four-year-olds exclaim at the same time upon noticing your presence. A smile breaks across your lips as they hug your legs, their small arms warm and comforting. "Good morning, my loves. What're you guys doing?" you question, pressing kisses against their messy bed hair, the scent of sleep and innocence filling your senses. "Daddy is making heart pancakes, look, Mommy!" Zoe pulls at your hand, her excitement palpable.

Chloe follows closely on your heels, her giggles bubbling up like a sweet melody. The kitchen is filled with the aroma of pancakes. Eren flipping heart-shaped pancakes with a concentration that makes your heart ache. The scene is a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you, a reminder of the complicated web of love and regret that binds you all together. You watch as he carefully places the pancakes onto a plate, the golden-brown hearts a testament to his effort to create a perfect morning. The girls' laughter rings out, and for a moment, the chaos in your mind is silenced by the simple beauty of this family moment.

Your ex-husband looks up, the corner of his mouth upturned. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you can feel the girls tugging at the hem of your shirt. His eyes are dark, and his jaw is set. “Eat up, so you can be big and strong like daddy.” setting the plates in front of the girls. They immediately dig in, and you take the moment of reprieve to gather yourself.

His hands are warm when they rest against the small of your back, and the way his breath fans across your ear has you biting your lip to hold in a moan. It doesn't go unnoticed. His touch lingers, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles that send shivers down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the aroma of pancakes and syrup. The intensity of the moment is almost too much to bear, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, craving the connection that was once so natural between you.

His voice, low and husky, whispers, "I still remember how you like your pancakes, extra syrup, just a hint of butter." The words are simple, but the underlying emotion is unmistakable, a reminder of the love that still simmers beneath the surface. He won’t lie, the way his shirt falls off your frame excites him a bit too much. And the way he walks around all slutty with just a pair of sweatpants hanging off his hips, pretty hair tucked behind his ears excites you too much.

"Eat Mommy.” he whispers, his voice deep and husky. You glare at him. The man is sinful, and it's hard to resist when his thumb draws lazy circles against your hip bone. "Fine," you manage, trying to sound firm. For someone who can't stand him, you two sure do always end up in the craziest predicaments. It seems like every time he comes into contact with you, he leaves a mark. Whether it be bruises along your thighs or emotional turmoil, you're left reeling from his effect.

"Good," he praises, pulling away. You turn around to see his smirk as he sits on the counter. The girls are completely engrossed in their pancakes, their mouths moving a mile a minute about the things they want to do today. You can't help but stare at the man you married, the man you were going to grow old with.

But life isn't always as you plan, and now you're stuck in an endless cycle of what ifs.

"What do you want, ✰?”

The way your name rolls off his tongue sends a rush of arousal to your core. You clear your throat, looking away as you try to collect yourself. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure of his scrutiny. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin. It's like being under a microscope, and you know exactly how he wants you.

"I want to take a shower." You pick at the food, appetite diminished.

His eyebrow cocks, and he crosses his arms.

“That’s all?”

You nod, watching as the girls gulped down the rest of their food. Ignoring his eyes, you stand up to carry the dishes to the sink.

The girls run off to play, leaving the two of you alone.

The tension is thick, and the silence is deafening.

You're about to head off when he wraps his fingers around your wrist.

"You're not going anywhere, what I tell you about leaving so fast and shit? What do you want?”

His hand is warm against your skin, the touch burning. His eyes are dark, and you swallow before taking a step back. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your knees buckle.

"I said what I wanted."

He laughs, the sound mocking. He takes a step towards you, his presence overwhelming. Your body betrays you, and you can feel the arousal pooling between your thighs. “That’s all?” His words make you whimper, and your mind goes fuzzy. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his skin, the heat of his breath. Your resolve is weakening, and you know he can see it.

"I..."

"Use your words, princess. Tell me," he urges, his hand trailing up your arm. His touch is electric, and you can feel yourself giving in.

"You."

It's a quiet admission, but he hears it. A grin spreads across his lips, and he pulls you into him, his lips crashing against yours. His kiss is hungry, and his hands are rough as they roam your body.

"That wasn't so hard, was it, baby?"

"W-we can't the girls-"

"Are playing." He finishes, fingers creeping into the waistband of your underwear.

"Let me take care of you love."

And how can you say no when he's looking at you like that, with those eyes, with that voice, with his lips.

"Ohmyyyy—shittt." Eren's thrust are brutal as he fucks you against the glass shower wall. Water rains down on your bodies, his hand gripping the back of your neck pressing your face against the barrier.

The other holds onto your hips, pulling you back against his cock. The steam fogs up the glass, the sound of skin slapping fills the air. Your legs are shaking, head spinning. His name is the only thing that leaves your lips. You can't think straight, can't form a coherent thought. The only thing you can focus on is his cock stretching your walls almost painfully, his grip bruising, his voice deep and low as he praises you.

"That's it mama, doing so good." he encourages, hips rolling slowly into your gummy walls. Then once again, he's got you in that fucking headlock, picking up his pace. All you can do is babble incoherently, the head of his dick mean as it kisses your cervix.

"You like that, don't you?" he taunts, his thrusts harsh and unforgiving. "Like when I fuck you like this, like when I use you like the dirty little slut you are. He’s fucking you dumb, all you can manage is out a drawled out mhm. “Yeah, that's it, baby.” And god, he's right. You do like it. You like it when he treats you like a ragdoll, when he uses you for his pleasure. You like it when he talks to you like that, when he calls you all those vile names. After all, that is how you ended up carrying his kids.

"E-eren," you sob, your hands splaying against the glass. His grip tightens, hips continually rocking into your slick pussy, the head of his dick massaging you in a way that has you seeing stars behind your lids.

"Fuck, please," you beg, tears welling up in your eyes. "I-I’m gonna cum!”

"It’s alright Mommy, I got you. Let me feel you." his words push you over the edge, and your walls clench around his shaft. “Oh my god!" he groans, your walls fluttering against him milking is own release. He doesn’t bother pulling out, pumping his load deep inside your cunt, his seed painting your walls white. And just like that, you were sucked back in with the Eren Yeager.

𝑅𝒮𝐸𝒫𝐸𝒯𝒜𝐿𝒮 all rights reserved. comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated ♡︎

[worshipthecrow]

"Meeting the parents"

Summary: You received a call from your mother while you were with Sylus, your parents want to meet your boyfriend.

Content: Sylusx Female! Reader, Reader is exaggerating the situation in her head, death threats.

A/n: I introduced Sylus to my parents with the tete-a-tete function and more or less the things that happened are portrayed here, some comments were made after explaining them the whole game and stuff. English is not my first language, if you find any mistakes, let me know so I can correct them.

One, two, three breaths you took before opening the door and stepping inside with your heart pounding in your chest and cold sweat on your back, Sylus was waiting for you to return from your phone call.

His shirt half open and his lips swollen from the long kissing session would be a hot and inviting sight if it weren’t for your mother’s voice booming in your brain.

We want to meet him, you’ve been with him for how long? A year? And you still haven’t brought him home, if that was a lie don’t worry honey, my friend’s son is still single and very handsome.

Your mother’s playful tone made you frown, you exchanged a few more words and hung up the phone.

He smiled sideways at you, waiting for you to sit back on his lap to continue.

“Hey…” you didn’t let him finish when the words came out of your mouth like a suppressed cough, fast and violent “

“My parents want to meet you”

You noticed the slight change in his gaze and posture, but then he relaxed again, held out his hand for you to take, which you did without thinking because of habit, and making you sit on his lap, tangling his finger in a lock of your hair.

“When?” a simple question, you expected more, maybe nervousness, maybe that he would refuse, but there was only one question.

Why don’t you bring him tonight? I’m making pork ribs, your favorite, it would be a good time to meet him.

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order said sweetly with a little threat.

“Tonight” you whispered, he hummed caressing the skin on your arm, nervousness didn’t let you enjoy the sweet touch.

“All right, if that’s what you want, sweetie” you let out a heavy sigh you didn’t know you were holding in.

And for the rest of the afternoon, it was you, stressed to the bone that what would happen in this inevitable disaster, someone would die, and you hoped it would be you, just to get away from this situation.

Sylus took you to your parents’ house on his motorcycle, you would have preferred to go by car, taking advantage of the traffic to get ready or to fake an emergency, but no, the way was too short and fast and now that you were in front of the door you wanted to vomit your guts on the floor.

It was he who rang the doorbell, just long enough to be heard but not annoying, the door was opened by your mother, the image was endearing, the chubby little woman greeted the two of you with a sweet smile letting you in, she still had her apron on, wet and you guessed she was washing the utensils she used to cook.

Your father was in the living room, you noticed the tiny sauce stain on his shoe, and you knew that today, of all days, would be the worst day of your life, nothing good came out of it when your father was helping your mother cook.

Your mother called everyone to the dining room, your stomach was doing somersaults, you walked stiffly to your seat, Sylus, out of habit, opened the chair for you to sit down and then sat next to you.

Your mother served your plate first, as always, the smell of the ribs, that delicious smell that always made your mouth water made you feel the worst nausea you had ever experienced in your life.

You watched her prepare your father’s dish, and the familiar fight of “one more” “no, the doctor said to watch your cholesterol” took some of the tension out of the situation, but knowing that the next dish to be served would be Sylus’ only reminded you of the chaos that was about to unfold, you prayed to any god that was willing to listen to you even though you had never been devoted to any of them.

Your mother took the plate placed two ribs and you held your breath as your mom’s voice came through your ears like the scream of a banshee.

“So, Sylus, what do you do for a living?” the smack of the mashed potatoes against the plate almost made you squeal.

“I run a family-owned business that covers a range of services and offers various products. We deliver fruit and even sell state-of-the-art technology and I work with a lot of talented individuals. If you’reinterested, I’d be happy to discuss it in more detail another time.”

You buried your fingernails in your thigh, the way your father bit into the rib meat made your heart stop for a second and the look on your mother’s face didn’t make you feel any better either, you slowly chewed the tender juicy meat, feeling it like lead in your mouth.

“And what do you do in your spare time?” your father’s piercing gaze said he wanted to give him a shot between the eyebrows, too bad that wouldn’t work, you knew it too well.

“My hobbies are very simple. I collect vynil records, play the organ, and occasionally sing. According to your daughter, my singing isn’t too bad.” The sideways smile made you blush as you shoved mashed potatoes in your mouth and avoided the zucchini from the boiled vegetables. “Do you like to sing? If so. You’re always welcome to visit my private karaoke bar.”

“Do you live with anyone? Your family?”

You bit into the carrot so hard that your teeth hurt.

“I live alone and I have a relatively flexible schedule” you blushed and drank from your pomegranate juice as your mother looked sideways at you, you knew what was going through her head. “I stay at my base most of the time. Otherwise, I’m in a hotel for business meetings or go to my private ranch when I need to unwind.”

Sylus smiled softly, and you swallowed saliva admiring how his factions softened.

“I own several beautiful horses, and one of them has grown particularly fond of your daughter. The two of them offer frolic together at the ranch. I like seeing her be carefree and happy” you held back a surprised gasp at his words, you needed to scream, preferably at your best friend, as you melted into a puddle of mush, that was too sweet, ugh. “… if I might ask, are either of you interested in shooting or racing?”

Now you wanted to scream, but out of hysteria, even though you were a wanderer hunter it’s not like your parents were too happy about it when they expected you to be something else, like a doctor, a lawyer, even a teacher, gun handling was always a constant discussion when you lived with them and expressed your desire to be a hunter.

“I have licensed facilities filled with the necessary equipment. You’re welcome to enjoy them to your heart’s content, while it might not be obvious at first glance, I’m very good at taking care of people”

You decided to concentrate on your plate, while eating, you blinked for a couple of seconds noticing something strange but ignored it in favor of continuing eating your pork ribs.

“Because of our time together, I developed new interests. I enjoy taking her to auctions and fashion shows, I like seeing her shine, And her happiness is my happiness”

Your heart stopped at the softness of voice, you wanted to cry in his arms and tell him you loved him, but that would be too dramatic at a family dinner and you could do that when you got back to his house in the N109 Zone.

“What about the future, hmm?” everyone had finished as they spoke, you felt a lump in your throat hard to swallow, what about the future indeed, you squeezed your glass as you took a swig.

“I’ll always support her with whatever she wants to do. I’ll also stand by her side without question”

The Table was silent for a few seconds while your father picked up the dirty dishes and your mother took something out of the refrigerator, you recognized the pot immediately, you had seen it so many times during birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and New Year.

You got up and opened a drawer and took out a plate and helped your mother unmold the flan, the color of the caramel reminded you of your childhood, when on your birthday your mother made a small mold just for you, of Christmas fighting with your older brother for the last slice, which in the end you shared sitting on the floor playing on the console.

It had been so long since you had eaten your mother’s flan, that seeing it now was just a balm for your stressed heart.

You left the plate with the flan on the table carefully, your mother took the knife out of a drawer and returned to the table to cut it.

“Everything you said was very nice Sylus” your mother’s voice gave you a shiver that went all the way down your spine to the back of your neck. “But alas for you where you hurt her, I don’t want to see her cry because of you, because I swear every time you go out you are going to have to watch your back, because if I have to, I will disappear you and no one will ever find you, was I clear enough?”

The sight was hilarious, your mother, the short woman, shorter than you in fact, was threatening the leader of Onychinus with a kitchen knife shiny from the caramel for having cut the flan, with a sweet smile as she offered him the plate with the dessert.

Sylus wasn’t expecting it at all from the look of utter surprise on his face, accepting the plate with a sideways smile.

“Like crystal” he replied softly and your mother smiled again as she handed out the plates, you breathed easy that she hadn’t stabbed him, your father poured the coffee, you put sugar and milk in yours.

The rest passed relatively quietly, lighter conversations and your father constantly telling you to take care of yourself on your missions and your mother reminding you that you could always come home if you decided to quit your job.

After finishing dessert and coffee your father took you to the garage, saying he had something to show you, you followed him thinking it would be some new car he was repairing, or a modified motorcycle, but no, he sat in his folding chair and you sat next to him, nervous about leaving Sylus and your mother alone for too long, you didn’t know if she would try to stab him in the back.

“Does he treat you well?” your father looked at you with his dark eyes, the ones you had inherited, and you nodded.

“He does”

“He seems nice, and he has money” you nodded, uncomfortable about that last “I was worried, when he said he stayed in hotels, that he worked with “individuals”, I thought he would cheat on you” your heart pounded in your chest, you once had that same thought but the fact that Sylus would always answer your calls, messages no matter the time or place removed those doubts a long time ago, “but then, he started eating the zucchini off your plate when you put them aside and the looks, he looked at you like you were the moon, like you put the sun in the sky, it gave me diabetes”

And you laughed, so hard that you threw your head back as you laughed at the top of your lungs, you laughed until your stomach hurt and your father looked at you like you were insane even though he was smiling subtly.

Sylus appeared a few moments later as you were catching your breath, your cheek half numb.

“Your mother wants you to help her dry the dishes”

You got up from your chair and walked towards the door, when Sylus turned to follow you your father called him to talk to him, you looked at him and nodded, you weren’t worried, if your mother didn’t try to kill him your father wouldn’t either, you went to the kitchen and your mother greeted you with a cloth to dry the dishes and you waited.

“I like him” she said “I like that he talked about you like that, he almost doesn’t seem real” you snorted under your breath, wondering what the two of them must have said while you were gone. “Better than your exes, definitely”

You groaned, remembering that your closest group of friends from high school still called your ex from that time “evil cockroach”, and still laughed at his love misfortunes when they got to hear something about him, you were fine staying out of it, but your mean side also felt satisfaction when it turned out that his last girlfriend had dumped him.

“He has everything you like as well, music lover, animal lover, and I am relieved to know he has gun licenses, that means he will always be able to take care of you and you will have good weapons for your missions” your mother dried the flan pot and put it back in its special drawer.

“The hunters association provides us with enough guns” although you weren’t going to deny that the Harrier 700’s were your favorite.

“He’s very much in love with you” your mother evaded the subject of your job, as always, you knew her stance on your safety and the many times you had been scolded over the phone when you were in the hospital was reminder enough “tie him up”

“Mom!” you shouted, shocked, you knew she meant ‘marry him’ but with Sylus it could be very literal that matter.

“What? You would have cute babies” you covered your face in embarrassment, leaving the plate you were drying on the counter so as not to throw it on the floor “and he has nice buttocks”

“MOM!” you shouted in a high pitched voice, definitely embarrassed and your mother laughed at you, you were aware of Sylus’ attributes, but you didn’t want to discuss them with your mother.

“He hides things doesn’t he?” you nodded, calmer at the change of subject, although it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss either, you continued drying the plates and glasses. “But you know what it is?” another nod from you “Well, as long as you know it’s okay, but I don’t want to get you out of prison”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, aware of the approval your parents were giving, your mother a little too enthusiastic, your mother and you finished drying the dishes just as Sylus and your father were coming back in.

The goodbye was better than the welcome and without the stress you felt tired all at once, you wanted to go back and sleep for the next week.

With a last hug to your mother and the mortification that she gave you a condom, you rode up behind Sylus on the bike and hugged him around the waist until you returned home.

You threw yourself on the bed, ready to accomplish your desires, Sylus pulled off your pants as you grunted and tucked you under the blanket, then lay down behind you, brushing your face with something, you opened your eyes and ripped the platinum package from his fingers and threw it on the nightstand, you cursed your mother.

“Don’t even think about laughing” you said through your teeth.

“You are kinda like your mom, she’s the one in charge isn’t she?” you sighed and laid on your back.

“Yeah, my dad has a bad temper, but my mom is the one in charge, if she says do it you do it” you saw his sideways grin.

“It runs in the family I guess, you’re bossy too, Kitten” he kissed your neck and even though you wanted to get mad you couldn’t, you were tired and wanted to sleep, until…

“What did you and my mom talk about?” The kissing stopped and Sylus lay back, towering over you resting his head in his palm and his elbow on the pillow.

“Your past relationships and veiled threats disguised as funny comments, who is ‘the evil cockroach’?”

“Ugh, my chronically unfaithful ex” you shrugged “that would be a better story to tell when you meet my friends, they make it funnier”

“Oh, so I’ll meet the group too?” the comment had come out of nowhere, but if you introduced him to your parents, who you were most worried about them meeting, your friends should be easier no?

“I guess so, although I’ll have to arrange the meeting when we’re all free” you were already getting a slight headache just thinking about squaring schedules so you could set up a meeting.

“I’ll be available whenever you want” you smiled softly at him, you were too grateful that he seconded you on all the things you wanted to do, whether they were ridiculously childish or not.

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow, now I want to sleep” you turned in bed and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down and put your face in the crook of his neck, Sylus wrapped his arms around your waist as he gently stroked your back.

You drifted off to sleep, as you thought about the best way to tell your friends that you wanted them to meet your mysterious boyfriend you talked about all the time. Maybe something like…

“Hey, do you guys want to meet my boyfriend?”

Yeah, that might be nice.