#and even if I was that wouldn't mean what you are doing is right

[reignpage]

You've Ghost To Be Kidding

Synopsis: in which you move into a haunted house and are seduced by ghost!sukuna Warning: 18+, porn with little plot, cursing, dubcon?, kinda horror but not scary at all, lots of cunnilingus, fingering, groping and molesting, nipple play, tentacles, full nelson, improper use of a broom, exhibitionism, voyeurism, foot play, blowjob, masturbation, a little somnophilia, monster-fúcking, kinda threesome? ig, classic dumb girl in horror movie with no survival instincts, not proofread Word Count: 2.7k

There’s a ghost in your home. 

You’ve just moved in last week and already you can tell there’s someone else here with you. Things move on their own even though you don’t see them move. You place a book down on a table and you’ll come back to it on the floor. Lights turn on and off on their own. Sometimes they even flicker incessantly for an hour or two, or until you get fed up and leave the room. At night, you hear scratching against the door, things literally going bump and thump, followed by heavy footsteps.

They’re all petty stuff, which is why you can stomach the irritation considering the rent is dirt-cheap. At most, you'll simply roll your eyes whenever the ghost acts up which apparently pisses it off more.

What’s been bothering you most, however, is the fact that the ghost is apparently very fucking horny. 

He — and yes, you know it’s a he because only a man could be so annoying and pathetic — gropes you randomly during the day. You’ll be washing up some dishes, minding your own business as one does, when suddenly, you’ll feel big, cold hands on your hips groping the flesh there. Worse, you can even feel a nose skim the length of your neck, inhaling your scent, and the ghost’ll blow air at your skin as if he’d exhaled in deep satisfaction.

Even when you're just watching TV, sat on the sofa, you'll feel a ghoulish grasp on your ankles, pulling your legs until your feet are held in the air. Something cold, long and hard presses itself against the pads of your feet, rubbing along. Popping popcorn in your mouth, you yawn as the sofa creaks, cold liquid beginning to coat your toes. You don't know for sure what he's doing but you have an idea.

Showering is also another story. Bare and wet, you massage shampoo into your scalp, humming to a song on your phone when it begins to glitch, making record scratching sounds. Your Lizzo song is replaced with heavy breathing and mumblings that oddly resemble the word, 'mine,' on repeat. Big, foreboding hands creep into the tresses of your hair, covering your own. They push and pull, applying pressure around your scalp, really working in your shampoo. With a sigh, you let him do the work for you.

After all, your arms were getting tired. So it seems like a fair exchange for him to grind that, by now, familiar length in between the globes of your ass, nudging you against the wall, threatening to drown you under the barrage of water.

Truthfully, you once considered hiring an exorcist or a priest or something. But once he stopped being so hostile against you and you found a freakish routine with him, the idea flew out the window. Who else would know to open a cabinet with all the bowls for you right after you've picked up the milk from the fridge, so you can eat cereal?

This ghost has been pretty helpful in finding your lost items too. Whether they be your phone, keys, socks, the remote etc. Though, you suspect sometimes he hides those things on purpose so that you'll acknowledge his presence with a, 'Hey dead guy, know where my shit is?'

Sure, your pool of panties is depleting with his clear hatred of them, ripping them up and tossing them in the trash for you to find later, and you can't really invite anyone home since they wouldn't understand. But you can put up with his wandering hands and constant hard-ons if it means you have a nice, pretty house to live in.

Even if everything you do seems to turn him on. Whether that's singing along to a song (a body will press itself behind you, swaying you to the beat and grinding something hard against your back), brushing the floor (the broomstick will find it's way between your legs, the length slotting itself right in between your pussy lips as it shuffles back and forth, eliciting moans after moans from you, covering the wood with slick), or cooking a meal (the sauce you're heating up will wind up on your chest, cool and trickling down the valley your breasts, just about to disappear beneath your low v-neck shirt before something wet and slithering wipes it away, leaving goosebumps in its wake).

And God, apparently dental hygiene turns the damn thing on too. Brushing your teeth, in the morning or night, always involves your breasts being groped. Seriously. Breasts. Groped. 

You feel those same cold hands first cup your tits over the shirt, just feeling the heaviness, weighing them in his palms before you feel fingers flicking your nipples. The friction is repulsive. Really. It makes you roll your eyes. In annoyance, of course. 

“F-fuck off!”

Then, when you’re clutching the sink, he slides his hands under your shirt, nails scratching your skin before you feel its chilling grip on your breasts. That’s when he really gets to work — he doesn’t go gently, no, he’s tugging at your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingertips as if to torture you. So outraged, you’re left gasping for air, unable to string along words to express how disgusting his touch felt. 

“Don’t even ask me h-how I know you’re smirking. Dick.”

In response, all the bottles on the bathtub fall to a clatter on the porcelain.  

You can’t even masturbate in peace because though the door's closed you know he knows what you’re doing. That door will open, slowly creaking, and a gust of wind will blow over you, announcing his presence. There, under the covers, your fingers are working overtime, rubbing furiously at your clit as you stare at that open door. 

“Seriously? You won’t even let me have this?”

Pussy tingling, you writhe on the bed, spurned on by the knowledge that eyes are watching your face. Deadly quiet, the sloshing sound between your legs echo in the room, mocking and scathing.

When your hand cramps up, you reach over to your bedside table for your vibrator. Pressing the cold silicone to your steamy pussy, you get a moment of reprieve before the battery somehow runs out. 

“Oh my God, you did not. Ugh, you are such a dick. You died and now you gotta make me miserable?” You throw the damn thing to the corner of the room in frustration. 

Just as you’re about to give up, the cover is pulled away and you’re bared to the world. Your legs are spread by an invisible force before something warm touches your lips, tasting your abundant juices before it laps all of you up eagerly. “Oh fuck! A-are you eating me out?”

He’s annoyingly skilled at this. The tip of his tongue rubs tight circles around your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl. Squelches resound in the room, getting louder when you feel, what can only be, fingers thrust into you with no warning. 

“Oh, God! Yes, right there, yesss.” He’s found your G-spot and he’s going to town on it, angling his fingers just right. 

Another hand pushes down on your lower stomach at the exact same time his lips wrap around your clit and suuuuuuuuuuuuck. You’re thrashing on the bed, pinned down by that invisible force like all your limbs suddenly weigh a ton. The noises he’s making and pulling out of you are obscene and anyone who hears would think another ghost is being added to the house. 

“Since your tongue’s going -ngh!- inside me, s-shouldn’t you tell me your name?”

The light flicks on and on the mirror across the room, your lipstick is writing the letters S U K U N A on it. 

“Sukuna, huh? Well, Sukuna. Since the afterlife is clearly lacking any kind of fun, make yourself useful and give me an orgasm.”

And so he does. 

He does every time after that actually. 

Sitting in your armchair, reading a book, legs spread and panties dangling from an ankle, he eats you out for hours. Good thing about ghosts is that they have nothing else to do, so you bet your cheap ass that he won’t be getting tired any time soon. 

In fact, he loves to eat you out. When you’re washing the dishes, he’ll be eating you out from behind, suckling on your wetness like it could bring him back to life. Hanging up the laundry in the garden will leave a man-sized lump under your dress as you desperately muffle your moans with a bedsheet, embarrassed that a neighbour might see. He wakes you up by eating you out, he sees you off to your job with a fingering and then a cleaning up of the mess with his tongue, and he welcomes you back home with an orgasm, body slumped against the front door, held up like a puppet as he tongues your insides, nipples teased by tendrils of something beyond the reach of your humanly sight.

That becomes your new routine. It seems this Sukuna has grown bolder, fearless and uncaring of what's convenient for you.

One night, however, as you’re spreading your legs naturally, you don’t feel the usual pressure there. Instead, you feel something wet, hard and salty at your lips. Devious bastard. 

Opening your mouth, you let him inch his length into your throat with surprising care. Full and stretched to your limits, you gag around his invisible cock, forced to accept the entirety of the thing entering and retreating over and over again. His balls smack against your chin as he increases his pace, growing more ruthless with the way he’s shoving his fat cock inside your mouth. 

You’re being used like a glory hole and he doesn’t seem like a minute man. Despite never having been the kind of girl who enjoyed giving blowjobs, you find this one surprisingly stimulating — it presses against a sensitive spot at the back of your throat, a sweet scent of death filling your nostrils as you gag around something firm and unyielding.

Over your shirt, you feel nails scratch against your nipples, flicking them the way that leaves your thighs squeezed shut, searching for friction where you're most sensitive.

Then, your vibrator miraculously comes back to life, buzzing with vigour right against your pussy. Squelches are joining the sounds of your gagging and you didn’t even know you were so wet already. It’s on the highest setting, driving you to overstimulation immediately and with cement for bones, you can’t move away from the onslaught of vibrations against your dripping cunt. 

Gagging even more, tears well up when you cum, squirting all over your bed just as he squirts cold, salty cum down your throat. 

You fall asleep thoroughly drenched. 

The next day, all the cabinets and doors are banging open and shut repeatedly. He’s throwing a tantrum. Great. He heard your phone call in the morning.

“Get over it, freak! I can’t keep relying on you for orgasms. So don’t get in the way of me and this guy,” you scream in your bedroom. You’re aware you look crazy but you don’t care. Enough is enough. 

The mirror shatters in front of you. 

“Yes, I will let him in. You can’t do anything about it. Just go to the light or something.”

A stuffed toy hits you on the head. 

“Oh my God! You did not. Ugh, whatever, watch me get fucked then, I don’t care. But keep your hands to yourself.”

Your guest doesn’t make it three minutes before he’s being scared shitless by the banging of cabinets, the opening and closing of drawers, the shaking of tables and shattering of glass cups. He’s running to the door before you grab him by his hand desperately. You almost convince him to move your two-person party to his house when a knife flies through the air and lands right in between you two, embedding itself into the wall. 

That’s the last straw. 

Just as he wanted, you’re left alone with the happy malevolent spirit. How do you know he’s happy?

Well, because suddenly the house is righting itself — cabinets and drawers are now closed, there’s no more shaking, glass shards are picking themselves back up, repairing all your broken cups. “Pretty pleased with yourself now, aren’t you? You are such a child, I can’t stand you.”

Not to mention, your dress is being lifted up and your panties ripped apart. 

He shoves his face in between your legs once more, tonguing your clit and massaging your pussy walls with his long fingers. This is his way of apologising, you guess, and whatever, you just have to accept your fate. Long tendrils wrap around your arms, lifting them up so you can grip something. Those very same vine-like phantoms tease at your nipples too, squeezing and pulling like his fingers would. Then you feel them seem to open up like little mouths before they suck on your nipples. Hard. There, standing in the crime scene, you cum. Heaving and lightened, you think it’d end there. 

It seems seeing that other man really pushed him because then you’re being spun around and shoved to the hardwood floor, dress folded over your back and drooling pussy exposed to the air. Something hard rubs against your most intimate area, coating itself in your wetness before it shoves itself, in one go, inside your pussy. 

“Fuck! G-go slow! Oh. My. God. Su. Ku. Na!”

His rhythm is monstrous. You’re practically screaming as he pummels your pussy with no consideration for the fact that your knees are being bruised and that your face is smushed against the dirty floor. 

Your gooey walls are being forced to stretch, lips all swollen and weeping. He’s planted so deep you can feel him in your throat, and then an arm is wrapping around your neck — he’s got you in a headlock, wrangling you back into a painful arch. From this angle, he goes in deeper. 

Another long, hard thing pushes inside your mouth and you don't know how any of this works but you swallow it down, allowing him to plug you up from both ends. They work in tandem, stretching your holes with a brutal pace.

The cock in your mouth cums first and you know, somehow, it's because he just wanted to coat your face in his ghoulish cum. Drenched, you can do nothing but take his intense pummelling with gratitude.

"Full! I feel so — yesss, right there — full."

There’s a noticeable bump on your lower stomach, years of pent up energy as a ghost being rammed into your poor cunt. Glop glop glop he goes through your juices which overflow, soaking your thighs. “Fuck, yessss.”

Watery slurps are emanating from your pussy where you’re gaping around nothing to the human eye. Sukuna gyrates his hips, heavy balls teasing your clit from the delicious angle, cock throbbing inside. 

“I’m c-close! More. I want more. Fuck me faster!”

And does he ever. 

Garbling out gibberish, you’re practically choking on your own saliva as he suffocates you with his arm.

When you cum, your vision blacks out and you fall limp, thoroughly exhausted and almost dead. But even then, he still continues to fuck you, using your body as a fleshlight, basking in your living warmth. As if your soul has separated from your body, you're aware of the thorough fucking your poor body is receiving, splashes of cum flooding the floor. Even unconscious, orgasms are being snatched from you.

Later, when you wake up, you’re in bed, tucked in with a ghostly tongue lapping up your mixed cum.

Pushing the cover off, you’re shocked to find a face and a body, firm and warm to the touch. He’s got pink hair, a muscular body and tattoos. There's nothing ghostly about the man between your legs. You can feel the blood coursing through his veins, can see the sharpness of his teeth as he flashes his pearly whites in threat, and the fingers that dig into the plush of your thighs are bruising.

Regretting not getting a priest involved after all, you gasp when you hear his voice, clear and loud, deep and powerful.

He says,

“You sleep like the dead.” 

[starfieldcanvas]

If you haven't already read up on the science behind why opioid manufacturers got sued for knowingly causing the 'opioid crisis', the gist of it is that there's a pretty big chunk of the population that processes opioids faster than the rest. just a random genetic mutation. and if you're prescribed a course of opioid medication meant to be taken every 8 hours but the pain relief runs out after 6, well, you might just take your next pill two hours early! and then naturally you run out of pills before the month is over, so you ask your doctor for more pills.

your doctor has two options:

prescribe you pills designed to be taken every eight hours, but give you extra so you can take them every six, or

refuse you more pills.

there's supposed to be a third option:

switch you to a formulation designed for the fast-processing mutants! this is apparently a thing that can be manufactured!

but proving that you need the mutant version takes genetic testing and it would've been expensive and unprofitable for the pharma companies to market and manufacture, so they instructed doctors to do the first thing: just give the patient more baseline pills.

unfortunately those baseline pills are still designed to be used every eight hours and taking them more often doesn't really fix the underlying problem. i don't understand the chemistry but apparently it means that the fast-processing people often get a long-lasting opioid dependency (when they otherwise wouldn't have) even though they're taking them exactly the way their doctor told them to, exactly the way the pharma companies told the doctor to tell them to.

great for the pharma companies, because they're selling more pills! but, uh, bad for the people.

so you get more and more 'normal' people addicted to opioids and it's bad optics and consequently doctors are pressured to be on the lookout for 'drug-seeking' behavior. like, say, if somebody takes their pills every six hours instead of every eight and runs out of pills early and asks for more pills. that's drug-seeking! they're an addict! and you're not supposed to give drugs to an addict, right? 🤔

but, well, when somebody in a fuckton of pain runs out of pain pills 3/4 of the way through the month, they don't typically go "too bad, i guess I'll just stay home in bed for one week out of every month," they go "okay what do i have to do to stay functional without a prescription?" and a lot of the time that's street drugs. which aren't especially well controlled, and which are therefore more likely to leave you genuinely 'addicted' over and above the basic 'i need continual access to pain meds to function' dependency.

as best i understand it, when doctors talk about opioids being an addiction risk, like 80-90% of what they actually mean is that not having steady predictable access to the right kind of opioids is an addiction risk.

that was snippy lol but you have honest to god got to get over the propaganda spoonfed to you about heroin and meth in particular. no they are not magic evil killers that instantly take over your brain like an invasive fungus no there is no such thing as any drug or medical intervention that is 100% risk free. you already know heroin and meth users they are members of your communities and social circles and societies not bogeymen from a childrens book. this kneejerk treatment of heroin and meth like they're uniquely addictive and dangerous and too awful to even be spoken is racialised & classed & it kills people. get over itttt

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 6)

Bruce was enjoying a quiet day in the manor with the kids when the nature documentary they'd been watching (courtesy of Damian) got interrupted.

"We interrupt this broadcast to tell you some breaking news, and I do mean breaking," the newscaster announced. "Bruce Wayne's child, Y/N Wayne, was kidnapped by crime lord and night club owner Oswald Cobblepot, AKA the Penguin."

"What?!" Dick spluttered. Tim choked on his evening coffee.

"Not only is he claiming that he has had Y/N Wayne in his custody for over fourteen days via kidnapping, he is now refusing to give them back and claims that Y/N will now be his adopted child."

"That can't be right! You don't kidnap someone and claim that they're a part of your family after an inconsequential amount of time has passed! Squatter's rights do not apply to people!" Tim yelled.

"He . . . kidnapped Y/N?" Steph asked the air.

"We now show the video that has made global headlines." The newscaster disappeared as Cobblepot's cackling form took over.

"Hello, Mr Wayne," he cackled. "Noticed any changes in your household? Perhaps a missing child?" The Wayne household could only watch as the Joker, the literal Joker, held Y/N's hand as he escorted you into the view of the camera. Your outfit was a smaller, form-fitting version of Cobblepot's three-piece suit, and someone had slicked your hair back and given you an umbrella. You had everything except for the monocle. Not your style.

"They're really come into their own since the . . . surprise adoption," Joker grinned. "They've already become a Cobblepot copy, how cute! Not sure how Riddler's going to take losing the bet."

"What bet?" you asked.

"Riddler and I had a bet that your family would ignore everything regarding a ransom for two weeks straight." Penguin's smile was large and full of sharp teeth. "And I was right. They gave me the go-ahead to keep you with their silence. You're all mine now, Y/N."

"Is this brainwashing? This has to be brainwashing, right?" Dick was talking to himself at a mile a minute just so he wouldn't go completely crazy right then and there.

"I have to give a little credit to you, Wayne, with very little doing on your part, you managed to create a wonderful, sweet, and intelligent child." The video quality was clear, so they could see the smile that stretched across your face when he complimented you. "Originally, all I'd wanted was a small payout (small for you) of three million dollars, but when I learned of your utter carelessness and your child's incredible skills, I decided that an heir would be worth more than what your putrid money could buy me. I'm just telling you this so you can turn their bedroom into a guest bedroom."

"My bedroom was always a guest bedroom," they heard you say. "Nobody ever got around to decorating it, and I was just waiting until I could leave legally."

"Well, you can decorate this bedroom anyway you like," Penguin promised.

"Really, Dad? Thank you, you're the best!" Y/N hugged Penguin tightly. Bile rose in their throats.

Y/N called Penguin Dad.

"You really are sweet," Penguin said. "Now, since your birth father's already rather clueless, I guess we can take you to the courthouse and have you legally named as my child. How does Y/N Cobblepot sound?"

"It sounds amazing!" you cheered. And then the video ended.

"Well, I guess that's that. Bruce Wayne's least-seen child will now be Oswald Cobblepot's pride and joy. We'll update you as soon as we learn more about this hidden Wayne and their new life."

The nature documentary resumed, but nobody was paying attention. "Y/N was . . . taken? And we didn't know?" Tim's voice cracked. He was supposed to know. He was your big brother and trained by Batman, not to mention the information guy. He should have known about this.

"How long will it take before we get to the Iceberg Lounge? We need to get them, save them!" Jason grabbed his stuff. "I'm going."

"No, Jason. This should be a cohesive family effort. Clearly, Y/N is being heavily guarded and Cobblepot will not give them up easily." Bruce motioned for his son to sit down. "We should plan this properly if we want them back."

"How do we even lose track of them?" Stephanie asked. "We really had them get away from us? For two weeks straight?"

"Well, we never see them around here. They hole themselves up in their room," Barbara pointed out. "Wait, where is their room?"

A silence gagged them as they tried to think about where in the manor your room was. Nobody could think of a place where it could be.

"How did we not notice that there were so many ransom demands being sent?" Barbara asked.

"There were letters, but I disposed of them," Damian shamefully admitted. "I thought it was a hoax. How was I supposed to believe that Y/N was genuinely kidnapped? Who would even want them?"

"Penguin does, you little brat, and they're being brainwashed into being his little puppet right now!" Jason screamed.

Damian unsheathed his katana. "It was an honest mistake!"

"If you'd told someone about this, all of it could have been prevented!" Jason screamed. "Y/N was holding hands with the Joker!"

Barbara put herself in the middle of the boys. "Stop fighting! The more we fight, the longer we are kept away from Y/N."

"Barbara's right. We need a plan, lots of them. Plans to get Y/N away from those monsters, and back with their real family." Bruce took charge, as the angry and heartbroken father of a kidnapped child.

"And something to get them to love us and trust us again," Damian said. "We cannot cut corners here. We have to go all out. Y/N needs to be home with their real family." He paused, not wanting them to see him cry. Damian Wayne did not cry. "Even if they don't know what that truly looks like."

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 <- You are here

Part 7

Part 8

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, @heather-hutchcroft, @angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger, @omgfangirlland, @jaybunsblog, @iwannaflyaway

[virginreprise]

C A T C H ' A N D ' R E L E A S E ✧ . ┊    

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 ✧. ┊ 

┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚ jackson!joel miller x reader

✧ . ddlg dynamics, toxic!joel, smut, angst, arguing, mean!joel, he's a little more dark in this one, unspecified age gap, manipulation, daddy kink, breeding kink is heavy in this one, established relationship, pussy spanking, joel slaps you twice, light bondage, sarah and ellie are dead because i don't give joel a break ever, joel is a whole ass oxymoron in this thing, joel also cums fast, and then there is also cum play because i am disgusting, this is probably the craziest thing I've ever written

words: 15.5k

┊┊. AO3 LINK

It started with an eye roll. A simple action, buried in petulance and arrogance that he had taught vehemently was wrong. That he had conditioned you to believe would have dire consequences.

"Don't talk back," he'd said sternly one day when you'd become too whiny, refusing to help him clean the dishes with the simple excuse that you didn't feel like it. And to your credit, you were quick to learn, quick to decipher his warning glances and become the perfect little girl he had taught you to be.

Rules had been implemented and subsequently followed. Praises had been uttered and kept you good. Little rituals that you followed with the sole reason of making him happy.

So when you woke up pouting, groaning as he leaned in for a good morning kiss and complaining about having to stay in the house all day and wait for him to get home, he knew something must have been wrong.

He'd mulled it over on a particularly boring patrol, knowing that if he was lucky he'd be back to you by before four o'clock. He'd wondered what on earth could've caused you to act in such a way towards him, focusing on the last thing he'd seen you do before he'd walked out the door.

You'd rolled your eyes at him.

He'd told you as softly as he could despite his growing irritation, to have a good day, to enjoy yourself and that he'd be back as soon as possible.

And you had rolled your damn eyes. 

At the time, he'd been too astonished to reprimand you, too late already on account of your abhorrent mood to do anything but stare in bewilderment and walk out the door whilst shaking his head.

This was not the good girl he'd trained, this was not the girl who did everything so willingly—gave yourself to him as easily and as naturally as it felt to slip a gun in Joel's palm and shoot. It had been eating at him the entire time he was riding alongside Jesse who hadn't dared speak up and ask him what was wrong; fearful of the perpetual scowl on his patrol partner's face that remained the entire time they were working.

As Joel walked around the corner, his house and its glowing windows falling into his vision, he wondered if the boy thought he'd gone mad. Perhaps he'd apologise to him at another time, although he probably wouldn't. He'd never exactly been one to apologise: prideful and stubborn even when he knew he was in the wrong.

But, goddamn, you had left him mad. You had left him furious and he had no choice but to think profusely about why you'd switched so suddenly. You had been perfect for him the night before, sitting between his legs patiently whilst he'd finished the chapter of his book, scurrying upstairs when he'd informed you it was bathtime and getting straight into bed when he'd asked you to. Hell, you'd even had his cock in your mouth and smiled about it like it was a privilege you didn't get to experience so often.

You hadn't woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He would know because he woke up on his preferred right side and you (unusually) far away from him on the left. It had been the first warning sign, the first indicator that he was in for an awful day of work and an even worse night when he stepped into the house and tried to gauge whether your mood had improved any or not.

When he finally made it home, hoping to be greeted by your soft kisses and pretty smiles, he realised that the house was not bustling with your hurried steps, arms flung wide open to greet him. It was instead, eerily quiet. The fire that he'd lain that morning was reduced to glowing coals, the wood piled in the basket beside it barely touched and the blanket on the couch tousled and creased—like you'd peeled it off in a hurry once you'd built up the courage to do what he'd suspected you'd done.

"Baby," he called into the nothing, irritation seeping into the floorboards as he slipped off his coat and shoes—the gun that he insisted he keep in the house despite Maria's passionate objections, placed against the wall where it would temporarily stay until the both of you went to bed and Joel would keep it just within reach. "Baby!" he repeated, louder this time in case you were listening to his CDs again.

Still, he did not hear a thing. Not a creak of the floorboards, or the light rain song of the shower. Not even a sigh. Deadly silent. And when his eyes flicked to the array of shoes parked near the door, he noticed the space the size of your feet—wood where your shoes should rest. Shoes you rarely ever use nowadays since he'd got you being his pretty little housewife.

He was back outside before he could bother to check if his suspicions were accurate, laces loose and coat unbuttoned, not feeling the biting cold that lingered amongst the setting sun. His sights were set on the house a short walk away, decorated in yarrow and anemone. The house that sheltered the reason he had met you at all.

"Tommy!" he banged on the red wood, chest heaving, rage overtaking him. How on earth could you just run like that? Why would you even think of leaving the house without him, never mind leaving without at least telling him beforehand? This behaviour was so unusual, so unlike you that it scared him. If he were to lose you…God, he didn't even want to think about it. The warmth of you, the sweetness that cut straight through the bitter nature that he had succumbed to ever since the world had become trapped in a cataclysmic nuclear winter. He could not let it go. Would never let you go, no matter how much you begged.

The question was falling from his lips as soon as the red was replaced with the face he would recognise even on the foggiest of nights.

"Where is she?"

Joel could've smacked his brother's oblivious look off his face and was seriously considering acting on his thoughts when he opened his mouth.

"Where's who?"

"Goddamnit, Tommy," he groaned, his face the picture of madness—his carefully concealed insanity shining brightly in the face of his loss, your name harsh on his lips when he clarified for his dumb hunk of a brother who exactly he was talking about. As if he would ever be talking about anyone else.

"Hell, brother, I don't know," Tommy exclaimed, perturbed by his brother's attitude, eyes narrowing at the sickness that clouded the man in front of him. "Wherever she is, she ain't gone far. She'll be safe, Joel," he tried to appease but Joel offered nothing in reply except a grumbled disapproval, complaining that his brother just didn't understand, and was off the porch and heading towards the centre of town before Tommy could get another word in.

Joel was steaming. Joel was so desperately, so disgustingly mad at you that he could hardly see any other colour except red. Just a complex, jumbled mess of feelings that he couldn't even begin to decipher as he stomped in the snow and thought of what he would do when he found you—if he would find you at all. God, you were probably dead. Probably buried in a ditch courtesy of whoever in Jackson he did not trust which had, for the past five years, remained pretty much no one. People had tried, with a smile or a home-baked good but it never ameliorated the lingering distrust that Joel had for everyone except those he was closest to. God, he was convinced half the men in Jackson were out to take you away from him and you weren't safe unless you were in the house, in his bed, and waiting for him to rock you to sleep.

If you had ventured any further than the front porch…if you were anywhere near anyone. 

He felt fucking insane: raging around town with his boots laced loose and his shirt flying untucked, looking for the object of his affection—the girl he would fall to his feet for. He had devoted so much time to making you perfect. This obedient little thing who did everything he asked and made him feel an amalgamation of jolting, sickening guilt and simultaneous euphoric bliss at the prospect of what could be. He was going to marry you one day. Damn, he was going to give you a kid while he was at it. Just to keep you close.

Joel knew, he knew completely how awful his tendencies were—how they would break you until you were afraid of him. In times like these, he thought of Tommy and how terrified he had been of what Joel would do to you. Nighttime conversations between two tipsy brothers, the drink making the younger sibling sentimental and the older too defensive to talk straight with. Joel had promised him under the low glow of a dying oil lamp, that he would do nothing to you. That, yes, you were young, but he would not treat you any differently because of it.

Both Tommy and Joel had known it was a bunch of bullshit. He'd lost too many people, and seen too many things that he could hardly comprehend. It started with blood-stained blonde and then blood all over the surgery floor when he couldn't get her out of that damn hospital on time. When Joel had come riding back to Jackson with her limp body—gunshot from where a stupid fucking firefly had accidentally hit—and a strong feeling that he had failed. Again. 

By God, he would not do it again.

So, marching into the Tipsy Bison with a furious look in his eyes, he could hardly care about the stares; what he knew everyone was thinking when he zeroed in on you talking to Gus—a kind old man who ran the library a street down from the bar and posed no real threat—with bright eyes and a wide smile.

A smile that teetered off the edge when the wind picked up against your face and fell away again—door slamming closed to see him huffing in the lamplight. There was a split second where they all looked, head snapping in the direction of your damnation and then, turned away—afraid of what Joel would do if they looked too close. They parted like the red sea when he advanced, guided by his small "'Scuse me," and his twitching hands as he reached for you.

Your name was harsh on his lips, Gus' words trailing as he looked at the man practically steaming with anger.

You looked terrified in the most delightful way. There was still a hint of defiance lingering in your stare—a brattiness in the pout as he reached for your forearm.

"C'mon we're goin' home," he announced, already dragging you away from the confused young man you had been accompanying.

"But I'm talking to Gus."

The disobedience was instant and he couldn't decide whether your attitude was on purpose, whether you just wanted to be a brat deliberately, or if there was something deeper. Some other issue you'd discovered in the middle of the night when you should've been sleeping. Joel remembered brief images of you slipping from his hold to go to the bathroom but he had been too exhausted to decide whether it had been a dream or not. Maybe it was then. Maybe it had been the hours of the sun's rest when you decided you didn't want him anymore.

"I said, we're goin' home, you've had your fun." His voice was low—warning. He didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want anyone to be looking at you at all, especially when you were in a mood that he couldn't fix by putting you over his knee. If he wanted to show you off at all, he'd want to show how much of a good girl you could be. How well mannered, how sweet and considerate. Not this unrecognisable personality you'd acquired whilst he'd been gone.

"I wanna stay." You were whining. He fucking hated it when you whined.

"We're goin'."

"I'm not—"

Your name came soft from Gus' lips then, a sweet hand on the small of your back that had Joel's fist clenching. "It's okay, Darlin'. You don't have to stay for me, I'll be just fine by myself."

The way you looked at him then, the softness in your eyes as you mouthed a small sorry—throat too dry to produce a sound, was infuriating. If he wasn't angry before, he sure as hell was now, his grip on your arm tightening as he began pulling you out of the bar.

"Joel," you called with a whimper as he guided you through the crowd. "Joel, it hurts." Your fingers were pulling at his, trying as hard as you could to pry him off you, but he refused to let go. He'd keep you tied to the bed if it meant you wouldn't pull a stunt like this again.

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, to Joel and those around you who didn't care enough to involve themselves in your proclivities and the cold was hitting your warm cheeks before you could apologise for bumping into John standing by the door.

"Joel," you said, firmer this time and it seemed to bring his attention back to you—away from the wild rage clouding his head.

He was too angry to speak but his eyes portrayed every word. They pierced you, right through the heart and froze your bones as you stood with the snow falling and the sun setting.

"We're goin' home," was all he managed to spit out and he had no idea what possessed you, where you found the goddamn nerve, but your mouth was opening before he could give you another warning glance—a promise that it wasn't going to end well if you kept up the bullshit.

"It's not my home." There was venom in your voice, a genuine, deep distaste that left him feeling shot in the heart. "I'm not going back there."

"Who do you think you're talkin' to?" He scolded, and he mirrored your scowl with a fire—a heat that blazed and coiled in his stomach. "Huh?" he questioned your lack of answer, disappointment mingled with fury in his eyes.

The snow dampened the silence as you heaved, chest rising and falling in succession with the quick, fateful breaths that passed your lips and danced in the air before falling softly to your feet. There was no reply amalgamated with that dance and he shook his head with a clenched jaw.

"We are goin' home, and we are gonna talk about…" he gestured between the two of you, looking frantically for the words to describe his predicament. "...whatever this is. I ain't dealin' with this out in the snow when all of them are in there-"

"They don't even know me!" you suddenly exclaimed, lip quivering no matter how many times you bit the shake away. "I feel like all of Jackson has tripled the months that I've been with you, I'm sorry that I wanted to familiarise myself." There was a crack in your voice at the end of your sentence, biting back a sob as all the emotions came falling on your head all out at once, dropping bricks from the sky and smothering you under the debris.

Joel had no sympathy. He refused to be deterred by your tears that melted the snow as they touched the ground, nor the delicate pout on your lips that was pushing him to a point of madness unknown.

"You complain' now, huh?" he asked exasperatedly, chin held high, jaw taut with the exertion of his anger. "What more do you want from me? You sayin' I don't spoil you enough? That I don't go out there every week just to keep you and your precious little prissiness safe?"

The door swung open then, hinges creaking as Walt—eyes glazed from the alcohol—looked between the two of you once, afraid of Joel's stare that pierced holes through his head, and scurried away—casting one sympathetic glance to your glistening tears. A pause. The man had interrupted the flow of the argument, emotions now contemplated and swallowed away.

Before Joel knew it, you were running—fast little feet on the move, hurtling through the thoroughfare.

He was chasing you before he could think twice. In truth, he could not think of anything except your pretty little skirt swishing in the wind as you sprinted past Tommy's house and turned right. The opposite way to home.

Joel called your name in the wind, old bones desperate for some relief as his long strides turned into a light jog, then a full sprint as your legs whipped around the corner and into a little alleyway. He knew you had no idea where you were going. He knew that you had barely been in Jackson three months before he'd picked you up and trapped you. Made you play house with his little fantasies that disgusted him in the depths of twilight when he gripped his rifle as tight as possible.

Joel also knew that in a few seconds, you would be faced with a dead end, and as he rounded the corner and cast his eyes on your shuddering frame, the apologies came swiftly from your lips.

"Daddy, I'm sorry."

God, it was so sweet. It itched every scratch, warmed his stomach like a kiss of sunlight and eased the ache in his jaw from his perpetual clenching.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't…" you paused to sniffle, blubbering little thing that you were and he could hardly keep up the bad guy act as he took careful steps through the alley's sludge and planted himself a few feet away from you. "I don't like it when you're mean, I just- just-"

He held his hand up to shush you, shaking his head.

"I don't wanna hear excuses." He truthfully didn't want to hear you blubbering your way through reasons why. He didn't want to hear you blaming it on anyone else except yourself. He did want an answer as to why you'd acted out so deliberately but what he did not want was lies. He knew how to calm you down, he just needed to get you so afraid of him that you'd let him leash you and drag you back home—no matter who saw the depravity.

"I know," you whimpered. "I know daddy, I'm sorry-"

"Stop." He said a measured tone that mirrored the imperceptible look on his face. "I don't need to hear you apologise, not when you don't mean it."

"I do mean it!" you protested. "Please!"

You were silenced by his stare, the creases by his eyes as he squinted and jerked his head behind him—looking briefly, then turning his attention back to you. His next words were simple, almost soft as they fell from his lips, but laced with poison invisible through your silver tears.

"You ain't sorry until I make you sorry." There was a growl in his throat, a twitch of his fingers and then the fire in his eyes dampened to a simmer of coal as he spoke again. "Baby, you know how this goes. You know I can't let something like this go just because you say a few words you don't mean yet."

You had nothing to say in reply then, nothing to indicate you were sorry at all with the way your breaths came heavy and your eyes spilt over with salt that stung the open wounds on your chest. There was a tension, meandering between the two of you, pacing up and down the length of your bodies and colliding in the middle of your union—a heat searing its skin until it crumpled and fell in a heap as you sank to your knees.

He watched you go: down and down and down. Your pretty eyes gazed up at him in wonder, conveying so much with a single simper as you shuffled your way towards him and hesitantly placed your hands on his thighs.

All he did was watch.

He said nothing, reacted to nothing, knowing that all you wanted as you wrapped your arms around his right leg and nuzzled, was his affection.

"I'll be good, Daddy," you whispered into his leg. "I promise."

His head fell back at your words, eyes squeezing shut as he tried not to succumb to your angelic nature—all soft and willing and obedient. He took pride in knowing that he had made you that way; that he was the reason you were willing to ruin your pretty little tights and hurt your delicate knees.

Hands fell to your head in surrender, brushing through your hair as he stared down at you, enamoured by the way you submitted to him.

"I know you will, honey," he reassured. "I know. You're my good girl, yeah? My perfect angel. Sometimes you just make mistakes, don't ya?"

You nodded into his thigh, muffled words he couldn't decipher and he pulled you back by the hair so he could hear you properly.

"Speak up."

Your reply was immediate.

"Yeah, just a mistake, daddy."

He smiled a little at that, a scoff pulled from his throat as he let your hair go and held out his hand. Your fingers were so cold when you placed them in his palm, your whole body shivering as he pulled you up from your position and dragged you tight to his chest.

"Now," he sighed. "We're gonna go home, ain't we? And I'm gonna be honest, babydoll, you ain't gonna like what I do when we get home but it needs to happen, yeah?"

"But-"

"Sh sh sh." He held your hands to his chest, not one to deny you the tiniest bit of comfort when he was being perhaps a little too harsh on you. Either way, you had worried him sick and he wasn't about to let his relief at your subservience show just yet. He needed to make sure that you were entirely with him, that this was just a one-off and that you wouldn't be running away again next month when you got scared. "It needs to happen. Don't it?"

Your eyes were hesitant, wide, angel-eyes—wings clipped as he held you as close as he could get you without displaying too much desire. Then, a nod.

"Yes, daddy."

Relief washed over him, bathed him in holy water and guided the spirit from heaven to its space above his head. He was revered by your spirit, enamoured by your waiting hands as he let them fall to your sides, eyes cold and not displaying his true feelings at your exhibition of devotion, and turned on his heel to walk back to the house.

"C'mon then," he called after you like you were a dog, snapping his fingers as his long strides and heavy footfalls made a guiding path in the snow.

At your confusion, the furrow of your brows as you looked longingly at his hands, he barked a short "Hey! Keep up," and fought every urge to keep you as close as possible on the roads. Every single time he took you past the threshold of the front porch—which wasn't an awful lot in truth—he would grasp your hand in his, guide you around every corner and past every wandering eye. He would never let go.

Joel could tell the separation had broken something inside you, snapping the strings of your heart and breaking open your chest as you trudged on behind him—slowly shuffling through the snow that seeped into your shoes.

There was little encouragement as the sunset bled across the sky, no words of praise passing his lips as you walked behind him like a sad little puppy, head down and playing with your fingers. You were anxious, he could tell. Anxious and curious and desperate all at once.

You always did look pretty with a pout.

Once he'd rounded the corner to the house, he paused at the steps, looking back at you with an expression indiscernible. No smiles or scowls, just a set stare that kept you on your knees. You paused with him and he couldn't help the thrum of approval that coursed through him at your fear. He shouldn't like it. He knew full well that he shouldn't, but being scared was better than being comfortable. He had learned, too many times, that getting comfortable amounted to pain. You needed to be different. The possessiveness was just a response to a need to protect; every possibility whispered to him through the wind.

It was all part of his need to defend and protect.

"C'mon, honey, up the steps," he encouraged, watching you waiting for his next instruction—his approval.

Obediently, you stepped past him, Joel briefly glancing at the wet dirt at your knees, the notion that it symbolised and huffed a breath of harsh, winter air as he grabbed your wrist before you could reach the incline. He leant in close, lips ghosting the side of your face, a tightness in his chest at the way you stared straight ahead: unmoving.

"I'm gon' give you a headstart," he muttered. "'Cause your old man needs a drink on account of all the runnin' around you been makin' me do."

"I'm-"

"Don't start." He gripped your wrist tighter, shaking his head softly as your eyes met his. "When I get upstairs, you better be waitin' for me how I like you, yeah?"

You narrowed your eyes slightly, a hint of defiance in your eyes that he shut down with a simple tilt of his head—just a flavour of his disapproval of your attitude. He didn't mind you being a brat, not when it was innocent fun in the comfort of your home, spurred on only by his teasing promise of a little harsh treatment that night. But this…he couldn't deal with the disobedience when it ran this deep.

"Yeah, okay, Daddy," you murmured, and you escaped his grasp before he could reprimand the attitude—up the steps as quick as your feet could carry you, and through the front door.

Joel watched you through the frame for a small second, seeing you disappear up to the second floor and he tried not to let himself get too carried away with the image of you stripping your clothes off and settling on your knees beside the armchair that nestled in the corner of his room. Patiently waiting.

He took his time getting inside, treating the occasion as normal as he could: shoes kicked off near the door, coat hung up next to yours, venturing into the living room to stoke the fire and try and revive the flame you had killed, and turn into the dining room to pick a whiskey from the alcohol collection he'd been adding to since he found a bottle of unopened, aged red wine near the old farmhouse near Flat Creek.

Scanning the bottles, his eyes landed on the Whiskey you'd got him for his birthday, the days when you were still allowed on patrol and had been searching for something special for him to commemorate the soft beginnings of your blossoming relationship. You'd told him of the glint under the dried leaves, the rotting wood sign that marked a lost general store, and the brown liquid sloshing near the brim when you'd picked it up.

Joel hadn't the heart to tell you on September twenty-sixth why he had not accepted the gift with gratitude, why he had angrily asked you how you'd found out that it was his birthday and why he'd gone storming off to Tommy's with rage in his eyes when you'd said his little brother had mentioned it in passing.

He'd been drunk from that birthday present when he told you about Sarah and Ellie, and he'd never mentioned them again after the fact. You had not pried, and he had not touched the whiskey since. But, today, it seemed commemorative to pour himself a measure, find some courage in his cowardice and he wondered if the curse of the drink would prevail today when he asked you why you were pulling away.

Maybe, it would be he, who pulled away instead. He was hardly one to care as he took a sip and glanced to the stairway, another sip and a gulp as he began advancing.

It was cold when he got to the landing. The heat had not travelled far yet and any heat from the fire he'd started this morning had dissipated. You'd probably be shivering. Poor thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the framed picture of the two of you, the blurry Polaroid you'd forced him to take in late May when you were more friendly with him in the month you'd known him than anyone else in Jackson.

He remembered your soft giggle as you told him to smile, the scent of your hair when you leaned in close and pushed the camera in his face. You'd been disappointed with how it turned out but had given it to him all the same—your initials scratched in marker on the white border and little heart that seemed as hesitant as you always were.

With another sip, he pushed the picture face-down, obscuring your faces from view and turning his back on the memory of your independence with a sigh.

You were cold. You must be and he couldn't wait a minute longer with the image of you shivering. He was cruel but he was not that cruel. All he wanted now was the truth, and if you were to give it to him if you were to submit yourself to him fully, he would pack up everything in the house and move you two far away.

Joel slinked into the bedroom with soft pads against the floor, your shaking body jumping when you heard the creak that gave away his silent position.

God, you were perfect, facing the chair on your knees, frame tensing as he stepped towards you and sat down; legs spread wide. You knew what it meant, knew the implication and you shuffled in between his strong thighs—hands scratching at his jeans to steady yourself.

Silently, he held out his drink to you, gesturing with a soft nod for you to take it.

"Just a little sip," he murmured, desperate to sing some praise, some words of comfort to you, but found that his throat was dry and he could barely speak the words he had just uttered. He coughed before he spoke again. "You're gonna need it."

You looked skeptically. He never let you drink. He'd said that it wasn't good for you and you hadn't known how serious he was about it until two months into the relationship when he'd seen you curled up on his couch with his wine. He'd taught you the best lesson he knew that day and you had not touched the stuff since. You knew you'd never get away with it and he prided himself on the fact that you would never even try.

"Daddy, I—"

"Just take a sip." You flinched at the irritation in his tone and grasped the glass with two hands to hopefully appease him. Just a simple sip, barely anything except a coat of liquid on your lips and you licked it away with a grimace, handing it back to him with wide, hopeful eyes.

He did not offer you what he knew you were asking for, those words of affirmation that always made you light up in the most delightful way. Instead, his voice was flat as he told you to put his drink on the side and he could tell by the quiver of your lip that you didn't like his behaviour one bit.

"Look at me," he instructed and you did as he asked in a heartbeat. His lips twitched as he almost reflexively told you how good you were, how proud he was as you, but he swallowed it down with his simmering anger—his desire for the truth. However, he did allow you a modicum of comfort as his hand came to the side of your face, cupping your cheek with warmth and rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. You nuzzled into him like a goddamn cat, desperate for his touch. "I need to know the truth," he said measuredly. "I need you to tell what's got that head of yours thinkin' so hard."

You looked away, ashamedly, bottom lip jutting out in a pout and back hunching as you tried to curl in on yourself. His grip tightened at that, thumb and forefinger travelling to your chin to force your eyes to his.

"Baby, I'm givin' you a chance here—"

"Okay!" you exclaimed suddenly, chest heaving like you were about to start hyperventilating—chin wobbling in his hand as you bit back the tears. "You just gotta promise me you won't leave me. All of this, I- I promise I didn't mean it."

Joel shook his head, grip loosening and thumb stroking along your bottom lip in comfort.

"I just wanna know, honey. Whatever it is."

You contemplated for a moment with your eyes on his, blinking away the glisten before averting your gaze to his lap. He allowed it whilst you thought, knowing that his gentle harshness was the oxymoron that ruled your life.

"Yesterday," you began, and he was surprised at the thickness in your voice. There was no whine, no hesitancy: you sounded like you used to. He reached for his drink to expel the fear. "You were gone. You were working."

The curl of your fingers in his jeans was the only sign of the girl he had turned you into. Even on your knees, naked, there was the shadow of who you were before, a looming figure behind you that grew closer the more you spoke.

"I was doing my chores, just…minding my own business like you always tell me to and you'd barely been gone an hour before someone knocked at the door and I know I'm not supposed to answer the door to anyone, I know." You were rambling. You grounded yourself again by taking a breath, glancing up at him and wondering if he was going to say something, but found that his mouth was sealed—his jaw solid and tense. There was a sigh before you spoke the words that had his simmering rage burning in blue flames to the surface.

"But it was only Maria, and I didn't think you'd mind…"

Your voice trailed off, his ears ringing as it all settled into place and it was undeniable that in that moment, he was taken by clarity—swept from the ground by a shuddering realisation. He was not angry with Maria. He was not angry with you. That fog had cleared, had disappeared right before his eyes and he was already formulating future conversations in his head. Plans that had been so hazy before when he rode past the lone structure that housed images that, at the time, seemed profoundly unreachable.

They seemed close now and he was shushing you with a hand in your hair before you could begin relaying what his sister-in-law had said. He already knew and he was almost grateful. Joel knew now that things would be good when he got you out of here.

"You don't gotta say nothin' else, baby," he said, softer than he had said anything today.

Your voice trailed off, staring at him with confusion—questioning with a furrow of your brow.

"You're not mad at me?" you asked. "You're not mad at Maria?"

Truthfully, Joel found it endearing how willing you were to defend his sister-in-law, how desperate you were to be his good girl again. The act of defiance…you could never keep it up for long. He'd moulded you so perfectly that you could hardly live without his praise and affection. Sometimes, it scared him. If he were to die next week, if he were to die tomorrow, what would you do with yourself? He'd spent hours pondering the likely situation, the number of close calls he'd been having out on patrol nowadays too frequent for him to believe he'd be living long enough to see you mature out of him. Right through his skin like a parasite, ripping through the flesh and leaving him bleeding with a broken knee.

He'd tried writing letters, feeling stupid when he put pen to paper and flinging them back into his drawer with the lock on it and promising that he'd try again tomorrow—just so you had a piece of him when he eventually left you. He'd try again tonight when he got you to sleep, although he knew that it would amount to nothing.

All he could give you was what he had right now and his grip on your face grew soft as he realised he could waste no time being mean to you. Not when you liked the pain so much.

"I'm not mad at you," he sighed, shaking his head and leaning back in the chair. "It's okay, baby." The rest of what he said became absent-minded mutters, not really meant for you to hear but you were on your knees and you looked so pretty. Just a little angel in his when he brought your head down to his thigh, feeling you nuzzle into the denim. "I'm gonna take you away from this soon. Gonna give you everything you want. Just you and me."

You were gazing up at him with wide, glazed eyes, remnants of bitten-back tears washing down the side of your face, traversing to your nose where they dropped off onto his thigh—nestling into the fibres of the fabric and drowning against his skin.

"C'mon," he murmured then because he could not bear to see the watercolour, the wetness that stung his soul as much as it stung your pretty eyes. The colour of the iris burned into the backs of his eyelids, the wideness of the pupils when you looked at him expanding in his dreams until all he saw was black and the call of your sweet voice lulling him deeper into his derangement. "Up you come, honey," he encouraged as you clambered into his arms and bracketed his thighs—arms circling his neck as he nestled you against him.

It was the clam before the storm—the sun before the snow.

Joel comforted you for as long as he would allow his brain to feel the clarity; the blissfulness of what the next stage for the two of you was going to be. He would talk to Maria tomorrow, tell her that you were on board and put the plans into place with a soft smirk as he stared at the black hole of delusion that had been sucking him in ever since there was blood in the blonde and auburn.

You were heavy against him, his hands gently stroking along your spine, beginning to bounce his knee a little just to keep you awake, and letting the scent of roses and thyme envelope the space. You were his baby. All his and he held you a little tighter when his hips caught the heat of you and your breath blew sharp from your throat.

It was slow, the way you started to rock and cry into his neck. He could feel the wetness, the deepness of your essence bleeding into him when you settled yourself over his thigh and pressed yourself to him so tight he could hardly breathe with the perfume of you suffocating him.

"That's it," he choked out when you sobbed. Heat against heat, friction burning between your thighs as you gripped his hair and tried regulating your breathing.

You did not call his name as you usually did, you just cried and rocked against him, spurred by his guiding hands and delicate kisses. Joel could barely stand the silence, and could hardly take the muffled crying as you rubbed yourself against his leg. Joel didn't like the way it was transpiring—not with the crystal ball in your court and his fate in your hands.

The hand in your hair tightened, dragging you from his neck and forcing your face to his. He licked away your tears with fervour, roughly pulling you to him, letting him drink from the salt of you and then forcing you back so your eyes bore into his.

"Don't make me hurt you, angel," he said through a scowl, and it sounded so dark coming from his lips that all he could see was the red of your eyes and the red of her blood. There was black on his soul, filth and rotting flesh, infested with maggots that buried themselves right to his core. Sometimes, he was convinced that your soul was made from daisies and angel feathers. Amalgamated, he sullied the freshness. Separated, there remained a hole ripped from the middle of both entities—only healed when he was here with you. Keeping you in place. "You want me to hurt you?"

When you nodded he almost greeted death like a friend. Take the hand of that phantom cloaked in black and drag him from his bloodied existence. But you were muttering, still rocking and muttering and he couldn't leave you as you were. So broken and desperate.

"Want you to hurt me, Daddy." The tears were streaming and they called to his tongue, dehydrated from the salt but greedy for the taste. His greed overcame his rationality in the end. After rationale was no longer needed and he could be safely trapped inside the gates—let out only when the full moon rose and the sun died.

He lapped up the wetness on your cheeks, pressing kisses to the skin, digging himself into you as he felt you seep into his tongue. The sweetness warmed his belly and made him drunk with the feeling—drunk and violent.

"That right?" he questioned with a barely-constrained growl. "Want daddy to hurt you?"

You nodded your head enthusiastically, sob wracking through your body as you clung to him, hips still rolling and rocking; wanting to take everything from him. He found it fascinating that you didn't know you already had. That you'd taken him, mind and soul, dipped them in formaldehyde and displayed them on your shelf—smiling at the collection of body parts until all that remained was his head, spurting blood from the harsh hacking of your heart.

"Goddman, baby." The name was muffled into your shoulder, biting down on your skin to restrain himself. Then, you called, begging him with pretty little whimpers not to be gentle with you. Words spill from your tongue like vomit, spraying him head to toe with your entrails and reminding him of his position. Your protector. Your daddy. Yours.

He would do whatever you wanted him to. He would move mountains, drain the sea and place the moon in your willing hands if it made you happy. He had realised long ago just how willing he was, how pathetic and liberated it made him feel to know that he would never let you go. Contradictory, in its base: he would do anything for you except let you go.

"You sure?" he murmured as he placed kisses along your neck, hands wrapped around your waist and guiding you back and forth over his thigh. "Don't want you runnin' off on me again when I get a little too mean."

"No," you choked out desperately, groaning softly as a sharp tick ran through you. "Never, Daddy."

Joel just kissed you through it all, unable to think of some clever remark or bite back with a teasing question. He just let you rock and wind your fingers into his hair, gripping so tight you were liable to break away with chunks of his skull. He would be nice for this moment, the short, lingering moment where he would let you go brainless with want, pretend that he was going to give you what you so desperately craved, and then strip it from you like Jesus refusing bread for the five thousand.

You were stuttering, hips losing their momentum, cute little whimpers falling from your lips in quick succession, toes curling—all indications. It would've done you better to restrain your noises, to keep rubbing your cute pussy over his leg in careful consideration. Maybe then you could've slipped through the cracks—deceived him into letting you cum.

However, you had not, and he was gripping your hips and ceasing the friction—speaking before you could start whining.

"If I hear one sound outta you, I'll tie you to that bed and leave you there." It was an idle threat considering how much he knew you'd enjoy such an activity. Unfortunately, you had never been bratty enough to warrant such a punishment and now, the sun was setting, the sky was getting dark and, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't have the patience to embark on something so arduous. It did not mean, however, that he wasn't going to hurt you, that he wasn't going to bruise that cute little ass of yours and brand your cheek with his handprint. You'd never want to leave the house again if you were all marked like that—the humiliation was just too much for your sweet soul.

But, you were pouting at his scolding, tingling from the rejected orgasm and he couldn't find it in him to be sympathetic.

He was dragging you to the bed before you could so much as beg him for reprieve. He'd pushed you off his lap with disdain, towering above you as he grabbed your upper arm and led you to the bed. The sheets were fresh, he realised, and it helped your cause just a little: the fact that even though you'd been bad, you'd still found it in you to keep up with your chores.

"Sit," he commanded sharply and you crawled onto the bed with a whimper, pressing your thighs together and curling your fists to stop yourself from touching any inch of you.

Obediently, you nestled on your knees in the middle of the bed, eyes wide and glistening, fingers fumbling as you tried to cease your anxiousness. You looked so breakable it made him sick. For some reason, today of all days he couldn't stop thinking about who you used to be: fierce, completely independent. God, he remembered the time when he tried to adjust your stance when you were sniping some stray runners and you'd scowled at him and told him with vigour that you could do it yourself. If you dared do something like that now…hell, if you even tried picking up a goddamn gun, you knew he'd have your neck.

He understood, completely, what he had done to you. How he had broken every little bone in your body until you were just a mass of flesh.

"Arms out, honey," he muttered suddenly, right hand pulling at his belt buckle and slipping the leather from its loops. He was desperate to get his jeans off, desperate to tie you up and keep you down as you held out your hands, palms up and shuddered as he folded his belt in half and watched it come hurtling down against your skin.

Almost immediately, a harsh red line blossomed along your hands, a tear slipping down your cheek as he shushed your whimpers and began wrapping the leather around your wrists. He tugged tight, pulling on the item to make sure it was secure and letting your hands fall to your lap.

He smiled when you looked up at him with bleary eyes, stepping back to go and sit back down on his chair.

Your tears filled with more tears at the disconnect, and he palmed his bulge with a soft grunt when you began whining.

"Daddy, what—"

"What did I say?" he interrupted harshly. "Huh?"

Your voice was quiet and cracked like a dropped porcelain doll when you answered.

"No more whining."

He sighed in gratitude at your response, settling down and letting his old bones relax after an awfully long day of worrying about your stupid fucking head.

"That's right," he muttered, gazing at you with soft eyes that glinted with licentiousness. He wanted to touch you. You knew it, God knew it, but he would not allow himself. Not for now. "I want you to touch yourself, baby?"

Your eyebrows shot up, back straightening and he hushed you when you began asking how.

"You'll figure it out, you're a big girl, ain't you? Now, I want you to touch yourself, and if you dare cum, I'll throw you outside in the snow just as you are."

You pouted and he twitched. It disappeared in an instant when you realised fully how willing he was to smack the expression off your face. With hesitant, bound hands, you began searching between your legs, restricted by the loss of movement in your wrists and fingers fumbling as you tried to gain all the friction you could.

Your eyes bore into his, watching him watch you, stuttering softly when you managed to brush against your clit and fall back onto your elbows—spreading your legs to reach the sweet space between your thighs.

"There you go," he murmured, reaching for his whiskey. "You're so pretty when you listen."

You glared frustratedly, Joel knowing full well that you could barely get any kind of momentum with your hands bound in such a way.

"Don't look at me like that, you got all your fingers don't ya?" He shook his head as he took a sip of whiskey, the sweetness of honey dancing along his tongue as he honed in on your glistening pussy—unashamedly adjusting himself in his pants when you helplessly tried to find an angel that could give you the most pleasure.

After a few minutes of fumbling, a sob broke through your chest. Whining. 

"I can't do it, Daddy!" you exclaimed. "It doesn't feel good, you're just being mean."

"Would you rather not get touched at all?" he asked with a bite, gnawing into your psyche, breaking you down until you could hardly think.

"No," you drawled out. "Just want to cum, daddy."

"Then keep goddam goin', little girl. One more word outta you and I'm leavin' and sleepin' on the couch." The look you gave him then was the cutest thing ever, laced with a need so deep. A need not just for the sex, but for the love—for the kiss of his skin against yours when you fell asleep with soft snores. For the vitality that permeated the connection, you shared when he held you close and told you of times long past, aired his grievances and then apologized when he realised a little girl like you shouldn't be burdened by his impediments.

You craved him and he could hardly contain his pride at the notion.

He mumbled a short, "That's what I thought," when you started trying to touch yourself again, hiding his smirk behind his glass and letting the warmth of the alcohol settle in his stomach.

Watching you struggle, watching you so desperate had always been his favourite thing—something that kept him sane during the dark winter nights when even the moon seemed to lose its light. The image of you, bound and wet glistened in the slight lamplight that expelled from the cracks in the walls.

And here you were. His naughty little girl with your wrists tied together and your tears streaming as you tried to get yourself off.

Disgruntled moans fell from your lips, eyes wide as you stared at him with meaning slathering your gaze. He gauged your silent words and he downed the rest of his drink before his instructions came.

"Come over here," he commanded, legs widening as he settled, no intentions of coddling you, rubbing away the sores on your wrists and telling you that you were his good girl again. You had not atoned yet, you had not fully experienced the judgement day that befell as soon as the thunderclouds had rolled in and clapped with an almighty roar above your head. He wanted to be revered, wanted you to look at him how you used to—like he was God himself.

You pathetically scrambled off the bed, your body trembling as your sweat began to dry in the cold chill of the winter air. You could shiver all you want. It was your fault it was cold in the first place.

When he witnessed you standing on two feet, ready to take a step, he shook his head.

"Hands and knees, honey, come on you gotta crawl."

"But, daddy, my hands—"

"I don't give a damn if you gotta army crawl, just get your ass over here."

He revelled in the way your lip quivered, the way you slowly genuflected at the altar of his cruel kindness and shuffled slowly to the crown of thorns he held between two calloused hands. When you nestled between him, he dug the thorns into the skin of your forehead and immortalised you with a bloody cross on your chest, giving so freely when he brushed his fingers through your hair to soothe the wounds.

You began apologising again, nuzzling into the feel of his hands against you, knees scraping against the floor as you pressed your face down against his thigh.

"Wanna make you feel good, Daddy," you whimpered. "Please, I'm sorry. Wanna let you hurt me."

Joel scoffed, smiling down at you as you leaned against him.

"You think you deserve Daddy's cock, huh?" he muttered. "Sometimes, I think the best way to make you listen is to make you go without. It ain't exactly a punishment when you like it so much, is it?"

You whined then, shaking your head and pressing your face fully against his crotch, no shame in the way you pawed at him, not heat to your cheeks when he went to grasp the sides of your face and pull your gaze to his.

"How do we ask?" he questioned with a tilt of his eyebrow, playing with the pout on your lips.

Your eyes went down at his tone, bottom lip jutting out even further as he brushed his thumb over it and words mumbled as you uttered the third rule on the ever-growing list stuck to the fridge.

"Can't hear you," he said, only catching the odd few words that you managed to enunciate properly.

"Ask like a polite young lady or I don't get what I want."

He sighed happily, nodding his head and tilting your head from side to side, admiring you from every angle before letting you go and muttering, "That's right." You basked in the minute praise, the implications of his words and his actions as he spread his legs a little wider with a silent command, and flicked his eyes to his crotch. "Ain't got all night," he uttered. "Already took the belt off for ya. Is a button too hard for ya?"

You shook your head vehemently, fingers clasped around the metal fly and tugged downward once you'd pushed the denim through the button. Reaching in with ardour, he settled into his chair, ready to watch you fumble with the size of him, your warm mouth encasing him whilst he gave no assistance or encouragement. The casualness of the licentiousness was always his favourite. Those moments on the couch when you were on his lap and he'd rub at your clit in soft circles—not intending to make you cum. If anything, it always made you sleepy, your body going heavy and slack against his as your eyes flickered.

It was the same now, with his face straight, reaching for the book that he'd left on the side table and opening up on the last page. In truth, he wasn't focused on the words. All he could think about was trying not to elicit a groan when your hand wrapped around him, a little too tight as if you were trying to get one back at him, and pressed a tentative kiss to the tip.

The feat became even more of a difficulty when you thanked him, all sweet and soft before taking him whole in your mouth—right down to the base, breathing heavily through your nose, eyes wet with tears that dripped into his grey pubes, and suppressing the inevitable gag that had you choking and spluttering as you surfaced for air.

"C'mon," he said suddenly, flicking the page like he'd even absorbed any of the information on the last one, and grabbed your hair to push you back down on his cock. "You don't stop unless you can't breathe, you understand me?" he asked authoritatively. Then, a little softer with his tone, just that touch lighter with a downturn of his eyes to reiterate something you already knew. "If you wanna stop altogether, you know what you gotta say don't you?"

You nodded with his cock down your throat, humming around him and basking in the small victory of a choked groan, then the desperation for composure when he shook his head and trained his eyes on the top of the page.

Diligently, you began to work, up and down, tongue running along the underside, catching the veins you had mapped—now muscle memory that lingered in the backrooms of your mind. Your dominant hand was forever caressing his balls, a comfortable weight in your hand—almost calming—as you took the entirety of him. The soft tip reached the back of your throat with every movement, reflexes smothered as you tried as best you could to not focus on the feeling of your jaw locking.

The tears were damp on his skin, the suction around his cock a malicious force that threatened to reveal his position and your pretty little eyes looking up at him with desperation for his attention. He could feel your gaze in his periphery and from the observant nature he knew still lay somewhere within you, you'd probably gauged that the book was nothing more than a disguise considering he had not turned the page in the past ten minutes. You knew the speed at which he read considering he read to you almost every night and with an extreme lack of restraint, his eyes honed in on you over the top of the cover.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asked with a strain, succumbing completely when his eyes flickered shut—giving himself a second to breathe. A moment of composure and his eyes were back on you. Yours had not left him. "Hm? What're you crying for, babygirl?"

His thumbs came to wipe at the corners of your eyes, holding underneath your chin to pull you off him gently. The string of spit that attached you to him had his position completely displaced—the stalemate broken as he raised the white flag in surrender and let the book fall gently against his lap. A forgotten entity as you leaned in with haste to lick the precum off his leaking tip. Just cause you liked the taste.

He still didn't know if you were lying about that or if you really were a little goddamn cumslut but he would take the wins as considerately as he took the losses.

Your eyes mystified him, the windows to your soul glistening like the heavenly gates of eudaimonia and you hypnotised him into acquiescing. Not forgiving. No, you were in no position to be forgiven just yet, not before he pressed your body into the bed and fucked his cum into you. The harshness just seemed to fall away.

"Goddamn, I can't stay mad at you," he said with exasperation, both hands cupping your cheeks and feeling his back crack as he leant down to kiss you.

Your tears wet his thumbs as his tongue slipped into your mouth, all spit and desire as you sobbed against his mouth. He pulled away to caress your hair, watching you blubber with carefully concealed guilt that he would bury down into the pits of the bruise on his chest by the day's end.

"I hate it when you're mad at me," you cried and it was so sincere he could hardly stand it.

"I know, baby, I know," he murmured. "But I don't like it when you're not good. And I gotta do what I gotta do. I don't want you runnin' off again, honey."

"I won't," you said, shaking your head. "I promise I won't."

In truth, Joel knew you wouldn't. Now, he knew that this temporary setback was nothing more than just that. You'd just got a little tetchy. It was understandable considering how much freedom he had taken from you. Your life had slowly transformed into a small slice of what it once was, the patrols dwindling to stable duty, then to greenhouse duty, and then helping keep the grocery store shelves stocked every other day, and then right down to Joel's house where nothing could get to you except the beast of a man who passed the threshold every day.

There was a short silence between your words and his next, licking his lips in contemplation before signalling over to the bed with his head.

"Go lay down."

Almost immediately, you did as he asked, bound hands placed on the ground, ready to crawl then stopping when you heard his no.

You looked in confusion, wondering what you had done wrong now. All he said was, "It's okay, you don't have to crawl just-" he sighed, looking at your hands and deciding he liked the scratches on his back far too much to restrict your movement for much longer. "Come here," he asked, and you obediently settled back into your previous position. He carefully removed the belt bind, rubbing at the marks on your wrist when the leather fell to the floor with a thud.

Then, the moment of softness was gone and he pushed you away with another nod to the bed before reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He smiled when you glanced back on your journey to look at him undressing, a suppressed smirk on your face when you nestled down on your side of the bed and pressed your face into your pillow.

You didn't sneak another glance when he started shucking his jeans down his legs, kicking them off alongside his socks until all the clothes lay on a pile next to his chair, and then stood with a crack in his knees to settle down next to you.

The bed dipped when he sat, reaching for you with a gentle hand across your waist, turning you to face him.

You melted into him, shuffling closer so you could touch him in any capacity, eyes raking over his old frame as if he were anything special. In times like these, when you shamelessly soaked in the pudge of his belly, the wrinkles in his forehead and the grey in his hair, he felt wanted. You made him feel wanted, loved, desired—something he hadn't in years. Even before all this goddamn shit, when he was focused solely on giving his daughter the best life possible, when he didn't have time to sink into some cliche romance with a woman of respectable age and a similar situation. Even Tess, goddamn Tess who lingered in his periphery when he was beating a runner to death—flashes of all the people he'd killed and tortured with her by his side. He did not even feel wanted then. Just a disposable commodity. He had known that he was not the only man she messed around with in that QZ. Everyone was looking for comfort, everyone desperate for the touch of another to soothe them to sleep when the bombs dropped and there was nothing to keep them from crying.

Even when he had walked into Jackson with his head held high and the pretty woman who led patrol group C asked him if he'd ever want to go out for drinks sometime, he had not felt wanted. He had sat in the secluded corner of the Tipsy Bison with her hand on his thigh and whispered promises between sips of whiskey and decided that it didn't feel right—that there was something in her eyes that told him she wouldn't devote herself to him as you had done.

God and he felt so guilty every time he thought about how he turned Jessica down with a frown, holding her hands between his and telling her that he had enjoyed every second, that it wasn't anything to do with her or her character but all down to the fact that Joel didn't want to lose someone he grew close to again. He couldn't make room for any more pain in his chest.

Sometimes, he felt like it with you, felt like he should let you run away just to prevent the feeling when you eventually left anyway.

But, you stared at him with so much love, naked and wide-eyed and he couldn't even fathom the thought of letting you go. In this moment, when you rested your head on the pillow and nuzzled into his waiting palm when he cupped your cheek, he couldn't bear the images that danced and fell of you running away. Of you turning your back on him like he hadn't given you everything.

"Daddy," you murmured, eyes worried at his intense thinking, the silence stretching just a little too long.

He was pulled from his reverie with a shake of his head, eyes catching yours, fixated on the deepness of your intent and absent-mindedly tracing his hand down your arm, tickling along the soft hair and reaching for your palm with a squeeze.

"You ain't ever gonna leave, are ya?" he asked suddenly, intent on hearing you say it without blubbering, without the girl he'd turned you into saying it for you. He wanted to see the girl in the Polaroid, the girl who had once been crucified by the horrors of the plains. He wanted to feel the nails in your palms and feet, the sacrifice of yourself streaming into your eyes where the thorns had cut too deep.

You got quiet, your hand wriggling against his until you could fully intertwine your fingers. You squeezed once, shuffling up the bed to sit up slightly, and brought the back of his hand to your mouth. You kissed, as delicately as he had ever seen you kiss, and fucked his soul with the softness of your affections.

Then, you shook your head, all guts no glory.

"No. I won't go anywhere else for as long as I live."

He let the words settle, let them linger for just a little while—struggling to swallow them down, his teeth ripped from his gums and blood spilling on his tongue as he attempted to chew. They didn't quite reach his stomach, just nestled somewhere in his throat, a space where he couldn't quite cough them back up but also couldn't quite force them down. So instead, he kissed you before you could say another word, tongue down your throat, a hand wrapped around where the muscle dug, and pressed you into the mattress with the weight of his mania.

In truth, he knew he had been crazed since the beginning of it all—completely insane by the end of it, too.

He gave it all to you, and it was too perfect that you took it so willingly. All of his derangement was given to you in a china bowl, a side of rotting flesh and a cup of piss to wash it all down. He masked you with the poison and made you just as deluded as he was until you both lived in your very own madhouse.

"You know just what to say to make Daddy happy," he breathed between kisses. "Know just what to do to make me forgive you, huh? Even when you've been bad."

You moaned in response, his lips latching onto your jugular, hands everywhere he could reach, working you into a sweat before he clasped your clit between two twitching fingers.

He shushed you when you cried out, using his other hand to press over your mouth.

"Sh, sh, sh, I know, baby, I know. It hurts so good, huh?"

You nodded desperately, jerking when he pinched harder, then let out a muffled cry when he swiftly pulled his hand away and then brought it right back down flat against your bare pussy. He revelled in the tears, the look of desperation on your face for more—for him to hurt you until you felt like you were his good girl again.

So, he hit again, landing square in the middle of your wet cunt, pulling back his hand to see the glisten—the lingering essence of you slicking the skin. You did not notice him staring through the blur of your tears, just tugging on the ends of his hair which was getting too long, to pull him down to your mouth. He went willingly, soothing over your clit with softer fingers and basking in the feeling of you against him.

It had been a long day. A long time alone, even with the company of Jesse. He had been worried about you and the relief that he had you where he wanted was insurmountable. An indescribable reprieve from the stress of his day and the panic of losing you like he had lost everyone else.

So, he slipped his fingers inside you with the grace of an arcing arrow, and reached for the transcendence of your moans, searched for the mystery of the sea in your eyes and the reverence of the Lord Jesus Christ in your devotion.

"There we go," he murmured when you started moaning, the heel of his palm digging into your clit to provide extra stimulation. "That's the one, ain't it, babydoll. My pretty little babydoll- fuck."

If it wasn't for the painful hardness of his cock or the consolation that you were here to stay, he would've been embarrassed by the way he moaned with you. Embarrassed by the way he hissed every time his cock dragged along your thigh. If he was someone else entirely, he would've been embarrassed altogether by the way he had you. By the way you had him.

Joel knew, had known for some time, that he needed you far more than you needed him. It was why, sometimes, he could never bring himself to worry about what you would do when he eventually left for the West—why he struggled so much to sit down and write that goddamn letter he had distressed himself over so much. He had faith that eventually, you would be okay. You would learn to live without him.

Because Joel Miller was nothing special. He was not glorious. He was far from good and a lot of the time, he believed that he deserved to die. That his penance for his misdeeds was God sending you for him to look after, knowing that your presence would make him utterly insane. He wanted to give you far more than he could, he knew that. Yet, he would love you like he loved the memories and believe you when you said that you loved him too.

If it wasn't for that sickening love, Joel would've been embarrassed by the way he asked you for the second time, "You ain't leavin'? You promise me?"

"Fuck," you whimpered and he didn't have it in him to scold you for cursing. "Fuck, yes."

He groaned when you gushed around him, a vice-like grip on his fingers when he brushed a thumb over your nipple and sucked your collarbone.

"Yes, what?" he breathed out almost desperately. "Tell me what."

You expelled a harsh breath, hand wrapping around his working wrist and squeezing tight until a ring of white branded itself into his skin.

"N-never leaving," you half-moaned, unable to control the desperation for his fingers. "Don't want you to leave ever, Daddy."

"Oh, baby," he muttered. "I ain't goin' anywhere, my pretty little thing."

You clung to him, then, arms wrapping around him to pull his chest to yours, to feel the weight of him crushing you into the earth, burying you with a pearl headstone adorning the grave of passion. The depths you fell, you were unsure, the way you tugged him with you into the abyss, Joel could not appease.

The adrenaline began coursing through him when you begged him to put it in, when you told him with a whine that you wanted to feel him deep—that you didn't just want it but you needed it.

"Daddy, please," you cried, eyes full to the brim with desperate tears, the salt sliding down your cheeks, another whine when he slipped his fingers from you to swipe away the tears.

"Goddamn," he muttered to himself, mesmerised by how gorgeous you looked with his wet fingers against your cheek, eyes red raw from the constant crying that symbolised so much more than the pain of knowing him. "You're beautiful, baby. So beautiful, I can't even hurt you."

"You can hurt me," you said so eagerly. "I want you to-"

"I can't," he cut you off firm and soft, shaking his head with a vulnerability he hadn't felt in a long time. "Not right now. Not when I've got you back."

"B-but I haven't been good," you protested. "Daddy, I haven't been good."

Joel shushed you, refusing to listen to whatever else you had to say.

"You're always good. Always my good girl, yeah?"

You shook your head and his hand came whipping down against the side of your cheek—an unconscious decision that he would've felt guilty for if it wasn't for the brightness in your eyes at the action. Still, he could not continue with these bouts of violence; could not position himself as a force of injudicious actions. You did not deserve what he gave you. You never had. But, he couldn't force himself to stop the power, to feel the domineering presence of his words fall over you like a ton of fucking bricks. You loved it, he knew you did. Just like he knew you loved his hate and his insanity. You craved it like he craved your innocence and, although both were completely twisted in their own ways, who was he to deny you what you wanted?

So, he asserted a simple, "Repeat it," one last smack to the side of your face before he gripped his cock in hand and eased the tip inside.

"Ah," you cried, never used to the stretch no matter how many times he peeled you apart.

"Repeat it," he asked again, trying to gain composure as you swallowed him whole.

"I'm- I'm…" The words fell away from you, your mind going blank as he pushed himself inside you. Inching further and further despite the resistance of your tightness.

"C'mon, baby, let daddy hear it," he groaned, breathing heavily to keep himself from moaning. "Repeat it."

"I'm a good girl," you garbled out, all in one mess as he simultaneously bottomed out inside of you, both gasping into each other's mouth at the feel of him nestling.

Joel gripped the sides of your face between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head from side to side, just to test how limp you were—how fucked out you were already despite him not even moving. He missed the days in late summer when he used to keep you on his cock all day long, too hot to make too much movement in fear you'd both overheat. Just you, lolling against him and spiralling into heaven with the tip of him rubbing against your cervix.

Your legs wrapped around your waist, pulling him in all that deeper and he had no words, no teasing phrases to punish you for breaking the rules. He didn't give a shit about that, not anymore. Not after what had been remedied here in your bed. As he looked at you, eyes closed shut, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, all he thought about was what would happen next. Where he would take the two of you. He had ideas, thoughts once private that he spewed between your lips when he started rolling his hips.

"Gonna marry you," he uttered. "Gonna make you a Mama."

You moaned in retaliation, babbling something he couldn't quite hear, ignoring the "no" that he thought had been strung within your incoherent sentences.

"Yeah, baby," he breathed out. "Gonna take you away from here. Gonna keep you forever."

Your chest was heaving, his was too, and he couldn't find it in himself to be deterred by his own words—the words that he had not thought of as anything more than a disparagement of his own sanctity when the nights got too dark and he couldn't see the future from where he stood.

His hips got quicker, adrenaline fuelling the ache of his bones and your pussy was so tight and wet he could hardly focus on the task at hand. His thrusts were quick and sharp, pistoning into you with the force of all his desires and holding back nothing at all when cupped your face in both hands and begged you for one thing.

"Look at me," he asked through gritted teeth.

You complied as best as you could, eyelashes fluttering and eyes hooded, unable to look at him properly with the incandescent nature of the sensations.

"God, I love you," he breathed out and he could barely keep the contact anymore, the wet squelching coming from your legs keeping him grounded at the moment, Yet, he could feel himself floating with each ringing in his ear, so desperate to cum that he neglected to touch your clit, giving you the much-needed stimulation that would send you floating on high right next to him; bathed in sunlight and the reverence of God Almighty.

Chasing his orgasm only, he thrust as fast as he could, groaning into your ear with each snap of his hips and burying his face into your neck to keep the noises from embarrassing him when he thought back on them later. And suddenly, with one sharp shout, he came, fast and hard and underwhelming—deep inside you as he sagged and shuddered above you.

You both lay there for a moment, his breath hot and heavy against your neck and as the high faltered, his cheeks began to heat.

"Shit," he muttered. "Shit, baby, I'm sorry."

He pulled away to face you, gauging your reaction and finding nothing but a soft smile on your face.

"You came before me," you whispered, unable to control the giggles that spilt from your mouth. "You never cum before me."

His stomach was still clenched, his humiliation unable to overpower the spinning in his head and he was so bewildered that he looked at you with an expression of complete confusion. It took a moment for the giggles to settle in his ears before he began to crack a smile, shaking his head and unsuccessfully trying to get you to stop.

"Alright, alright, it ain't that funny." For some reason, that made you laugh harder and it was so infectious that he began laughing with you: complete easement, not even bothering to feel embarrassed about the way he'd just cum as fast as a virgin and hadn't even bothered to attempt to make you cum as well.

It felt normal, like you weren't both fucked in your own ways, called to the west and blinded by the sun in the east. The two of you were just you and Joel. The nice couple down the street who always kissed each other goodbye: a wife who made blueberry pie for the potluck and a husband who cooked sausages on the barbecue with the neighbours, telling him all about how lucky he is to have you. A little sickly sweet but normal all the same. But how could you be normal when the world did not adhere to the definition? How could anyone pretend that the situation of the globe was usual? Ravaged wasteland. Disparaged morals.

The two of you were not normal and, he decided, that he was fine with that. That neither of you wanted normality, and he was kissing away your laughs with a soft smile, teeth clattering in an unrefined connection. It was slow, almost sleazy the way your tongues began to touch, the humour fading to something more complex—a dependency so profound it maddened him.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured into your mouth. "Sorry I didn't make you cum on my cock, I know you like it best like that, don't ya?" Joel smiled at your nod, humming along with you. "Yeah, I know you do."

His kisses trailed down to your neck, down down down to your heaving breasts, nipples just desperate to be kissed and he sucked one into his mouth with ardour. You were so soft, always were and the smoothness of you beneath his tongue was something akin to heaven. He knew he would never reach the kingdom, and knew that eternity with God was impossible, so he would take what he could get while he was here. He would sin: murder, sex, and love with no bounds. He would deny His existence and then beg on judgement day for the feel of you one more time, his lips along your stomach as he kissed his way to your waiting cunt, spilling with his cum.

It was utter depravity when he saw the sticky white contrasted against the colour of you, dripping down onto the bed sheets and looking so incredibly appetising. And he was always crazed in his arousal, whispering words of insanity against your pussy in the hopes that one day he would indoctrinate you into believing them too.

"You think it's gonna take one of these days?" he asked, pulling you apart with his fingers, just to watch it fall out of you again. "You think daddy's gonna knock you up, hm?"

You were looking down at him with wide eyes, propped up on your elbows and looking so unsure of yourself in the moonlight. It only occurred to him then that it was now completely dark, the moon hanging bright in the sky, the day far behind you and winter subtly coming to a close. He refused to believe you when you shook your head, flopping back down to the pillows with a sigh when he traced the white all the way up to your aching clit.

"No?" His lips came down to your thighs, kissing the insides of the plush flesh and gracing you with soft bites, careful not to hurt you too much as you buried your flushed cheeks into the feathers. "You sure?"

You shook your head, moaning softly as he pressed his lips to the crease where you met, Joel's breath hot against you as you awaited the kiss of death.

"Please," you muttered. "Just wanna cum."

"Oh, she wants to cum?" There was condescension to his tone, harsh sarcasm that he didn't really mean and your hips bucked into his face in retaliation. He almost groaned at the scent of you, the sight of you so desperate for his tongue. He would make you cum if it was the last thing he did and he was ashamed that it would not be on his cock but he was getting older and the one hard-on was plenty for his body to handle. "It's okay, I'll make you cum, honey."

There, his lips latched onto your clit, moaning into the sensation, tongue lapping up the remnants of his cum with a single swipe and holding it dangerously in his mouth. Pulling away, he tapped his finger against your chin, crawling back up to face you with a mouthful of seed and disgusting thoughts he couldn't reconcile once all was said and done. You opened your mouth with no abandon, eyes wide as he gathered the combination of fluids in his mouth, and spat them directly into yours. Swiftly, he pushed on your chin, closing your mouth with a simple command of "swallow," and watched the bob of your throat as it all slid down to nestle into your stomach.

"Atta girl," he uttered, mesmerised by your obedience, slipping down your body again to begin eating you once more. Between kisses and sucks and licks, he murmured praise between your legs, promising you that you were his good girl—that you always were even when you broke the rules, even when you made him so mad and worried he could hardly think.

Joel's lips stayed clasped around your clit, fingers working into your cum-soaked cunt without abandon and stroking at the spot inside you that expelled every cry and moan from your mouth.

"Daddy," you whimpered. "Daddy, please, I-"

Muffled, he questioned you, asking if already after maybe only a few minutes of working, you were already on the edge—already ready to jump. Sometimes, he thought that maybe you always were. Maybe you were always just waiting for the moment he would push you—needing the extra little bit of assurance to tip you off the side of the cliff. You came so quickly and it was so cute. So special to him. So he sucked harder, fingers moving faster and your hands were in his hair and tugging with the force of the wind smacking against your face as you arched and fell and came into his waiting mouth.

Yet, he did not stop there, did not think you deserved just the one experience of falling, so he pushed that little harder, undeterred by your hands pushing against his head to force him away and placed his forearm over the expanse of your bucking hips to keep you down. He lapped and basked, the feeling of himself and you on his tongue an amalgamation of nature that could rival the wonders of the world. Surely, you were the eighth wonder, at least a figment in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, at least something greater than conceivable.

Because when you came, there was nothing but you, nothing but the expression on your face and feel of your fervour and he was determined to experience it again, despite your oppositions.

"T-too much, Daddy, it's- gonna." You were babbling, tears streaming into your temples, eyes squeezed shut from the overstimulation and your hands going limp against his head as you gave up the fight. You were leaning into it, he could tell. Rising higher into the darkness of the sky to find peace from the calling glare of the Lighthouse of Alexandria

When you got like this, he knew he'd have to rock you back to safety, find comfort in the uncomfortable when you were lolling in a headspace that cast a spell on your psyche, dug so deep inside you that it took bit by bit from your common sense each day.

"Daddy," you droned out, the moniker repeated over and over until you were gasping and twitching. "Daddy, I love you…love you s-so much." You cut your crying with a moan, revered by his tongue, motivated by the feel of his thick fingers inside you stroking and baiting you into coming again.

It came even quicker this time, the clenching of your stomach, the stopping of your sharp breaths as it built and built, rising tall until it shadowed your trembling figure. Then it all came tumbling down like a ton of bricks, a piece hitting you straight in the head as the heavens opened and the rain came pouring.

A chorus of "daddy" came tumbling from your lips, a hymn reserved for your own personal mass and you sermonised your affections with the snapping of your restraint—your thighs clamping down around his head, fingers digging into the mattress and tugging on the sheets. Seizing from the pleasure and then falling away completely as a long, drawn-out moan graced his ears.

Slowly but surely, his suction loosened, his fingers slipping from your sticky pussy and slathering over the skin of your stomach. Both of you were out of breath, a string of spit connecting you that mirrored the depravity that had taken place in the armchair not so long ago. He licked it away with a smile, crawling over you to press a kiss to your unresponsive lips.

Your thighs came together to remedy the aftershocks, your whimpers muffled by his mouth; an action that you had no energy to reciprocate. Knowingly, he moved away from your panting and practised your special dance, lips against your cheeks, your forehead, your nose and then burying his face in your hair.

"You okay?" he asked softly. "Want me to go get you some water."

You shook your head immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, pulling him down against you.

"Please don't go," you whispered, throat hoarse and eyes drying to a crust.

"Okay, okay," he appeased, softly manoeuvring you onto your side and tucking in beside you—letting you shuffle yourself as close to him as you could get. "There we go…did so good for me, babygirl. So good."

The regular moment of silence befell the both of you, the time after the fall when you were wrapped up in the feeling of each other and gave yourselves a moment to contemplate. Moments where sometimes, he got worried about what you were thinking, if the clarity that he felt after the fact was the same for you, or if you felt just as manic and possessive as he did when the intelligibility gave way to new sensations that trumped the lucidity.

Yet, you always managed to ease his wandering mind, always had something to say, all muffled and sleepy once he'd tucked you both in bed and buried you in the covers—just so you wouldn't complain about the cold and not sleep skin to skin with him.

"I'm never leaving," you said against his chest. All the promises at sundown—this one an addition to the long list of equivocations. "I'm just worried one day you'll leave me."

"Hey now, I ain't ever-"

"Not that," you corrected, eyes appearing from underneath him, chin resting on his chest and looking up at him with watchful, waiting eyes. "I'm worried that one day you'll leave even when you don't want to."

Joel understood the meaning as easily as he understood his own impending doom, wondering briefly if it had been the imminence of his oncoming suicide that had permeated your thoughts as much as it had his. He had to give it to you, you were one observant motherfucker, even if you tried pretending that you weren't. He knew that you felt it too, every time he went out into the snow: the thought that maybe he won't come back.

"You know I try my best to get back to you every day, don't you?" he uttered, fingers trailing up and down your arm, the other raking into your hair and pulling you back down to his chest. He didn't think he could bear to look at you, to see your scepticism when he denied the feeling that it was coming someday soon.

"I know," you murmured. "I just…Joel, I was wrong today."

His movements along your arm stopped, time ceasing altogether at your tone, at your stability. He couldn't quite stop the lump in his throat or the filling of tears in his eyes as you poured your heart into him.

"This is my home," you whispered, voice cracking. "I don't wanna be anywhere else, I don't wanna be with anyone else, you make me feel something I've never felt before and I need you."

A pause. A moment. Then you repeated it, the three words that almost meant more than the expression of your love.

"I need you. I don't think I can live without you." He almost begged you to stop, his hand firmly placed on the back of your head and holding you against his chest so you didn't see the tears that he desperately tried to blink away. "Please don't leave."

Joel wished you hadn't spoken, almost wished the entire day hadn't happened altogether. It was all too real, all too goddamn strange and harsh; he could feel his heart shattering when he cleared his throat and lied right in your fucking face.

"I promise," he falsified. "I ain't leavin' you ever."

a/n: ngl it's one in the morning and half of this has barely been edited because I was proof-reading as I wrote (which has been over the course of a few months tbh) and I just really wanted to get this out and finished and I don't want to ever think about it again but IF you see anything that doesn't make sense then please tell me so I can go back and correct. I hate having bad grammar, so it is of utmost importance to me. There also may be a few bits that don't read as well, especially towards the end, because I had a rough time writing smut for some reason. Either way, this went in so many directions, and I hope you enjoyed it!!!

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

“If she’s okay and you have the guy, why are you calling me? I can’t imagine it’s because you want me to get a hit in, though I wouldn’t mind.”

Haha fair

“Please,” you said. “Kotyonok, you don’t have to say please,” Bucky said. “No, but you should. She isn’t a soldier for you to order around, so use your manners,” you argued, seeing a smile tug at Curtis’s lips.

Period 👏🏻

“I understand if you can’t, Natasha,” you said to her. She couldn’t drop everything to watch over you. “I need to wrap up one thing and I’ll head over if Bucky says ‘please’,” she said after a moment.

Hahah I just love Nat

Bucky exhaled through his nose when you sweetly smiled. “Will you please watch over my girl?” “Of course,” she answered easily. “Us girls have to stick together,” she said. You suspected she was smiling. “And so you’re aware, Barnes, I’m doing this for her, not you.” “I know. Just be there,” Bucky said, hanging up without another word.

A true girls girl

Curtis assessed you with a cool gaze before he smiled. “You’re sweet, but you’re a little badass, too,” he commented, crossing his arms and turning that cool gaze toward his boss. “I’m really going to enjoy those brownies.”

Hes not wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️

The amusement faded from Curtis’s eyes when he looked at the tear in your cardigan. He looked almost as upset as Bucky. “Yeah, I have a few things,” Bucky answered, leading you down the hall. “Get the car started, and bring her water and a snack with you,” he said over his shoulder. “Please,” you added, rubbing your temple. “Manners cost nothing.”

She is gonna retrain him lol

You ran your fingers along one of the dresses, wanting to be angry as you remembered the incident at the shop. You couldn't find the anger within. There was… something else there instead. “So you listened to me?” "I always listen to you,” he replied. “No, you don't, but I do believe you hear every word I say,” you said. There was a big difference between hearing and listening.

It's in the details

There was more jewelry for you, too. Between the library and this, he wasn’t kidding about spoiling you.

He means business

“I’m sure you remember that Thor and Sam invest in real estate,” he said. You hummed in acknowledgement. “I would’ve had the building bought and forced you out of your place.” You laughed, a small and sad sound. It wasn’t a shock since it was implied that they were aware of your neighborhood and were interested in a possible investment. Hearing Bucky admit it though, not even bothering to lie or sound ashamed... “You would’ve forced me out of there just to get what you want?” “What we want. Love and happiness. Together,” he said with fierce determination that bordered on his usual obsession.

No surprises here

Bucky stood right beside the door as you walked out, his jaw tight. He must’ve noticed you had gotten teary-eyed again. “You’re breaking my heart,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. “I know what happened isn’t going to fade overnight, but I’ll make you feel safe again. I’ll make you smile, too.” “You’re a determined man,” you said. In some ways, you felt a little safer. Your library and panic room were safe. He was going to get you a panic button. Ray and Curtis had an eye on you. You had a feeling Bucky wouldn't let you stray too far away from him for a while.

He sure is

“I don’t know what kind of mood you’ll be in once you’re done. I don’t know if you’ll want attention and be clingy or if you’ll want to be alone so you can cool off. So when it’s said and done, please, tell me what you need so I can give it to you to the best of my ability,” you answered. You were tired of walking on eggshells. You wouldn't do it in your new home. If you were going to be with him, you had to know how to handle him after something of this magnitude.

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

“I’m going to help you after this, too, however I can,” he promised, brushing a soft kiss against your lips and helping you out of the car. Who knew this incident was something that would bring you closer together?

For real!

Bucky tipped your chin up. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but try to get some rest,” he said, leaning down. You expected a kiss, but he just brushed his nose against yours. “And I know you can’t say you love me yet, but just know that I love you and this is all for you.” You exhaled when he straightened up. Was it all for you? “Please, be careful and don’t lose yourself,” you said. Whatever demon was going to surface within Bucky tonight couldn’t permanently stay because it would destroy you both if it did. “I won’t lose myself.” The smile he gave you could’ve melted hearts. “I have you to come back to.”

🥺🥺🥺

“You don’t have to say a word,” she assured you. “If you do want to talk about what happened though, I’ll listen.”

She is the best 🫶🏻

“Thank you,” you whispered, dabbing at your eyes with a fresh tissue. “Sorry for crying.” “After everything you’ve been through, it would worry me if you didn’t cry.”

For real

You didn’t have to tell her that you didn’t want a man teaching you. She was smart, intuitive. “I’d love to teach you. Just tell me when you want to start and I’ll make it happen,”

And she will be the best trainer, I just know it

Hold You Tight: Part 22

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 21 | Series Masterlist | Part 23

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.8k

Chapter Summary: Bucky decides to take you to the club where you have a chat with Natasha.

Chapter Warnings: Aftermath of physical assault, tension, mention of violence and threats, inner turmoil, crying, kissing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight. Thank you again for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Silence stretched on as Bucky glared at his phone, and you felt uncomfortable with each second that passed. You managed to steal a glance at Curtis who gave a quick shake of the head in response. You sensed he wasn’t about to interrupt whatever thoughts were going through his boss’s mind, but you couldn’t take it.

“What are you going to do?” you asked.

He considered your question with a barely there smile. “I’m going to ignore him.”

You exchanged another look with Curtis who only shook his head again. “Is that a good idea?” you asked.

“I need to talk with the bastard who touched you before I talk to him,” he said. He was out for blood, but he was still thinking somewhat logically. If he spoke to him now, who knew how that would go? “I also want him to squirm.”

Of course, he did. “Should we call Natasha? Because I know you don’t want me to be alone while you… deal with that.”

“No, I don’t,” he confirmed, dialing and putting it on speakerphone.

It didn’t take long for her to answer. “Wasn’t expecting to hear from you, Barnes. Did you upset your girl again? Because whatever happened, I’m likely going to be on her side.”

Curtis snorted before Bucky shot him a glare. “My girl was attacked,” he growled.

You put a hand on his arm. The last thing he needed to do was get worked up. “Is she okay? What the hell happened?” Natasha asked, all traces of her previous sarcasm gone. Her concern was touching. “And who the hell did it?”

“I’m okay,” you assured her. “Well, I’m as okay as I can be,” you added because you weren’t completely okay. No one in your position would be.

“I’ve got the bastard at my club, and I’m going to have a very long talk with him,” he said, fire in his eyes when he looked at you. “No one touches you and gets away with it.”

Except for Bucky himself.

“If she’s okay and you have the guy, why are you calling me? I can’t imagine it’s because you want me to get a hit in, though I wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky smirked. “I know you wouldn’t, but I need you to come to the club and keep an eye on my girl while I handle it,” he said. You knew an order when you heard one. You also figured Bucky didn’t want Natasha alone with you in the penthouse. There was trust between them, but only to an extent.

“You’re really bringing her there?” she asked, muttering something under her breath that you couldn’t catch. “Jesus, you’re not going to make her watch are you?”

You shuddered. A very small fraction of you wanted to witness it and maybe hurt Clark yourself for what he did, but the core of who you were held you back. You weren’t holding Bucky though, were you? You knew whatever happened to Clark wasn’t going to end well, and were you any better than Bucky by letting him dispense his own brand of justice?

Guilt was going to stain your soul and you wanted to desperately wash it away.

“No, she’s going to rest in my office, but I’d rather she not be alone given the circumstances and she suggested that you stay with her,” he said.

“Please,” you said.

“Kotyonok, you don’t have to say please,” Bucky said.

“No, but you should. She isn’t a soldier for you to order around, so use your manners,” you argued, seeing a smile tug at Curtis’s lips. “I understand if you can’t, Natasha,” you said to her. She couldn’t drop everything to watch over you.

“I need to wrap up one thing and I’ll head over if Bucky says ‘please’,” she said after a moment.

Bucky exhaled through his nose when you sweetly smiled. “Will you please watch over my girl?”

“Of course,” she answered easily.

You visibly relaxed. “Thanks.” You weren’t sure how many of the details you’d give her about what happened, but you could ask her about the self-defense lessons.

“Us girls have to stick together,” she said. You suspected she was smiling. “And so you’re aware, Barnes, I’m doing this for her, not you.”

“I know. Just be there,” Bucky said, hanging up without another word.

Curtis assessed you with a cool gaze before he smiled. “You’re sweet, but you’re a little badass, too,” he commented, crossing his arms and turning that cool gaze toward his boss. “I’m really going to enjoy those brownies.”

An arm snaked around your waist before you could respond that you were anything but a badass. “Those brownies are the only thing of hers you’re going to taste because she’s mine,” Bucky said in a low voice.

Heat shot up your neck to your cheeks. “Oh, my god. You’re like a well-dressed caveman, I swear,” you said, pulling away. You hoped Bucky wouldn’t fire Curtis after tonight. “Do you have something I can change into before we go?”

The amusement faded from Curtis’s eyes when he looked at the tear in your cardigan. He looked almost as upset as Bucky. “Yeah, I have a few things,” Bucky answered, leading you down the hall. “Get the car started, and bring her water and a snack with you,” he said over his shoulder.

“Please,” you added, rubbing your temple. “Manners cost nothing.”

“I use manners with you, don’t I?” he teased before he stopped you at the bedroom door. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts a little,” you admitted, seeing his lips set in a grim line. He kissed your forehead a heartbeat later, his lips tenderly brushing your skin. “I wish that took the pain away.”

You weren’t just talking about the headache. You wished he could really be your knight in shining armor who made the hurt stop. He caused so much of this pain, but he still showed up when you were in need. Was he going to help you heal or tear the wounds back open?

“I wish it did, too,” he whispered, letting you go ahead of him. “Closet’s on the right. I can have you take something for your head once we’re in the car.”

You searched for the light and gasped once you turned it on. It was one of the biggest closets you had ever seen, complete with built in shelves and a seating area. The left side was filled with suits, shoes, and more for Bucky. The right side was only half full with dresses and various outfits. There were a few pairs of shoes and handbags, too. You didn’t have to look to know that everything was in your size.

“When did you do this?” you asked, turning around to face him. You expected him to breathe down your neck, but he kept a respectable distance.

“Early on,” he said, tilting his head. “You look surprised.”

“I knew you had pajamas here for me, but I didn't expect more. Thank you,” you said. You weren't sure why you were surprised. He told you countless times you’d be moving in. “If you had clothes for me, why ask if I wanted a whole new wardrobe?”

“Because there's still lots of space to fill up,” he pointed out.

“You said part of the fun of gift giving is surprising the receiver.”

“And you said part of the fun of shopping is picking out your own stuff. You specifically said the next time we went shopping that you wanted to pick everything yourself.”

You ran your fingers along one of the dresses, wanting to be angry as you remembered the incident at the shop. You couldn't find the anger within. There was… something else there instead. “So you listened to me?”

“I always listen to you,” he replied.

“No, you don't, but I do believe you hear every word I say,” you said. There was a big difference between hearing and listening.

He sighed and took your hand. “I’m trying, Kotyonok.”

“I know, Bucky,” you smiled sadly. Bucky was used to being in charge, used to everyone following his orders. You pushed back, challenged him. It had to be foreign territory for him, as much as he said he liked your fire. “And I appreciate it.”

He took a few steps closer when you went to pick a new outfit for yourself. “This really isn’t how I wanted you to be here.”

“What was your plan if I refused to move in?” you asked, not looking at him as you went through the drawers. There was more jewelry for you, too. Between the library and this, he wasn’t kidding about spoiling you.

“I’m sure you remember that Thor and Sam invest in real estate,” he said. You hummed in acknowledgement. “I would’ve had the building bought and forced you out of your place.”

You laughed, a small and sad sound. It wasn’t a shock since it was implied that they were aware of your neighborhood and were interested in a possible investment. Hearing Bucky admit it though, not even bothering to lie or sound ashamed... “You would’ve forced me out of there just to get what you want?”

“What we want. Love and happiness. Together,” he said with fierce determination that bordered on his usual obsession.

Your nails dug into your palms, but only for a moment. “Turn around or leave, please, so I can change,” you said, too emotionally exhausted to deny or argue since love and happiness were things you wanted and he knew it.

“Do you think I’m going to try something?” he asked, sounding hurt.

“I think we're both feeling a lot of emotions, you desperately want me, and your control is hanging on by a thread,” you replied, daring to look at him. There was so much longing in his eyes and his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you, whether it was to leave his mark or erase Clark’s touch. “And we know that line shouldn’t be crossed tonight.”

He was going to take you to bed eventually. Coaxing you or wearing you down, it was inevitable. He wouldn’t do it tonight though. Not when he wanted revenge on Clark and still needed answers.

It didn't stop him from looking conflicted when he nodded. “I’ll be right outside,” he said, leaving you alone.

Once you determined he wasn’t going to walk back in, you stripped down. The urge to scream rose up when you stared at the discarded cardigan. It was meant to keep you warm, but all you could do was shiver when you thought of your friends at the winery and Clark putting his hands on you. Wiping at your eyes, you threw something simple and comfortable on. You couldn’t keep Bucky waiting.

Bucky stood right beside the door as you walked out, his jaw tight. He must’ve noticed you had gotten teary-eyed again. “You’re breaking my heart,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. “I know what happened isn’t going to fade overnight, but I’ll make you feel safe again. I’ll make you smile, too.”

“You’re a determined man,” you said. In some ways, you felt a little safer. Your library and panic room were safe. He was going to get you a panic button. Ray and Curtis had an eye on you. You had a feeling Bucky wouldn't let you stray too far away from him for a while.

As far as him making you smile, you wondered how he planned to do that.

You didn’t speak when Bucky took you to the car, silently drinking and eating while he stayed tense beside you. Curtis didn't say a word either. Your stomach turned, but it had nothing to do with your head. There was tension in the vehicle, each passing second bringing Bucky closer to unleashing his rage on someone who dared to hurt you.

“What would your mom have done if someone put a hand on you?” you finally asked to break the silence.

“She would've been compassionate but firm. Protective but encourage me to speak up and defend myself. And she would've made sure that person never laid a finger on me ever again,” he said proudly.

Your heart ached as you thought of your parents. They’d never know what happened to you because they’d never bother to ask how you were doing and you’d never bother to tell them because they wouldn't fight for you. Brick by brick it was another wall you put up. Bucky continued to hand you the tools to build it, all while tearing down the wall you tried to put between you and him.

“I want to do something normal tomorrow,” you said, voluntarily resting your head on Bucky’s shoulder. The gesture helped him relax. You, too. “Something besides resting.”

“How about that pizza and a movie date night we talked about?” he suggested, tenderly rubbing your arm. “That’s normal.”

“Can I pick the movie?”

“You can pick whatever movie you want,” he promised.

You lifted your head to gaze at him. “I know I can’t stop you from doing whatever it is you’re going to do,” you began. There would be no reasoning with him in that matter. “But how can I help you after?”

He tried not to give anything away, but his eyes filled with shock. “You… want to help me?”

“I don’t know what kind of mood you’ll be in once you’re done. I don’t know if you’ll want attention and be clingy or if you’ll want to be alone so you can cool off. So when it’s said and done, please, tell me what you need so I can give it to you to the best of my ability,” you answered.

You were tired of walking on eggshells. You wouldn't do it in your new home. If you were going to be with him, you had to know how to handle him after something of this magnitude.

You heard him sigh before his lips touched yours. “I just need you,” he whispered, your heart fluttering when he kissed you again, deeper. It wasn’t forceful though. It was slow and deliberate without pushing or taking too much. He didn’t try to pull you back in either when you pulled away. That was progress.

“We’re here,” Curtis said.

“I’m going to help you after this, too, however I can,” he promised, brushing a soft kiss against your lips and helping you out of the car.

Who knew this incident was something that would bring you closer together?

You spotted Natasha leaning against a sleek black car with a bored look on her face. “How did I beat you here?” she asked before locking eyes with you. There was sympathy and concern there. “This wasn’t how I wanted to see you again.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” you said, glancing at the sign for the club. It was strange not seeing it lit up.

“Let’s get inside,” Bucky ordered, giving you a slight smile. “Please.”

Natasha brushed by Curtis. “Everett.”

“Romanoff,” he acknowledged.

There was no bass reverberating through the walls, no signs of patrons drinking and dancing. No Hal at the bar or Jax or Ari keeping watch. The usual energy of nightlife and sex and fun were nowhere to be found. Minus the footsteps across the floor, there was no other sound.

“Ray,” you whispered when he came through a door. He looked as pristine as always, but the hard blinks gave away his agitation.

“Everyone’s downstairs, boss,” he said, pushing his glasses up. “Are you alright?” he asked you, his voice much softer.

Bucky’s hold tightened on you once again. You were really going to have to work on his possessive streak, especially when it came to his own men. “I’m as okay as I can be,” you said, giving him a small smile.

“Let me take her up to the office and I’ll be right down,” Bucky said.

When you imagined the look of a killer, you imagined something lifeless and empty. Bucky’s eyes were always full of fire and passion when it came to you. But the cold look that crossed his face when he walked you to his office, you saw a glimpse of the danger he spoke about. Clark wasn’t going to get any mercy or care from Bucky.

“The couch is pretty comfortable to sleep on and there’s a fridge and some food, too, if you’re still hungry,” he said, grabbing a pillow and blanket that he had stashed away. “If you need me, push the red button on the right side of my desk.”

“I think I'll be okay,” you said, taking a seat on the couch while Natasha took one of the chairs.

Bucky tipped your chin up. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but try to get some rest,” he said, leaning down. You expected a kiss, but he just brushed his nose against yours. “And I know you can’t say you love me yet, but just know that I love you and this is all for you.”

You exhaled when he straightened up. Was it all for you? “Please, be careful and don’t lose yourself,” you said. Whatever demon was going to surface within Bucky tonight couldn’t permanently stay because it would destroy you both if it did.

“I won’t lose myself.” The smile he gave you could’ve melted hearts. “I have you to come back to.”

With that, Bucky left the office and shut the door behind him.

“Well,” Natasha said, leaning forward in her chair. “I have a feeling you won’t be going to sleep right away.”

“No, I won’t,” you agreed. You couldn’t since your mind was racing with too many thoughts of what happened and what would happen.

“You don’t have to say a word,” she assured you. “If you do want to talk about what happened though, I’ll listen.”

You told her everything. How Clark used to come into the shop for roses for Lois. How he tried to give you flowers and showed up when you weren’t at the shop. How upset he was when you turned down his offer for coffee and how he was waiting for you tonight. The hatred he seemed to have for Bucky, the mention of a powerful friend, that he didn’t confirm or deny that it was Zemo. What he did once he was in your apartment, Bucky and some of his men saving you. All of it. And by the time you finished, you were sniffling and exhausted.

Natasha, looking as cool and calm as always, handed you a tissue. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. You don’t deserve it.”

You blew your nose. “No one deserves it,” you said. It wasn’t something you’d wish on anyone.

“If you need a place a stay-”

“I’m in the penthouse now, which is exactly what Bucky wanted all along,” you said, and you believed Bucky when he said it wasn’t how you were supposed to eventually be there. “I appreciate the offer though.”

“Okay. I’ll back off for now.” She tapped a finger against the chair arm. “May I say something else?”

“I won’t stop you.”

“The powerful friend of Clark’s may be Zemo, but I don’t think he would’ve ordered him to attack you the way he did. If you had resisted going with Clark and it was really on Zemo’s orders, he should’ve backed off instead of laying a hand on you.”

“But Zemo lost his wife and kid. Maybe he wouldn’t care if I got hurt,” you said. Losing loved ones like that could drive people to do extreme things.

“He’s more strategic than that and he knows someone hurting you could start a war,” she said, shaking her head. If that was true and Clark took matters into his own hands, what did that mean for Zemo? “Something isn’t adding up here. We have to talk to Barnes when he’s done.”

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. The entire situation was so much to take in. “Am I a bad person for not stopping Bucky?” you asked suddenly.

“What? No. No.” She straightened up and shook her head. “Don't do that to yourself.”

“But I know he’s going to hurt Clark. Maybe kill him. And I-”

“You’re not a bad person, do you hear me?” Natasha left her chair to sit near you, but kept a distance and made sure she didn’t touch you. “Listen to me. Clark crossed boundaries and attacked you. Barnes crossed boundaries, too, but he never once went to that level. Even if a part of you does want revenge it doesn't make you a bad person. Wanting justice makes you human.”

“But Bucky’s making his own brand of justice.”

“They have their own rules when it comes to what's theirs and someone put their hands on the top dog’s girl. He can't let that slide. None of those men can,” she said.

That was the world you lived in now. “So, even though you believe I have power over Bucky, I couldn't have stopped him if I tried?” you asked.

“As powerful as you are, even if you got down on your knees and begged, it wouldn't stop him from doing what he thinks he has to do in this situation,” the redhead answered. You were afraid of that. “But you don't have to carry that guilt. Their actions, Clark’s, Bucky’s, any of them, they chose those paths. Not you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, dabbing at your eyes with a fresh tissue. “Sorry for crying.”

“After everything you’ve been through, it would worry me if you didn’t cry.”

You had to laugh since she had a point. “I told Bucky I want to be able to defend myself in case anything happens again. I’d really like it if you could teach me.”

You didn’t have to tell her that you didn’t want a man teaching you. She was smart, intuitive. “I’d love to teach you. Just tell me when you want to start and I’ll make it happen,” she said, sighing when her phone went off. “I’m sorry. It’s my sister.”

“Take it,” you said. She had already done enough by listening to you and agreeing to the self-defense lessons.

“Yelena, I’m kind of busy at the moment,” she answered, gripping her phone tighter. “He’s what?”

“What’s the matter?” you asked, though it was none of your business.

Natasha pulled the phone away from her ear. “My sister’s a block away from the club. Want to take a guess who she’s following?”

“Zemo?” you guessed, your stomach sinking again. Was he coming here because Bucky ignored his message?

“Yep, but don’t worry. She’ll make sure he doesn’t make it inside.”

Whether Zemo got into the club or not, you were going to get answers. It was the least you deserved. Because this was your life, and you were tired of people playing with it like you were a doll.

I'm so glad Natasha is there for our girl. Is she onto something with Zemo? And we may get a surprise in the next update. 😏 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[theoneandonlylobster]

My Big Damn Ashes of the Academy Thoughts

Okay so honestly I just need to take this panel by panel because frankly my overall impression of the comic is that everyone got replaced Invasion of the Body Snatchers style with people that look the same as they do and have the same name, but have zero idea of the backgrounds or motivations of said characters, and so they were just making shit up as they went along. Like, I write fanfic, I read fanfic. I have, in general, a pretty high regard for fanfic. And of course one of the more common Dangerous Ladies childhood type fics is how did they meet, why are these three very different individuals friends, etc etc.

And this was not even approaching the worst, crappiest, least coherent of that type of fiction I've read over the last nearly two decades.

Ashes of the Academy is a giant nothing burger comic, a fart in an elevator you're trapped with until you can make your escape.

So, without further ado, let's begin:

So right here on the second page of the comic, and the first page with dialogue, we have Ursa letting us know that, apparently, contrary to what we know, the Academy made Azula a bad person. Not her parents, definitely definitely not Ursa. You got that? It was all the Academy's fault. And we will continue beating that ostrich horse the entire rest of the comic, make no mistake!

Ah yes, Ursa, noted Not Ever An Imperialist At All, Not Even Once, Nuh-Uh.

Skipping several pages that would be me saying these two things multiple times...

Credit where credit is due, I like these two panels. I like this tiny glimpse into the friendship of Kiyi and Lihua or whatever here. One, because I imagine this is more like how Azula probably actually was, based on what we see in Zuko Alone. And two, that means Kiyi is unconsciously mirroring her sister and I like that interpretation of her character. It seems that Hicks does too, on a subconscious level. Look at that devious little look on her face! Little shit. Yeah, you cause a ruckus! Adorable.

I'd be lying if I said this didn't get a chuckle out of me. Is Katara on Zuko's Ministry of Education? Lol wtf. Still funny though.

More Kiyi being a little shit that I can get behind. This time in a Little Miss Know-It-All superiority complex sense that I'm sure would get real old real fast for anyone around her.

I've pointed this out on another post but Kiyi isn't a princess? Wtf? Come on, Hicks. Like it's not hard to figure this shit out. I think giving her a character trait of literally running to her big brother the Firelord anytime she feels slighted is pretty good, but of course it's never explored, because that's not a heroic trait and Kiyi has to be a hero for some reason unlike that irredeemable monster Azula who was born bad.

So nice of you to ask her first Zuko! Fuck's sake! Being Firelord has really gotten to this boy's head, like I know he has absolute power and all that shit but damn, if I was Mai, I would be wanting to get back with him less after this, not more, regardless of whether or not I liked the job in the end. Fucking consent, bro! (Previous page has him telling the headmistress she'll do it.) Unfortunately, this is actually not ooc for what we've seen of Zuko, honestly, imo. Mai, you can do so much better. Like, I ship Maiko. I love their dynamic etc etc. But girl. Respect yourself. This boy is NOT it at this point.

This is our continuing indication that they'll be rewriting the past in this comic, and we'd all better get on board. Zuko certainly thinks Azula treated him badly and has a very, "Zuko did nothing wrong!" approach to it all, but Mai was there for the vast majority of it, witnessed it with her own two eyes, so she would not react to that sentence with, "True." She just wouldn't. At least not the Mai we know. So let the assassination of Mai’s character commence!

Like, was this comic so half-assed nobody could be bothered to look up the spelling of Ukano's name? Yes. Yes it was.

Can I be made to believe Ukano said this to Mai when she was smol? Absolutely, yes. He's portrayed as a social climber and willing to utilize basically any route he can access to gain clout and influence. That's a man who is not above using his daughter in this way. I think it's somewhat implied by Mai’s dialogue in The Beach, even. Dude was a shitty father, Caldera was rife with them. Do I believe for one second Mai became friends with Azula because of this counsel? Absolutely not. The Mai we know thinks for herself 100% of the time, it's basically her thing.

Oh, cool, there's a 10 image per post limit. Well. I'll keep going in reblogs and indicate when I'm done. Bear with me, friends.

[formulakracing]

i. just for the night — d.r.

pairing -> college reader!daniel ricciardo

word count -> 2.1k

warnings -> age gap (are we shocked), smut, oral (fem!receiving ... suprise, suprise) cursing, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, reader is a student, mature themes

a/n -> this fic came to me while i was fried. i hope y'all like it! lemme know if you want to be tagged because this will inevitably end up a series. enjoy! <3

february 7th, 2024

you could barely hear yourself think.

music blasts through the tight space, the bass reverberating off the walls. your toes tingle from the vibrations, your mind buzzing as warmth blossoms in your chest. swallowing thickly, you blink, wrinkling your nose as the signs on the walls morph together. various shouts and squeals ring in your ears, the pitch sending a sharp, shooting pain right into your temple.

it's a searing sensation, a groan rising in your throat.

water. i need water.

cursing under your breath, you lean over to your best friend, "hey, i'm going to make my way to the bar. i need some water. do you need anything? another drink?"

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹

your best friend nods fervently, the words bursting with urgency, "yes please! will you get me another vodka red bull? i'll venmo you in the morning!"

"don't worry about it," you giggle, waving a hand, "it's on me!"

"ugh you're a doll!" she gushes, "hurry back!"

after numerous apologies and bumping into sweaty bodies, you find yourself at the bar. leaning against the rigid surface, you exhale, grateful for the support. there were no open seats, but it was all right. you wouldn't be up here for longer than a few minutes anyway.

to your dismay, there was only one bartender, the poor girl bustling away, mixing drinks and taking orders quicker than you could get in a word in. she is a flurry of hands and glasses, deeply invested in her duties.

raising a hand, you wave, managing to pull her out of her trance, "excuse me, can i get a vodka red bull and a water?"

in your left ear, a voice chimes in, rising above the chatter of the crowd.

"add an ultra with that. make it two, actually."

"one vodka red bull and two ultras coming right up," the bartender dips her head. scooping some ice, she pours water in a cup, sliding it toward you, "here's your water love."

within seconds, the bartender presents the drinks, the voice sounding once more.

"thank you. keep the change, yeah?"

shifting your body, your jaw goes slack as you take in the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

he's leaning against the bar, donning a black hoodie and shorts. an emerald green cap sits on his head, the word enchanté embroidered across the front. lush curls poke out from the cap, complemented by wide, coffee-hued eyes. they glitter as they fixate on you, dimples appearing as his plush lips curl into a wide grin.

as he speaks, the words are brimmed with a thick, prominent accent. one that you could not quite place your finger on in your incoherent state.

"sorry for butting in there."

"o-oh," you sputter out, scrambling to articulate the words, "it's quite all right! n-no worries!"

the stranger cracks open his can, bringing it to his lips, "to be honest with you, i've never step foot in this bar a day in my life. i just figured i'd stop in and see all the chaos for myself."

"oh yeah?" laughter falls from your lips, fingers wrapping around the "it can get a little hectic in here on friday nights. i would hang around, but i need to deliver this to my best friend before all the ice melts. hopefully i'll run into you again and convince you to pay my tab."

the stranger chuckles, his eyes squinting ever so slightly as his smile broadens, "give me your number and you have a deal. that is, if you're comfortable with—"

warmth billows into your cheeks as you interject, perhaps a little too fervently, "i'll take you up on that offer! i mean, if that's what—"

before you can even finish, he's pulling a phone from his pocket. one hand grasps your friend's drink, setting it down on the bar. the other slides the phone into your hand, a tongue swiping along his lower lip.

"here. also, i never got a chance to introduce myself. i'm daniel."

typing away, you put your number into this stranger's phone without a second thought. carefully, you lean in, mouth nearly ghosting over his ear. hands cupping your lips, you whisper your name.

at that, his hand drifts down to your lower back, the surroundings fading away as he repeats your name, the sound oh so heavenly as he continues.

"i like that. beautiful name for a gorgeous girl."

your knees buckle, "t-thank you."

"go get your friend, yeah?" daniel arches a brow, "don't want her to think you wandered off."

"t-thank you for the drinks," taking a step forward, you swivel on your heel, just so that you're face-to-face for one last second, "i-i mean that."

"of course," raising his drink, daniel taps the can against your water, "have a fun night, sweet girl. text me, yeah?"

"i wil!"

before you know it, you've lost sight of him as more people swarm around the bar, shoving and elbowing to get past one another. there are a few girls, squealing as they shoulder on by. you catch them giggling daniel's name, but you pay no mind. after all, you'd be gushing just like them the second you reunited with your best friend.

yet, as you scan over the crowd, you can't shake this sinking feeling. your heart thuds against your rib-cage as you call out your friend's name. where was she? surely she was still around.

fishing your phone out of your pocket, you tap on her contact. bringing your phone to your ear, sweat pools in your palms as the call goes straight voicemail.

sucking in a shaky breath, you slink over to the nearest wall. to your right, you can sense a group of delta chi members sauntering over. a shiver runs down your spine as they come closer and closer.

it was almost as if they were a pack of wolves closing in on their prey, hungry for their next meal.

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

squeezing your eyes shut, you pray that your best friend reappears, swooping in and saving the day.

in that moment, you feel a hand on your shoulder, an oh so sultry voice floating in your ear.

"come on, follow me. let's get a breath of fresh air."

the next thirty seconds are a blur.

before you know it, you're standing in the frigid air of february, shuddering as another breeze rolls through the city streets. folding your arms across your chest, you watch as daniel lights a joint, inhaling. he offers it to you, in which you shake your head.

"i'm good."

"that's fine," he shrugs, taking another drag, "sorry about that."

"it's fine," your breath billows out as you speak, "don't worry about it."

"where's your friend?"

"not sure," you muttter, grimacing as you pull up her location. the blue dot floats down a street, on the way back to her apartment, "looks like she jumped ship to get some dick."

"some friend, eh?"

your head snaps up, shooting him a glare, "not the time."

finishing off the joint, daniel extinguishes the flame, tossing it in a trash can situated outside the bar. taking a step forward, he's inches away as people stroll on by. the lights of the city twinkle, casting a soft golden glow on the clouds. headlights blur as cars sail past, laughter and voices only white noise.

daniel clears his throat, gaze glossy as he takes you in. a hand grasps your chin, fingers tenderly sweeping along your jawline. his breathing quickens as the space between the two of you crumbles.

his voice is quiet as he speaks.

"well pretty girl, it looks like plans have changed."

february 7th, 2024

fuck, was he drunk.

hands connect with tender flesh, spreading her open even further. glancing upward, he feels a smirk form as she squirms, wriggling underneath him.

"daniel, please."

"what is it sweet girl? tell me what you need."

"i need you."

the desperation dripping in her words is enough to send him over the edge, completely losing all inhibitions. he would pay for this in the morning, but that was his last concern.

all that consumed him was her.

the way her lips were parted oh so perfectly, breathy moans filling the space. the way her pussy glistens in the diim light, clit swollen, aching for relief. the way her hips buck as his tongue roams, begging for more.

the way she was completely ethereal in this moment.

a divine being. someone who descended from the heavens. an angel walking this earth.

fuck, was in he deep.

he wasn't supposed to be here in this apartment, with a complete stranger nonetheless.

he was supposed to be sound asleep in his hotel room, fast asleep. his bags were supposed to be packed, prepped for his flight. the last time he checked, it was about one eleven in the morning.

oh well, he had no regrets.

none. at. all.

not when this beautiful woman was tantalizingly close to her orgasm, her muscles tensing as his lips wrapped around her clit. fuck, was she almost there. two fingers, specifically his middle and ring, plunge inside, pumping in and out of her weeping cunt.

"d-danny, please. make me cum. make me cum danny."

oh, was he done for.

without warning, she unravels underneath him.

his tongue relishes the way her juices coat absolutely everything. mustache, lips, chin, the sheets. it's all over. how he loved a mess. it only meant more for him to clean up.

carefully, he presses fingers against her mouth, prompting her to open. maintaining eye contact, she sucks on them, lashes fluttering as she tastes herself.

inside his boxers, his cock twitches.

yet, she nearly collapses on to the mattress, chest rising and falling. as she comes down, "do you need anything?"

"nah," taking a corner of the comforter, he drapes it over her body, ensuring that she's fully covered, "i do have one question though. a few, actually."

"fire away, pretty boy."

"can i get out of my clothes?"

an eye opens to a mere slit, the corners of her lips curving into a slight smirk, "why, you wanna match? i wanna see those tattoos. i managed a sneak peek earlier."

he can't help but chuckle, sliding a leg out of his shorts, "look all you want, sweet girl."

clothes fall to the floor, daniel wriggling into bed next to her. inching closer, she nuzzles into his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. he flinches at the action, yet feels a coziness blooming deep in his chest.

he wasn't sure what exactly it was, but that was something he could figure out. not now, though. there were other matters to tend to.

"who are you? i know your name, of course. but what if you strangle me in my sleep? what then? you're not a siren, are you? did you seduce me just to—"

"good lord," he can't help but melt at the giggles that erupt, "daniel, i'm a student here. i'm trying to earn my master's degree."

"master's in?"

"social work," fingers trace along his chest, "i want to be a therapist."

"oh?" his lips meet with her temple, "so you're saying that you'll be my therapist?"

"i'm not so sure about that one, danny."

danny.

fuck, did it sound so right.

"well think about it. you have my number. call me again when you're ready for your first client."

he cannot help but sense her breathing slow, the words slurred from exhaustion, "i'm afraid that's against my code of ethics, daniel."

and before he could even speak, she was fast asleep, curled up against his chest. swiveling his head, he shifts his upper half, grateful that he ended up on same side of bed as the charger.

gnawing on his lower lip, he looks over his notifications one last time.

the dutch 🦁 -> dude, where are you?

the dutch 🦁 -> idk about you, but i ended up in some girl's apartment. we will debrief tomorrow.

the dutch 🦁 -> if we're late in the morinng we are so fucked. we were supposed to here for one night

although there were still so many unknowns to come from this, there was one thing daniel was sure of.

he was meant to be here, even if it was just for the night.

even if his actions had consequences.

and fuck, was he going to savor every second of it.

[witherby]

chef who do you think would be the most to least willing to be the subject of mousey's makeovers? imagine like young mousey just learnt makeup and is now trying to practice the skills of makeup on someone

-🕯

Oh, fun question! Makeup is genderless, so to me that doesn't play a factor in willingness here! None of these characters' egos are going to be bruised by eyeliner.

Who's okay to endure a makeover?

Most Willing:

Bruce: he's regularly and routinely wearing a full face and airbrushing any exposed skin so that the general public doesn't see a Brucie full of battle scars. He's so used to this that he can coach you through the best application practices without looking. Beats having to do it himself.

Jason: got into makeup to cover up the J carved into his cheek. He's fine to let you doll him up a bit. Will even request certain colors for his eyes and lips.

Alfred: massive theatre nerd and former professional actor! He wore stage makeup for shows, and that stuff is thick. Of course Flittermouse can dab some blush on his cheeks and give him a smokey eye. He slays and serves every day.

Barry: why not? Uncle Bare is down for whatever, and he thinks it's really cool what sorts of designs you can put on your face. Go nuts!

Dick: He was going to ask to do your make-up first. He's so pretty he doesn't need it, but that doesn't matter. He wants to blind people with the amount of highlighter he slaps on. He needs the brightest, boldest, glitteriest look you can offer him. He graduated Top of his Cunt at the Unislaysity of Mother. Werk, bitch.

Dinah: thinks the act of doing your makeup is very soothing! She'd love to do some fun looks with you!

Indifferent to Make-up:

J'onn: could take it or leave it. Just put it on his human disguise, not his actual skin, and he'll let you do whatever you want.

Oliver: it's fine. He's also famous and wants to look nice for the cameras so he knows the song and dance with products. Just don't get it in his sorry excuse for a beard (Bruce's words) and you can do whatever you want.

Victor: It's not his favorite activity on the planet. If you're not careful, you could get product in his machine parts and that'll be a bitch to clean, but he trusts you and doesn't care if you wanna give him a matte lip and contour.

Diana: will oblige if you insist. Her skin is flawless so she's never had a need for it, but she is pretty tolerant to anything and will put up with a mascara wand in the eye if it means spending some time with you.

Tim: same as Diana. He's got a good skincare routine going on to give himself a nice, natural glow, but if you insist upon winged eyeliner and a bold, dramatic lip, he'll tell you what colors he prefers.

Unwilling to get a Makeover:

Arthur: won't go near it, even if you're toting brands that are vegan and cruelty free. Besides, there's no such thing as waterproof makeup. Water resistant, certainly, but he can't go rule Atlantis with a full beat and still come out of the water looking fresh twelve hours later. That shit's coming off.

Hal: Yeah no, it's a sensory nightmare and he's a chronic face-toucher. It's a shame because he would love to try it out and all the colors look super fun, but it will either end up smudged all over his face and hands in 30 minutes, or he'll need to tap out because it's so cold and goopy.

Clark: I think he just wouldn't like it! With his super senses it would probably feel like a big mess on his face, and he seems to be a pretty clean, meticulous person. Plus I like to think he doesn't have any pores on account of my "Kryptonians are actually lil freaks that make humans uncomfortable" headcanons, so it's not gonna lay right. If you get too close to his face he swerves into Uncanny Valley really fast, and Fenty Beauty foundation won't help with that.

Damian: not interested for the same reasons as Arthur. Big makeup companies are always doing animal testing, even if they don't explicitly advertise it. That's horrific! Get that setting powder away from him posthaste!

[howdeepthegrave]

This would be gut wrenching. Agatha would so deeply want to believe that somehow the universe was giving her a chance. Just one more chance. Just a little more time. And no matter who tries to tell her, or how, she would refuse to believe that's not her precious little boy back with her somehow.

Here have some poorly written claptrap.

"Mama, please, let's go now."

Agatha looked down at her son and smiled.

"All right, Nicky, we'll go. We'll go where no one can bother us or hurt us, okay?"

Billy stepped in their way.

"Agatha! Agatha, that is not Nicky!"

All Agatha could do was laugh at the boy's pathetic attempt to turn her away from her child. From her own flesh and blood.

"Jealousy almost suits you, Billy. It makes you seem even more like Wanda, somehow."

"Agatha..."

"Billy, leave her," Tommy said. "There's no point."

"But she... We have to get her away from that thing!"

"Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you, Mommy Issues?" Agatha spat.

"Please, Agatha, you have to know that..."

"That what? That you thought you could replace what I lost? How could you ever hope to do that? You're just the nasty end result of the Scarlet Witch not knowing what she was doing with herself. You're no one's son! You're nothing!"

Billy staggered back, the words striking almost as solidly as a weapon. Tommy ran to his side, buoying him up and pulling him away.

"Forget that old witch, man. What'd she ever do for us?"

"She helped me to find you. Tommy, she... I can't let her end up like this. She helped me, even when she didn't mean to."

"Billy, anything you've done, you did on your own, with your own power. Sure, maybe she helped you with some control..."

Turning, Tommy and Billy saw Agatha reach out and take the hand of the thing she believed to be her son. Billy fought back tears, horrified to know that perhaps there was nothing he could do. Agatha waa lost to this thing. Already he could see how it had dimmed and drained her, could envision what would happen to her under its further control.

"Have you tried tugging at her heartstrings with your mind again?" someone suggested.

Looking back, Billy saw Death, Rio for now, casually leaning against a light post. She seemed deeply unconcerned that the woman she once claimed to love was walking away hand in hand with a simulacrum of their dead son, a disguise for codified evil.

"Stop her! Please, Rio, you..."

"Silence, Abomination. I can't stop Agatha from doing this anymore than I've ever stopped her from doing anything."

"Can't you?"

Rio shrugged.

"So you'll just let her go? Let her keep rotting away again under the influence of that... That thing?"

"She never wants to see me again. And if she's content to end her days enslaved by delusion, by a... By an image of Nicky, who am I to stop her?"

"It's lying to her! It's lying about Nicholas, about her child. About your child. Aren't you..."

"OF COURSE I'M OUTRAGED!" Death roared, surging forward to knock Tommy back and grab Billy by the throat.

"Then do something," Tommy said.

"I... I can't," Rio said, releasing Billy.

"If you love her, please, please help her," Billy gasped.

"I..."

"Just prove it's not Nicky! You should be able to do that."

And then Rio was gone. Further up the way, Agatha and the thing pretending to by Nicky had paused.

"If they wanna go, why doesn't she just, like, teleport 'em away?" Tommy asked.

Billy shrugged.

"AGATHA! AGATHA, THAT IS NOT OUR SON!"

The voice was like thunder surging around and over them. They saw Agatha stop, saw her release the hand of the Nicky-thing, and Billy thought they ought to take a chance.

"Tommy, go grab it!"

"What? I..."

"Just go!"

In a flash Tommy cleared the distance, made a grab for the Darkhold Kid, and snagged the back of its jacket.

"Mama, help!"

Agatha heard her son cry out, turned aside, and blasted Tommy. He fell to the ground, screaming, and Agatha smiled, though she staggered as she moved to take Nicky's hand again.

"It's okay, Nicky. Mama's right here. We'll never be apart again."

Why did she feel so tired? So drained? She could feel Billy approaching, rushing to check on that brother of his. Would it be worth it to turn back a moment and bait him to see if she could siphon off his power? After all, he had given willingly before.

He had given willingly.

"Mama, come on. We have to go before..."

"Agatha, that boy is not ours."

Spinning, Agatha snarled, pulling Nicky behind her.

"You won't take him from me again, Rio! You can't."

"Agatha, Nicky... How could that be Nicky? I know you can feel that's not him. Not our blood. Not the sweet soul we made."

"My blood. The soul I made. You never cared about Nicky, or you would..."

"Agatha Harkness, I have loved two souls in my existence! You are one. The other... The other is still in my realm, safe from pain and harm. I love our son, Agatha, as much as I have always loved you. Please, my love, turn from this illusion. From this lie."

"You... You monster. You took..."

"Only when I had to, my love. Only when our boy, our son, was so tired that his soul could not stand a moment more. I gave you all I could. I would have given you anything."

Agatha felt Nicky's grasp on her hand tighten, felt her mind waver strangely.

"Mama, she hurt me! She took me so I could never see you again! She killed me, Mama!"

A jolt went through Agatha, and she looked back at Nicky... At her son... At...

At whatever this was.

There was a gasp, not of breath, but of reality tearing. Again Agatha turned and saw that Rio had sliced the veil.

"I can offer a moment," Rio said.

"Mama? Mama, when will you come home and see me?"

There he was. Nicholas. Her son.

"Nicky?"

"Mama, I miss you all the time."

"Nicky, I... Oh, sweet boy, I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything. Everything I did. Everything I exposed you to. Everything after you were gone."

"Mama, you were scared. You get scared a lot. It's not a bad thing. Scared makes you pay attention. You told me that once. Maybe you just pay too much attention."

Oh, that was him. That was her boy. Her sweet, sweet boy.

"That's the lie, Mama!" the Nicky behind her cried. "That's not me! I was never like that! I'm your son. I'm just like you; I do what it takes to survive."

"No, Nicky," Agatha said, "you were never like me. Not that way. You... You were more. You were always, always good."

Something snapped, not in Agatha's mind, but at it. Something sharp and cold and heavy that made her physically stumble back away from Rio, from their son on the other side of the veil. She felt the hand if what she perceived as her child latch tight onto her wrist.

"Come on, Mama," it said, and she could hear how its voice was a cruel parody of Nicky's.

"Agatha, let it go!" Billy shouted, and he was close by, so close by, kneeling over Tommy, but he seemed leagues away.

With all of her strength, Agatha sent a pulse of power down her arm, just enough to knock away the grip of the child-thing, the creature.

The Darkhold.

She felt laughter bubble up from her throat and she fell forward onto her knees, shaking not so much from the laughter as from the utter lack of surprise. Of course. Of course she had lost control again. That was how she was, after all. Uncontrolled. Wrong. Bad. Evil, straight from the womb.

"You're not evil, Mama."

Nicky. Her Nicky. Her baby. He was right there, still right there, but oh, that tear in the veil was closing so fast.

"Our son is right, Agatha. You're many things, but you're not evil."

Looking up at Rio, Agatha smirked.

"Aren't I?"

"Not quite, my love. You're not that thing, at least."

Rio's blade was pointed beyond Agatha, to the place where the Darkhold stood.

"Do you not know how to expel evil, mi corazón?"

Agatha knew hundreds of ways to banish evil, from simple incantations to master workings. She knew many, many ways to do away with darkness.

"I may need a little hand this time, my love," she said.

She slumped, feeling Rio catch her by the shoulders and turn her so that they both faced the Darkhold. It was standing there, looking so like Nicky, so like their son, but its face bore an expression of ancient hatred.

"You think you can stop me? Prevent my dominance over this petty world? You think..."

Curiously, Rio's dagger suddenly sprouted from the Darkhold's neck. Agatha's stomach lurched, her mind straying again to imagine that it was Nicky who had been hurt, Nicky whose hands were scrabbling at his throat, seeking to pull the blade free. A moment later she was back to herself, back in the moment, and she raised her hand.

"No one needs you," she said, feeling strength flow into her and unleashing a wave of power that knocked the Darkhold back.

When it hit the pavement, it was a book again, much like it had been once when she had first taken possession of it. Of course, this copy had Rio's dagger jammed through it.

Rio eased her down, left her lying there on the pavement a moment, walking over and grabbing the Darkhold, wrenching the blade free and then vanishing. Agatha pushed herself up, shook her head, and saw Billy and Tommy nearby.

"Boys, are you..."

"We're fine," Billy said, his voice with a sharp edge that she was unused to from him.

Struggling to her feet, Agatha tried to think, and then tried not to think, of the things she had done under while once more under the influence of the Darkhold. The pain she had unleashed. It was probably pretty on par with most of what she had done down the centuries, but now...

"Tommy, Billy, I'm sorry. I... Wasn't myself."

"You were, actually," Billy said, "but just your worst self."

He was still looking at her with eyes full of betrayal as he helped Tommy up and they walked away from her. Agatha closed her eyes a moment.

"You know, getting away from it all for a while is great for mental relaxation and recovery."

When Agatha opened her eyes, Rio was right in front of her.

"You know some good little getaway spot?" the witch asked Death.

"Baby, I know 'em all. But right now, if you're interested, I'm thinking a secluded little woodland cottage. Simple, quiet, and cheap since no one's lived there since, oh, 1750."

Chuckling, Agatha shrugged.

"Sounds cozy. But before we head off, the Darkhold..."

"Threw it in a black hole. It's now cosmic spaghetti."

When Rio offered her hand, Agatha took it.

"Like old times, huh?"

Death smiled.

"Yeah. Like old times."

Other characters touch the Darkhold and their life turns to shit

Meanwhile Agatha takes it, uses it, plays with it and is fine and unbothered. And it’s all to get away from her baby mama

Honestly what is there to be afraid of when you can get Death to bend the rules of nature for you

Agatha Harkness, the woman you are

[exhuastedpigeon]

See the thing is, I know that a part of my dislike of the Diaz parents is personal. It's because I grew up as the oldest kid in a Catholic family with too much put on my shoulders at a young age. I know this about myself. I know that when Helena nitpicks Eddie's choices and makes him feel smaller she's not doing it on purpose, she's doing it because she actually believes she's right.

And here's the thing, it's so easy to hate a character because they remind you of someone in your life. It's easier to hate that character than your own parent. Because here's the thing, Eddie still loves his parents so much even though they've hurt him, even though they aren't actually helping him. It's easy for us as the audience to hate them because they aren't our parent.

But putting yourself in Eddie's shoes it becomes easy to see that he believes the things they tell him and he resent them and he really does think he's a failure as a father and a man, and he still loves them. He loves them and he wants them to be proud of him and he wants them to accept that he's a good man and a good father. He is going to keep wanting that.

9-1-1 isn't a show that usually has it's characters cut their shitty parents off. And 9-1-1 also isn't a show that has characters act without motivation. Eddie's parents still see him as an 18-year-old kid who got his girlfriend pregnant. In their heads (especially his mother's head from what I can tell) he's still that boy instead of the man we've all seen him grow into.

And Eddie's going back to El Paso. He's going back to his hometown. He's probably going to do the thing a lot of people do if they have to move back to their hometown – he's going to revert to who he was when he lived there out a sense of self preservation. Except that isn't who Eddie is anymore, it isn't who he's been for a long time.

What I hope for Eddie and his parents out of this arc is a realization that Eddie is no longer the kid who got his girlfriend pregnant. He's an adult man who is going to make mistakes, but he owns those mistakes and tries to be better. He's a damn good firefighter and medic. He's grown and I think both Eddie and his parents need to realize what that means.

Because I will likely never forgive Helena Diaz for what she said to Eddie in Eddie Begins, but that doesn't mean Eddie won't and that doesn't mean Eddie shouldn't. If he as a character decides he wants to keep trying with his parents and if his parents start to accept him for who he is and treat him like an adult, I think that's a pretty decent end to that saga.

Especially if Chris gets to see his dad revert to who he was in El Paso and realizes this isn't who his dad is, his dad is the guy who built him a skateboard so he wouldn't be left out. The guy who runs into burning buildings for a living. The guy who learned to cook. The guy who makes mistakes but learns from them.

At the end of the day I don't know if Eddie and Chris rebuild their relationship without Eddie figuring out how to rebuild his relationship with his parents too. This show loves giving parents the chance to redeem themselves, they're probably going to do that with the Diaz parents, but as long as it isn't just Eddie saying he was wrong and everyone agreeing and moving on, I think a story where they realize no one was right and everyone fucked up and they can move forward together is a pretty good one.

[teddybeartoji]

levi is very mmmmmm.. polite . when it comes to blowjobs. he will never ask you for one, he won't even hint that he might want one – if you don't initiate it first, nothing will ever happen. that doesn't mean he doesn't think about it though. dream about it, even.

he hates when the daydreams force themselves into his mind – the thought of you between his legs, eyes glued to his while you take him down your throat is enough to derail his plans for a good while. his pants grow tighter and tighter and the ability to think straight flies out the window; home alone, his tea now sits cold and untouched on the small coffee table of his living room while he succumbs to the unruly scenario playing out inside his head.

levi throws his head against the backrest and stares at the ceiling. he can almost hear the wet, disgustingly filthy noises you'd be making while having your lips around his lenght right now and he feels awful. he should be a gentleman, someone who behaves better than this, but he cannot help it.

with a low groan, he palms himself through the material of his pants with one hand while using the other to hide his face. your darling smile pops into his head, then your laugh, and he swears he's going to lose it. precum leaks through his boxers and he cringes at the mess he's making – he's not used to this, he's not used to letting his desires yank him around like this. but this is what you do to him, this is all on you.

he unwillingly thinks about the way you'd probably massage his balls and drag your tongue up alongside his shaft. how you'd rest your free hand on his oh, so sensitive thigh and how you'd stare up at him with stars in your eyes. fuck. he squeezes his fist around his base and screws his eyes shut – levi thinks about how warm your mouth would be, how tight your throat would get when you try to swallow around him. how pretty you'd look with your nose pressed against his happy trail.

the tv playing in the background goes silent in his ears as he bucks his hips up against his own palm, the image of you letting him fuck your mouth so clear in his mind that he feels like he's going to pass out; with a hand on your cheek, he'd hold you so gently and dip you in praise – it comes naturally in moments like this because as stoic he might seem, treating you right is always a priority to him. he doesn't take this lightly at all, he will never forget the affection you bestow upon him, in the bedroom and outside.

under the dim lights of his living room, curses fall from his lips as he continues to stroke himself through his pants. that's what he thinks is saving him, the thin material seperating his hand from his aching cock – this is how he convinces himself that he hasn't fully lost it yet.

(he ignores his soaked boxers.)

suddenly, a glimmer of light catches his attention from under his arm and normally, he wouldn't have given it a second thought if it hadn't been your name that popped up on it and he most certainly wouldn't have reached for it with the same hand he was palming himself with just a mere moment ago if it weren't for the ridiculous surge of excitement that flows through his body at the sight of your name.

"can i come over?"

he's glad you're not there to see the burning flush on his cheeks. he clears his throat and sends back a surprisingly fast 'of course' that unknowingly to him, makes you smile.

his dick twitches and levi's face pales. he still needs to deal with that before you arrive because he refuses to let you see him as just another horny man – all while you're on your way over, cheerfully practicing your little proposal of finally asking him whether you can make him feel good, whether he'd let you do everything he's been dreaming of.

[followthebluebell]

Hi there 👋

Big fan of your blog & what you do!

I have a question about a feral cat of mine, if you have time.

She & her sister were trapped at ~4 mos old. It's been 5 years & her sis is still squirrelly but has bonded with me 😻 whereas this one won't stay in the same room as me (I can't get within 2 feet of her OR touch her).

However... she expects her treats every morning & has taken to calling/crying out for me as I watch TV at night. I talk to her, get up/find her & keep chatting, but nothing comes of it. 😢

I feel like this extra communication means we're getting closer, as she initiates it.

Any thoughts, tips, or hints on how to move forward?

Thanks so much,

A Mystified Mother of Cats

Hello! <3 Thank you very much for your kind words. And thank you for looking after your two cats; it sounds like they're quite the handful. It's honestly impressive that you've gotten even one of them bonded to you. Once a cat is past 3 months, it's VERY difficult to tame them down.

A couple of my semi-ferals are like that. Bobby and Clyde both approach and greet me for the occasional pet, but Morgan wishes I would die in a fire and he's known me for like five years now. I've hardly taken any of his organs, so it feels pretty unfair. It's not like I took any really important ones. I only took his teeth and testicles. :/ VERY overdramatic on his part.

Anyway, her relationship to you might never change. She might always be this weird demanding creature who never gives any affection back to you. I like to refer to that sort of cat as a house spirit or spirit cat: shy, reclusive, they basically just haunt your residence until they decide to demand something. And that's ok. Cats are allowed to just be.

That said, you're right that this COULD lead to something. The fact that she's initiating this means she views you as an extension of her colony. If she didn't consider you a member, she wouldn't even bother trying to communicate with you. So take advantage of that and try offering her some extra special treat, like a churu. If she tolerates dairy, whipped cream is a nice treat too, or a bit of canned tuna. The point is to make this moment extra special and reward her for reaching out (even if it is interrupting tv time).

You can even get a bit sneaky about it and start extending the pre-treat time. Cats have EXTREMELY accurate internal clocks. If I'm late with Yardstick's dinner, he will come and find me to yell at me about it. By delaying the special treat time, you might be able to encourage her to take more initiative and actively seek you out.

Making a habit of some special treat time can even help save her life one day, if she ever needs to get to the vet quick. By establishing a routine, you'll know where she is at that time and can hopefully scoop her up real quick (or at least get some gabapentin into her food).

I hope this helps and thank you again for taking the time with these little spirits.

[emeraldserenade]

okay i know the smut option definitively did not win but...maybe sneak in little bit of it, as a treat, mayhaps?? 👀👀

Enjoy the treat, lovelies. I know I enjoyed writing it. This is literally just an entire smut because I was not about to be mean and have you only see a little bit of it. But because I'm not giving anything away, there is such an unsatisfying ending to keep the mystery alive.

tw: fem!reader, smut, kinda dubcon but only because reader has the potion in her system even though it's not the reason she loves Joaquín, unprotected p in v, belly bulge, creampie, aftercare because Joaquín would never leave you afterwards.

"Angel, it's just the potion talking," Joaquín held your shoulders as you tried to kiss him. It's not that he didn't want to, god did he want to, but it wouldn't be right for him to.

➽──────────────❥

"Joaquín Torres, I have been in love with you for years, please," you were begging him at this point, and Joaquín was just a man after all.

"If I do this, do you promise that this isn't because of the potion," Joaquín was holding onto the last of his resolve.

"I promise, please," you tried to lean forward again and Joaquín met you half way. It was exactly what you wanted, both of you were desperate. It was clear he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You moved closer but he pulled away, you made a noice of protest.

"Angel, I don't want to take advantage of you, I know you say that this is what you want but," you cut Joaquín off my suddenly grabbing your phone. You should have thought it through more, the fact that Joaquín was about to see you telling one of your friends that you wanted to jump his bones.

"Look," you shoved the phone in his face and you watched as he read the messages. They were clearly stamped from way before you had the potion and they were detailed on what you wanted, if your mind wasn't so muddled from kissing Joaquín you probably would have felt embarrassed.

"Angel, why didn't you say anything before," Joaquín mumbled before grabbing your phone and throwing it aside. He practically pounced on you, his lips were everywhere. On your lips, your neck, jaw, your chest, everywhere he could reach his lips touched. You gasped as he gently bit your neck and heard his chuckle.

"Sam will be back soon," you told him, urging him closer to you.

"Then we better make this quick," Joaquín mumbled against your neck before you two started to undress each other.

Your clothes were thrown around the bedroom and Joaquín had you on the bed. You watched as he slowly kissed his way down your chest to your stomach all the way down to where you wanted him. He pressed a kiss to your clit and your hips jolted toward him. You felt, more than heard, his huff out a breathless laugh. Joaquín dived in, wasting no time, he kissed, licked, and sucked before gently adding his fingers to the mix.

You were a moaning mess, your hips were fighting against the hold Joaquín had with the hand that wasn't occupied, trying to get closer to him. You had one hand pressed over your mouth and the other was tangled in his hair, he groaned when you pulled it. You made brief eye contact before your eyes rolled in the back of your head when his fingers it your g-spot.

"Let me hear those noises, Angel," Joaquín pulled away long enough to tell you and you did as he said. Your hand that was over his mouth blindly reached down to grab onto his that was still at your hips.

"Oh god, Joaquín. I'm gonna," you didn't have time to finish your sentence before the waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Joaquín helped you ride it over before licking his lips and fingers clean, the ight turning you on even more. You hungrily pulled him down to your lips, the taste of yourself still lingering on his. You lost yourself in the kiss before you felt him prodding at your entrance.

You and Joaquín let out synchronized moans as he slid into you. He stilled as he bottomed out, letting you get used to it. When you nodded at him, only did he start to move. It was slow at first but he gradually built up his speed until he was slamming into you. You looked down and you could see where his dick was hitting your cervix. Joaquín looked down too and placed his hand over it, adding to your pleasure. You threw your head back with a moan as he shifted so his tip brushed against your g-spot before slamming into your cervix.

Joaquín leaned down to kiss you and you ran your nails down his back. You heard him moan and did it again. "I'm not going to last," you whined as he slammed into you particularly rough.

"Let go for me, come on Angel. You're doing so good and you look so pretty, let go," the mix of his words and the immense pleasure he was bringing you was the perfect mix to throw you over the edge. Your orgasm shook you to your core, Joaquín wasn't far behind. You could feel his release fill you up and you pulled him to lay on top of you. You two laid there in your post orgasm glow for a moment before v pulled out, both of you hissing at the overstimulation. "I'll be right back," he told you and you nodded, too fucked out to speak.

True to his word, Joaquín was back and with a warm damp cloth to clean you up. He threw it back into the bathroom before grabbing your bags to find something for the two of you to change into. He gave you some panties and one of his shirts before throwing on some boxers and his grey sweatpants. He laid with you, holding you to him as you two stayed silent.

"This meant something to you, right?" You couldn't help but ask, you needed to know.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a team. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: you finally made it to Jackson

Warnings: angst, tears, Tommy and Maria, Ellie is here too, some swearing, guns, Joel is an asshole, some fluff at the end

A/N: @underneath-the-sky-again and I were talking about what happened when Reader and Joel got to Jackson. is this a good answer?

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

"Joel! Ellie!"

When you were surrounded by people on horses, you were sure that this was the end for you. You were so close to Jackson that you couldn't believe that fate could be so capricious. You saw Joel grab Ellie by the arm, trying to pull her away, but escape was impossible. Not this time...

Suddenly, someone shouted your name. You raised your head and looked around. You knew this man. He was from Jackson. You were safe.

Joel never fully trusted anyone, not in these times. Even though you were talking to that guy who had just pointed a gun at you, Joel kept an eye on you the whole time. He wasn't convinced of your safety until he saw Tommy.

When the younger Miller's eyes landed on you, he beamed. "Good to see you! Thanks for bringing them here." he said, taking you in his arms and hugging you tightly "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"We bumped into each other a long way from here." you replied "I thought they could use a guide. Damn, I wouldn't have guessed you were brothers!"

"Yeah!" Tommy laughed, "I inherited all the personal charm."

"And the extroversion." you chuckled.

Tommy took you to a warm place and you were given a meal. You didn't want to disturb Joel and Tommy, so you sat down further away. It took you longer than you planned to get back to Jackson, but you finally made it here. However, your happiness was covered by a black cloud that told you one thing - it was time to part ways.

All you talked about was getting to this place, Joel found his brother, Ellie was safe, and you... You were going to be alone again.

"Are you coming with us?" Ellie called when Tommy and Maria wanted to show them the empty house they were going to stay in.

"I'm not sure." You replied.

Maria smiled at you, stroking her visible belly. "Your old room is free. You can stay there." You nodded, thanking her quietly.

Ellie frowned and looked at Joel. "She won't be living with us?" she asked.

"It's not up to me, kid." He replied, but you noticed that he threw a quick glance your way.

“But she belongs to us. We’ve been through so much together.” She walked over to you, grabbing your hand. “You’re coming with us. If need be, I’ll give you my bed.”

"Ellie..." You sighed, unable to hide your emotion. "I don't want to bother you. You and Joel were supposed to get to Jackson. We made it."

Maria looked from you to the girl, finally speaking. "Her room is really comfortable and warm. You'll see each other around town. Unless she runs away again."

Someone cleared their throat, and you all looked over at Joel. He had already put on his jacket and was standing by the door, clearly tired. “Ellie’s right, you should move in with us. If you want.”

"What do you mean? We've barely arrived and we're already leaving?" you looked at Joel not understanding a word.

You managed to sleep for a few hours and eat another meal. You took a bath and felt like a new person, and in the meantime Miller told you that he was going somewhere again. After coming back from Tommy's, he seemed more depressed to you, as if a great burden had fallen on his shoulders again. You, on the other hand, were confused.

"Ellie is important." he finally spoke.

You folded your arms across your chest. "Of course she is. But what does that have to do with her?"

"You won't understand."

"Then explain it to me!" you snorted. "If I have to go with you, I want to know."

Something in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. You understood it without words. The decision had been made and you were not to be a part of it.

"You've got to be kidding..." you hissed.

"Just me and Ellie." Joel lowered his gaze, not ready to look you in the eye. You had done so much for her, risked so much, and now he was leaving you alone. For your safety, but he couldn't tell you about it. He couldn't tell you anything, even though he wanted to.

When he heard your voice again, it was trembling and full of suppressed emotions. "We're a team. We're in this together. All this way here, I..."

"It's always been just me and Ellie. You're staying."

It was like a slap in the face. He saw your eyes widen, glistening with tears. He knew you would give anything for Ellie, even your own life. He also knew that if he asked you to go with him, you would do it without hesitation. But you had to stay in Jackson. You were safer here than with them.

"Listen..." he started, but he saw you raise a hand, stopping him from saying anything else.

"You've said enough, Joel."

He hadn't felt as alone as he did at that moment in a long time.

The weeks dragged on incredibly. To occupy your time, you began patrolling the area, but your thoughts kept returning to Joel and Ellie.

Your farewell wasn't one of tenderness and joy. As you held Ellie in your arms, you begged her to come back to you safe and sound. She didn't understand why you couldn't go with them either, but Joel didn't explain much to anyone.

Joel. His furtive glances at you were full of pain and remorse, but you knew that didn’t mean he’d changed his mind. Even before he left, he heard your quiet voice, barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself, Joel.”

“Will you be here when we get back?” he asked before he could stop himself.

That was what he feared most. That you would leave again, that you would disappear over the horizon and he would never see you again. How was it possible that he needed you so much?

"If you want me to be."

He nodded. He couldn't answer louder.

"You're still waiting for them. Do you think they'll come back?"

You looked at Stephen, who shifted in his saddle and reached for a canteen of water.

"I hope so." You replied.

"We're all waiting for someone, darling." You smiled and looked at the man.

"And what are you waiting for, Stephen?"

"Until my fucking leg stops hurting. I think it's going to rain, it always hurts like that when it rains."

You've been circling the area since morning, your patrol slowly coming to an end. One last look at the horizon, one last squint, because maybe you'll be able to see something more.

"Is that a fucking car?"

You turned around as if on command and saw it too. A car was slowly driving down the dirt road in your direction. You reached for your gun instinctively, the horses nervously pawing the ground with their hooves. Only when someone started waving at you from the passenger seat did you realize who it was.

"Ellie! It's them, Stephen!" you called out and hit the horse's sides with your heels, forcing it to gallop.

The car stopped and you jumped down, running towards it. Ellie almost fell out of the vehicle and threw herself into your arms. "Are you okay? Are you okay?" you asked, hugging her tightly, kissing her forehead and ruffling her hair.

"I'm okay! Hey!" she groaned, but giggled "I missed you so damn much!"

"I missed you too! Jesus, I was about to look for you myself." You pushed the girl to arms length and looked at her closely "Are you sure you're okay? Should I take you to the clinic?"

"Relax!" Ellie chuckled.

The slam of the door closing caught your attention. You recognized him immediately, although he seemed somehow changed, as if the burden he took with him from Jackson hadn't left him at all.

"Hi." Joel greeted you.

He didn't expect that. You let go of Ellie and after a moment you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Hesitantly, but with relief, Joel embraced you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

They were home.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SAY IT, DOLL"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH BUCKY

This time with the enemies to lovers dinamic, cause I love it so much and I love it more if its with him lol (idk why, it is what it is)

I hope you like it!

WARNING: EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

It was the wedding of one of Tony's best friends, and for some strange reason, he'd invited the entire team to the ceremony.

You frowned when he pointed out the ENTIRE team, since that would mean you'd have to put up with the super soldier once again.

You and Bucky weren't getting along.

You argued nonstop; if he yelled, you yelled louder, and if he shot farther, you had to do it even more.

Your bad relationship reached such a point that Tony decided to separate you on missions, since you spent more time arguing than focusing on the mission, and that was something that simply couldn't happen.

You opened your closet, where you had several outfits you could wear for the occasion.

You were trying to choose one when there was a knock at the door. You opened it and it was Natasha, already dressed in a beautiful red dress and with elegant makeup.

"I just came to see how you were doing," he said, looking you up and down. "I can see you're not doing so well."

"It's not that, it's just that…" you snorted. "I don't want to go, Nat," you complained. "I don't understand why Tony's friend invited us all to his damn wedding."

Natasha stared at you for a few moments, until she saw the reason reflected in your eyes.

"I know you don't want to because of him," she said, "but we hardly ever get invited to these kinds of events, and even if Tony's millionaire friend doesn't know you, they'll both appreciate your presence," she encouraged you. "Tony is aware of how much these kinds of social events cost you, and even more so if we count on the "what if" factor," she said it in a way that made you smile. "Come on, make yourself pretty and show him that you don't mind his presence," she blurted out. "He can't be waiting all over you forever."

You thought about it for a few moments before nodding.

"You're right," you declared. "I'm going to get dressed."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear!" The Widow smiled. "I'll wait for you out here."

"Nat," you whispered before she opened the door, "thank you."

"What are friends for?" she replied, returning the gesture.

You looked over your clothing options and decided on one of the outfits, which you quickly put on.

You put on your makeup naturally and, after grabbing a jacket just in case, left the room, where your friend was waiting for you, just as she had told you.

She looked you up and down for a moment and made the universal gesture of perfection with her hand, making you blush.

"Don't do that," you complained. "You know I'm really bad at accepting compliments."

"Well, you'll have to get used to it, because I'm sure you'll get a lot of them tonight," she winked at you as you walked to the garage to pick up one of Tony's cars.

"Don't tell me that, because I'm capable of going and changing into a tracksuit," you said, making him laugh. "Don't laugh, it's the truth!"

"I know," she murmured. "I'm laughing because I know you'd be capable."

She put the key in the ignition and started the car to drive to the ceremony. When you arrived and Nat left the keys with the valet at the entrance, you saw several people entering the venue, ready for the ceremony.

Your gaze traveled around the place, until it rested on Steve and Thor, who were talking animatedly with Tony and the man you assumed was the groom.

"We should go introduce ourselves," Natasha said, taking your arm.

Before you could refuse, she'd already dragged you there and introduced you with a wide smile.

"…and this is Y/N," she said. The man smiled at you kindly, nodding his head.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N," he murmured, turning to the priest. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'm wanted."

"Of course, my friend. We wouldn't want to keep you on your big day,"

Tony said, smiling at him until he left.

"I know he's a friend of mine, but sometimes I wish he'd just shut up, at least for five minutes."

"I can't say the same," Steve intervened. "You know Buck."

The mere mention of his name made all your hair stand on end, which the blond noticed.

"Sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Relax, it's okay," you smiled reassuringly. "Even if I don't like him, people are still going to say his name anyway." You laughed. "He almost sounds like Voldemort."

"Who?" he asked, and this time it was Tony who intervened.

"Another thing you missed that you need to put on your list," he said, and automatically, Steve pulled it out from inside his suit jacket. "The Harry Potter movies," Tony named, as Steve wrote it down.

"One more name," Rogers murmured. "I have to catch up as soon as possible."

"Little by little," you said. "You've missed a lot. Don't try to watch them all at once, otherwise you won't enjoy any of them."

Steve nodded in agreement with what you had said. It was then that his gaze rested on a spot behind your head, then looked back at you again.

"It's him, right?" – you asked in a whisper, and he nodded slowly with a grimace of disgust on his face – it's okay, pretend I'm not here.

When Bucky reached the group, he greeted everyone there except you, to whom he dedicated a look from top to bottom.

If your relationship were any different, you'd even say he was giving you a thorough once-over, but given your past history, you knew full well he was just picking holes in your outfit to make you look ridiculous in front of everyone.

"Y/N," he said, "You've decided to ditch your sweats for a day," he laughed, "It seems like a miracle."

"And there it is," you thought upon hearing his first sarcastic comment of the afternoon.

"Wow," he observed, "You've ditched your usual sweats for the wedding." He gave an amused smile. "How thoughtful of you."

"You, on the other hand, are still the same," you said disdainfully.

"While you're greasing your arm, you might as well do the same to your brain, see if it starts working properly."

The tension was palpable between you, and just as Steve and Nat were about to interrupt, the priest announced that the ceremony would soon begin.

You weren't much of a wedding fan, but you had to admit this one had been good.

The decor was elegantly arranged, and the guests weren't complete jerks, so you could say you enjoyed yourself.

Until you were shown into the dining room where the meal was to be held.

You wandered around the table looking for the sign with your name on it, and when you saw who your companion was sitting next to you, you thought it was a practical joke.

Later, you would find out that Tony had put you together on purpose, to see if you could finally resolve your differences and stop arguing as much as you normally did.

"Oh, great," he snorted when he saw you. "I'm supposed to sit here," he said resignedly, pausing to look at you for a brief moment. "You look good."

"Careful, Bucky," you warned. "If you keep saying that kind of thing, I'll even think you like me."

"I have no problem admitting that you look beautiful even if I don't like you," he said, making your eyes widen in surprise. He clicked his tongue as he shook his head from side to side.

"Just… accept the compliment, okay?" He huffed, annoyed. You nodded.

"Okay," you murmured with a nod.

He sat down next to you and began talking animatedly to the person on his left, while you took the opportunity to observe the impressive white and yellow decor.

The place was beautiful; it seemed as if I had suddenly arrived first.

That's when you realized he was looking at you.

You quickly moved your head towards him and blushed at the way his green eyes sparkled when they fell upon yours.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like, princess?" he whispered, your cheeks flushing red.

"Don't call me that," you blurted out. He nodded, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

He looked at you for a few moments in silence before speaking again.

"It's a shame we hate each other," he commented casually. "You have to admit we'd make a good couple." He tilted his head to observe your facial expression. "Don't look at me like that."

"How are you so sure of that?" you questioned. He nodded slowly.

"I just am," he replied simply, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong, doll? You can't stand me, can you?"

You felt his metallic hand on your leg under the table, moving up to your knee.

"I can feel you trembling under my touch," he whispered. "That's hate, isn't it?" he inquired, but you were unable to respond, as all your attention was on his hand. "You hate doing this under the table in front of everyone, don't you?" he whispered, tracing the bone of your knee with his fingertips. "It's a shame you're wearing stockings," he murmured. "I would have liked to feel your skin."

"Are you doing this to distract me?" –you managed to ask when he slid his fingers down again-

“Of course I am,” he smiled, amused by your suffering. “If you want me to stop, just tell me, princess,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop, and you’ll discover how good I can make you feel right here, right now.” When you didn’t respond, he moved his fingers up to your groin, making you shiver with anticipation. “What if I touch you… here?” he questioned.

You straightened your back in an attempt to keep everyone from noticing what was happening down there.

“Now, baby, remind me how much you hate me while I massage this pussy over your stockings.” He growled, trapping it between his index finger and thumb, slowly making you lose your mind.

His long, masculine fingers stimulated you so hard you thought you might cum. Your lips parted in a shaky gasp. "More," you whispered, "please."

"No, princess," he shook his head. "These small, slow circles are all you're going to get," he decreed. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves, right?" You nodded, a slight shiver coming over you, making him smile. "Was that a chill?" He murmured, focusing his gaze on you. "You can keep ranting all night about how much you hate me," he whispered.

"Your body is betraying you, baby," he blurted out, pointing out the obvious. "You want this desperately, and you want it with me."

You grabbed his wrist under the table, causing him to jerk his head up toward you.

"Do you want me to stop, doll?" he whispered. "All you have to do is say it," he whispered. "Do it, and we'll pretend this never happened," he said. "Admit it. You've been wanting to take all your hatred and frustration out on me for a while. Maybe you thought if we had sex, this would all be fine."

That comment was the trigger for you to quickly get up and leave the room.

The heels of your shoes clicked against the elegant floor as you listened to Bucky apologize for you and let the others know they'd be back in time for the food.

"Really? Are you running away from me?" he asked, as if he couldn't believe it. "Where are you going?"

You scanned the doors on either side of the hallway you were walking down. You opened one at random, and he walked in behind you, flashing a smug smile.

"Of course you had to find the only empty room in…"

He couldn't continue speaking as you crashed your lips against his desperately, even anxiously.

You needed him so much you couldn't think of anything else. You hated him, yes, but at the same time you needed him to fuck you until you forgot the reason you were doing it in the first place.

His eyes widened when you pulled away, before he placed his hands gently on your waist.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Your gazes locked tightly, and when you nodded this time, he was the one who leaned in to kiss you.

His trimmed beard tickled your chin, but you didn't care, not when he was kissing you like this, like he was the last oxygen mask available during a zombie apocalypse.

You brought your hands to his chest and tugged at his tie, making him laugh against your lips.

He lifted you easily and sat you down on the table there. You wrapped your legs around him as he moved to kiss your neck.

You tilted your head to give him better access. Then he moved his hands to the straps of your dress.

"Can I pull this down, please?" he added, looking at you pleadingly.

You nodded, and his gaze fell on your collarbone, which he bent down to kiss, leaving a small bite on your shoulder that made you gasp.

You quickly got rid of his pants, and because you were so wet, he quickly slid inside you.

"You feel better than I imagined, baby," he growled, thrusting against you, reaching your depths with a single thrust. "Take it, doll," he panted. "Take it like the good girl I know you are," he whispered in your ear. "Are you going to be a good girl for me, princess?"

"Yes," you panted, digging your nails into his back. "Please, Buck…"

"Cum for me, doll," he growled, and that was all it took.

Later, as you were getting dressed, he gave you a sidelong glance accompanied by an amused smirk.

"This means you don't hate me so much anymore, right?"

You huffed and tossed him his pants so he could put them on so you could head back to the rest of the guests.

"Shut up, Barnes," you said, mimicking his gesture.

[aurumacadicus]

I had a thought. Hmmmm. Bear with me.

--

"Rogers," someone barked, and Steve almost choked on his champagne. He turned, bewildered, to find Carol Danvers charging toward him like she was on a mission. A group of partygoers even scattered out of her way. He cast around for anything he could have said that would insult the air force. He couldn't think of anything that would have insulted her anymore than her playful ribs about the army, though.

"Barnes says you're a sad-sack," Carol said, coming to a stop right in front of him.

"...Ouch?" Steve spluttered after a moment. "He said that about me?"

Carol winced, seeming to realize she'd basically just insulted him. "No, I mean, uh--" She coughed, cleared her throat, then took a step backward to give him some space. "Barnes says you don't dance. At all."

Steve blinked, wondering what that had to do with anything. "No, I don't."

"And you came stag," she added, gaze intense.

Steve glanced around for an escape. That seemed ominous. He didn't even want to come to this stupid party, but the brass had basically told him it was mandatory after a few successful (and very high profile) missions. They hadn't served dinner yet. While he would miss the steak, he could probably make it out through the kitchen. Or a bathroom window.

"Will you stop looking like I'm asking you to volunteer for a firing squad?" Carol hissed between her teeth. "I just need you to sit with a friend while Jim and I dance."

"...Oh," Steve said after some thought. "Maybe if you hadn't charged up to me like you were asking me to volunteer for a firing squad, I wouldn't look like this. I thought Maria couldn't come?"

"Different friend," Carol answered, voice clipped. When he only raised an eyebrow at her in response, she huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. "Jim doesn't want to leave him alone right now, but I didn't want to pull anyone away from their date."

Well, Steve supposed he could understand that. He threw back the last gulp of his champagne, then set the empty glass on the bar. "Okay. Don't approach me like we're about to get into a fistfight anymore."

"Sorry," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, then turned to lead him over to her table. "Also, does Barnes's date have a gun on her? She reached for something when I went to ask him if he knew anyone who wouldn't mind sitting for a song."

"No, it's a knife," Steve answered helpfully.

Carol almost stumbled, but she caught herself on the next step. "She would have stabbed me?!"

Steve paused, considering, then answered, "I dunno, maybe. She's never stabbed me."

"I can see why Barnes likes her," Carol grumbled reluctantly. She grabbed his sleeve before he could say anything else and yanked him up beside her. "Tony! I've found someone to sit with you. This is Steve."

Tony, Steve assumed, blinked up at both of them in confusion. His mouth was still open with a forkful of cheesecake halfway toward it. His eyes darted back and forth between them before he finally set is fork back down. "Um?"

Steve couldn't help but gawk. How had he gotten dessert already? The hors d'oeuvres were still out on the main table. Steve had just nervously demolished the last of the crostini. He was still thinking about the steak he'd ordered.

"Jim and I are going to go have a dance," Carol continued, reaching out to grab Jim by the collar and drag him up out of his seat. "I promise we'll be back after three songs."

"Um," Tony said again, and Jim spluttered something about his own dessert, but Carol dragged him away before he could get his feet under him. He and Steve watched them disappear into the crowd milling about the dance floor. Steve almost felt sorry for him.

But then he saw that Jim's dessert was a beautiful piece of chocolate cake with soft pink layers of frosting. "Well, best not to let Jim's plate go to waste," Steve said cheerfully, sitting down in Jim's seat, and pulled the tiny dessert plate closer. He could probably get himself another slice later, after dinner. He had this one, after all.

"Um," Tony said again, frowning in confusion. "You don't. Have to sit with me? I can take care of myself for fifteen minutes."

Steve shrugged. "No offense, but I'm more scared of Carol than I am of you."

Tony swiveled to stare in the direction Carol had disappeared to, then looked back up at him, huffing. "I guess that makes sense." He shifted in his seat awkwardly. "Maybe you can actually get me out of here without drawing attention when you're done with Rhodey's cake."

Steve wondered what that meant, but he'd shoved a huge bite of cake into his mouth at the same time, and by the time he'd chewed and swallowed, Tony was focused on making sure he got the perfect cheese-to-crust ratio in each bite, and waved him away when he tried to ask. He gave off kind of the same vibe Natasha did, and he had several knives nearby for the oncoming dinner service, so Steve focused on his cake.

Tony finished just as Steve was scraping the last of the icing from his plate, and he dabbed at his mouth with his cloth napkin, set it on the table, then clasped his hands in his lap and turned to bat his eyelashes at Steve. "If you can get me onto the balcony without letting anyone talk to me, I will give you a million dollars."

Steve blinked back at him. "That's it?"

"If you can get me to my limo without Rhodey noticing, I'll even make sure he doesn't kill you," Tony offered.

Steve stood, then narrowed his eyes, slowly sinking back into his seat. "I dunno, this is a lieutenant colonel we're talking about."

Tony blinked at him slowly, then simply stated, "Coward."

"Okay," Steve said, lurching back to his feet. He scowled when Tony smirked at him, irritated that he was apparently so readable. He offered Tony his hand.

At that, Tony looked surprised. He glanced back and forth between Steve's hand and face, shoulders drawing in nervously when he slanted a look around them, as if to see who might be watching them. He looked back up at Steve with a frown. "Carol didn't tell you why Rhodey didn't want me alone, did she?"

Steve hesitated, then let his hand drop back to his side, feeling like an idiot. "She barely told me who you were."

Tony looked away, shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. "Oh. Well." He shook his head, then lifted both of his hands from his lap, letting them drop to his sides--

Steve couldn't help the sick feeling forming in his gut as Tony rolled himself back, wheelchair appearing from under the tablecloth. It looked like he still had his legs, but Steve knew looks could be deceiving. And it would be rude to ask, of course. He swallowed thickly. Why would this mean Tony needed to be babysat, though? Unless he was talking about leaving before dinner was even served. He felt like he should have asked Carol more questions, been more assertive, if only to save himself the embarrassment he felt now.

"It's okay," Tony sighed, pushing his chair back under the table so he could hide it with the tablecloth again.

"...I can take you out onto the balcony," Steve said after a brief pause.

Tony shot him an amused smile. "That million just too much to pass up?"

"What? No, I wasn't going to expect it anyway," Steve scoffed. He reached out, wrapping his hands around the handles of Tony's wheelchair. "It would feel like stealing, anyway. It's not gonna be hard."

Tony tipped his head back to raise an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? Lots of people have been coming by to talk to me since I got here. I'm sure tons of them will stop us, and--"

"Hold on," Steve said, then braced his feet against the floor.

Tony let out a startled little 'meep' as the chair lurched forward, hands slamming down on the armrests as Steve quickly gained speed. His alarm quickly gave way to delight, though, because then he was throwing his head back, laughing, as Steve sprinted toward the balcony. Most people jumped out of the way, but Steve did end up mowing over a few long skirts. He'd probably get chewed out by Colonel Phillips tomorrow.

But with the genuine delight on Tony's face, he couldn't find it in himself to care that much.

"Oh! Oh," Tony laughed as Steve slowed to a stop next the railing. He put a hand over his chest, lifting the other to wipe a tear away from his eye. "Oh my god. I'm gonna have to pay so many dry cleaning bills."

"Take it outta that million you owe me," Steve replied, leaning back against the railing with a smug smile. "And then give the rest to charity."

"You're crazy," Tony told him, grinning, and he sounded happy still. "Rhodey always told me military guys were crazy, but I never really believed him."

Steve shrugged. "Well. I allegedly once threw myself off a helicopter without a parachute once."

"Allegedly," Tony repeated, shaking his head with what looked like genuine admiration. "How high up was it?"

"Well, I spent a lot of last year pulling off a real good mimicry of Jimmy Stewart from Rear Window," Steve answered, still smiling.

Tony's mouth dropped open into an 'o' of shock. "Are you crazy, or stupid?"

Steve shrugged again. "Yeah." Tony laughed again, from deep in his belly. It was a good look on him, Steve thought, letting his hands drop back to brace on the balcony railing. "So why did Carol think you needed to be babysat?"

He regretted asking immediately. Tony's smile dimmed, and his eyes dropped to his lap. He wrung his hands a couple times, then looked back up at Steve with a sad smile. "Dancing was my favorite part of these events before the accident. I am--I... was good at it. My mother had me in dancing classes since I was six. This is my first big event since..." He motioned at his legs. "I didn't realize how much I would miss it. And Rhodey's such a good friend, he was gonna sit with me the entire time, even though I knew he wanted to dance with Carol."

"That's nice of him," Steve answered carefully. He offered Tony a rueful smile. "I guess it's a good thing she chose me, huh? I can't dance at all."

Tony's expression turned wistful. "I could have taught you. I've taught a lot of people to dance." He looked Steve up and down, gaze turning speculative. "Mostly debutantes. But I was always up for a challenge." His eyes lingered on Steve's feet, then he squinted up at his face. "Those might have hurt my toes more than their stilettos."

Steve blinked, surprised, then couldn't help a bark of laughter. "Wow! Saying I have big feet and calling me fat at the same time."

"You're built like a tank," Tony huffed petulantly. "I'm pretty sure that's why so many people jumped out of the way. A collision with me, oh, well, ouch, but what a great story for the papers. Getting hit by you would have killed them instantly."

"I was probably going too fast," Steve allowed, but he decided he didn't really care. Maybe it would keep him from getting sent to these shindigs. He let his eyes trail over Tony's legs, considering, then dragged his gaze up his body. Tony looked... pretty slight. He wondered how long it had been since his accident. It would be rude to ask though. "Are you ambulatory at all?"

Tony frowned, brows furrowing together in confusion. "Yeah? I mean. I'm still in physical therapy, so. Hopefully I'll. Get more use out of my legs again." He sighed. "Maybe I'll dance again someday. But probably not."

"So it won't hurt you to get out of the chair?" Steve asked, just to be sure.

Tony tipped his head. "...No," he finally answered. "The pain is... secondary to the neurological component."

"Cool," Steve said, standing up from leaning on the railing, and reached out to scoop Tony up into his arms.

Tony yelped, flailing, and threw his arms around Steve's shoulders. "Fuck! Steve! You can't just go around picking disabled people out of their fucking wheelchairs-!"

Steve took a moment to make sure Tony wouldn't squirm out of his grip, carefully adjusting his arms under his knees and behind his shoulders. Once he was certain he had Tony safely in his arms, he straightened his back, then carefully turned in a circle on one heel.

"Did you--" Tony choked out, and he buried his face in Steve's neck. "Did you just twirl me?"

"It's the only dance move I know," Steve answered. He rocked from side to side, then carefully twirled him in another circle. "You could teach me some other moves, if you don't like the twirling."

"No," Tony whispered, and Steve didn't comment on the fact that he could feel him beginning to tremble. "I mean--yes. I can teach you. But I don't... dislike the twirling."

Steve nodded, giving him another spin. "So, are you leaving the party with Colonel Rhodes?"

Tony couldn't quite bite back a laugh, leaning back to smile at Steve. It almost hid how bright his eyes were, how much he blinked to keep tears at bay. "You are about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, Steve."

Steve couldn't help but grin back. "I wasn't trying to be subtle. I just used you as a battering ram."

Tony laughed again, leaning back in. His arms squeezed around Steve's shoulders as his laugh ended in a sort of hiccup. Steve didn't mention it, instead going back to his slow, gentle circles. He was kind of surprised that no one had come after them, but he decided not to think too much on it. Jim would come find them after he and Carol finished dancing. It wasn't as if Steve hadn't left a noticeable trail of scandalized rich people behind him to follow.