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coquettepascal · 3 months ago

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texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying.

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes.

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones.

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does.

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you.

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to.

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job.

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together.

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point.

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there.

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats.

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute?

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel.

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable.

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing.

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird.

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone.

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars.

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice.

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath.

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes.

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer.

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him.

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself.

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years.

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing.

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this.

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks.

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock.

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him.

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?”

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either.

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers.

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering.

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay.

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you.

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough.

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.”

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out.

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #hbo!joel #neighbor!joel #tlou fanfiction #dilf!joel #reader insert #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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coastalcowgirl35 · 3 months ago

Text

Just Us- Tyler Owens x Reader

Note: I accidentally wrote this in first person, then had to go back and fix it and I'm very mad.

Also I'm horrible at titles, mb guys

Also I went to go see Twisters again last night and let's just say I've reaffirmed that Glen Powell is going to be my entire personality for quite some time.

Also listened to the soundtrack while writing this, 10/10 Too Easy is literally the most motivational song ever.

Also apparently Y/N really likes murmuring against Tyler's lips when they kiss, once again mb

Warning: pretty hot and heavy at the end guys, idk what came over me

"Y/N... Y/N" You blink my eyes open slowly revealing your boyfriend Tyler's grin in your face. "Hey baby, come on get up, we've got a big one coming." His excitement is palpable as he plants a kiss on your lips.

"Wait what?" You mumble, confused.

"Time to get up hon, we got a storm to chase." He kisses you again then pulls away so you can sit up. You quickly brush your teeth, change into cargo pants and a tank top, and pull your hair back to keep it off your neck in the Oklahoma heat.

"Okay Ty, I'm ready!" You say as you slip on your boots. He's looking up at you from where he sits on the edge of the bed with a grin on his face. "What?" He stands up and wraps his arms around you.

"You're just so damn cute." He says, tilting your chin up to give you yet another kiss.

"Mhmm I thought we had to go." You murmur against his lips as your kisses become more passionate and his hands find their way to your waist.

"We do." He agrees and you reluctantly pull apart. You open the door and he grabs his keys.

"Who's coming with today?" You ask over your shoulder as he ensures that the door is locked.

"Just us today sweetheart, that okay?" He says, grinning again. You nod and he puts an arm around your waist as you walk into the parking lot and up to his giant red truck.

As soon as you are both in your seats he places a hand on your thigh, you're dying internally but he acts as if it is the most casual thing in the world. You clear your throat and shake your head, trying to think of anything else.

"Do you see it?" Tyler asks quietly. His green eyes are fixed on something up ahead on the red dirt road and you follow his gaze. A dark mass of clouds are forming and you can see it too, the way they are swirling towards each other slightly, the way the wind is brushing over the grasses in that direction, in a way you both know will add fuel to the fire and hopefully cause a storm.

"God it's beautiful." You whisper.

"Not as beautiful as my girl." Tyler responds, eyes fixed on you now, a wide grin on his face.

"You're so fucking cheesy." You say, as if your cheeks aren't flaring a bright red and your heart didn't skip a beat at his words. He simply laughs and looks back at the road, with his hand still on your thigh.

You fall into a comfortable silence as you watch the clouds. They seem almost as if they are dancing, their movements so perfect and fluid. Tyler's driving matches the storm and as it begins to grow faster he speeds up, soaring down the open road as the sun just barely begins to peek over the horizon next to you.

The sight is truly breathtaking. The orange light spills across the acres of land sprawling out before you and is heavily contrasted by the dark clouds floating menacingly above, miles away.

As you get closer light rain begins to tatter against the top and sides of the truck. You watch, transfixed by the storm, when suddenly an idea hits you. You roll down your window and unbuckle your seatbelt.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asks, but he clearly can guess because he slows down slightly. You slip away from his hand that is still resting on your thigh and hoist yourself up so that your entire torso is outside the window. You tilt your head back, enjoying the gentle shower of droplets and reach one arm out, feeling the wind. You stay like that for a few minutes before Tyler calls up to you.

"Get back in Y/N/N, the rains about to get harder." He says gently. You nod and slide back inside, resuming your previous position and rolling the window back up. Tyler doesn't miss a beat and his hand is already on your thigh again before you can re-buckle your seatbelt. You smile and blush but don't say anything.

As Tyler predicted, the rain gets harder almost instantly and you can feel the atmosphere changing as you venture away from the orange sunrise and towards the gray storm.

You peel your eyes away from the storm and turn to look at your boyfriend. His beautiful green eyes are fixed on what's ahead, his jaw set determinedly.

"Whatcha looking at pretty girl?" He asks, caressing your thigh with his thumb. You blush and he turns to look at you, grinning.

"Eyes on the road Tyler." You say, blushing harder.

"What so you're allowed to stare at me but I can't look at you?" He teases.

"Just drive." You groan, attempting and failing to not laugh at his comment.

"Alright, alright." He says, still grinning. "Hey look" He points out the windshield. The clouds are swirling closer together and beginning to form a tight tendril that reaches towards the ground.

"Come on baby." You urge in a whisper, willing it to touch down. Tylers grip on your thigh tightens slightly. It reaches closer and closer then finally touches the ground, instantly causing a swirling cloud of dust to explode into the air. "Fuck yeah!" You shout, clapping your hands together triumphantly.

Tyler laughs raucously at your reaction but can't hide the excitement on his face.

"Happy are you?" He asks with a grin.

"You're lucky you're I love you Ty or I would absolutely hate you." You scoff. He laughs harder at that.

"Whatever you say babygirl."

You sigh dramatically at his teasing but can't help the permanent grin on your face. You're really in love with the stupid Tornado Wrangler. The wind and rain both get harder and louder as you both pull on your harnesses.

Tyler is going at nearly full speed now. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The cyclone is growing and hurtling towards you faster than you are hurtling towards it.

"Ready Y/N/N?" Tyler asks, almost shouting so that you can hear him.

"Hell yeah!" You shout back. He slams his foot on the break, pulling you to an unnecessarily rough stop. You give him a look and he smiles apologetically as he deploys the augers.

"Here she comes baby!" He yells. You curse under your breath and wrap your hand around his wrist tightly as he squeezes your thigh again.

The cyclone slams into the truck, throwing both you and Tyler harshly against your harnesses. The swirling cloud of dirt and leaves and who knows what else obscures your vision on all sides. The truck rocks violently and you squeeze Tyler's wrist so hard you wonder if it will bruise.

As fast as it started, it ends. The howling wind pulls past you and dust begins to settle on everything that was torn apart in its path. You laugh in astonishment, no matter how many times you chase you'll never get over that feeling. You and Tyler both jump out of the truck, turning to watch the twister get further and further.

You don't hear him walk around the truck but suddenly Tyler is next to you. You turn to him, beaming at his handsome face.

"You have fun babe?" He asks, endearingly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You nod and stand up on your toes slightly to press a kiss against his lips. He tangles his fingers into your hair instantaneously as the other hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "God I love you Tyler." You murmur against his lips.

"I love you too Y/N." He walks you backwards until he has you pinned against the truck. You whimper quietly as his hands start to roam your body and his kisses become more passionate. He suddenly breaks away and tilts your head upwards gently so his can kiss your neck. "You. Drive. Me. Fucking. Crazy." He pants out as he sucks on your soft skin harshly.

You moan breathily at his words and unconsciously buck your hips towards him, desperately searching for relief. He reads your mind and, while still passionately marking up your neck, slots one of his legs between yours so that you can rub up against his thigh.

"Fuck baby, I need you so bad." He groans, pulling his head back. His eyes are filled with lust and longing and his beautiful lips look swollen from your kisses.

You place a hand on the side of his face, peering straight into his perfect green eyes.

"Well it's a good thing it's just us today." You say with a smile. "The backseat is wide open."

#glen powell #glen powell x reader #twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x you #tyler owens x you #twisters 2024

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lorelune · 1 year ago

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(minors dni & ageless blogs dni /// inspired by this post and brainworms with @petrichorium)

"dear?" neuvillette asks. you're sprawled out on his chaise lounge, reading today's issue of the steambird. you're distracted.

"yes?"

"what exactly does it mean if you're 'wet'?"

you smile at him sweetly from across his office, "... come again?"

he looks overwhelmingly serious. though he does, occasionally, toss a joke or two into his daily conversations, it's rare. you know the look he wears when he does so. and in this moment? he looks completely sincere.

"if you are wet, the meaning, please. i believe you should know?"

"i-i mean," you laugh. "neuvillette, love, dearest— are you... being entirely serious?"

"yes."

"ah, alright." your lover is the current incarnation of the hydro draconic primordial, but regardless. "to be damp. moist. covered in liquid, probably water?"

neuvillette brow scrunches. then relaxes after a moment and he shakes his head. the soft, curved horns that curl into his hair tremble with the motion. he smiles and shakes his head, shutting the book he'd be paging through. you catch a glimpse of the cover and— oh.

everything comes together.

"A Seaman's Conquest: The River's Maiden and Jewel" is the latest erotic novel by the quietly-famed 'Épée Honnête'. you recognized the cheesy art on the novel, and the flourishing text. you've read one or two of the author's works, but in the quiet and private of your own home. stashed atop each other in your nightstand, with a seldom-used vial soft oil. their prose is a... bit over the top. but they're also a sensation.

you have to wonder how and why neuvillette, of all people, is reading the book (and by your brief look, seems to be about half-way through it.) it is not the kind of thing he'd pick up himself— you've never seen neuvillette reading anything other than case files and evidence prior. yet apparently he's been ripping into erotica. right under your nose.

which explains his question.

"o-oh!" you swallow. "you mean wet like—"

"yes."

you squeeze your thighs together.

much to your initial surprise, neuvillette had incredibly limited experience when it came to bodily pleasure. intimacy in and of itself is something that he clearly yearns for, but perhaps does not know how to convey. you're not sure if neuvillette, in all his stature, could ever truly be bumbling, but he gets close to it with physicality.

he's careful. an incredibly fast learner but bent on taking his time, being thorough— meaning that most of your physical encounters are kissing under both of your lips are bruised and slick. you know that neuvillette feels aroused in those moments; the hard press of his clothed cock nudged up to you is proof of it. and you're turned on in those moments— horribly. you've soaked through your panties on more than one occasion. he makes you so— wet.

"wet is like... female arousal." you say simply, steeling yourself. you'll jump him otherwise.

"it this makes you... wet? is this like perspiration?"

"no, no. not at all. not really." you shake your head with a laugh. "it's like. slick? f-from my insides. it's lubrication for intercourse, to be entirely clinical about it."

"... but it's indicative of arousal?"

"entirely." you nod, trying to focus on the case file in front of you. your eyes have skimmed the same line three times.

neuvillette pauses and your hear a flutter of pages before his 'A Seaman's Conquest' closes once more, "have i made you wet before?"

you swallow. get ahold of yourself.

"yes. frequently."

"hm." neuvillette hums and his chair creaks as he sits back. he picks up his silver goblet and swirls it. the gem on it's side refracts the warm glow of the office light, dragging your gaze to his.

he's looking at you— hungry. perhaps something else. something insatiable.

"i want to know more." he tells you. rises. walk toward you with the defined click of his heeled boots on the hardwood fo the floor. "i feel as if i was missing something important without this knowledge. and there's more to be understood."

"well, ask away. i'm an open book." you tell him, craning your neck to meet his eyes.

"may i make a request?"

"of course."

"i..." neuvillette swallows around his words. you drag him onto the lounge with you and lean into his shoulder. moral support and all.

"it's fine if you don't know quite what to ask. or what you want." you assure him. you'll eat up anything he gives you, really.

"i know exactly what i want, it's a matter of phrasing."

"oh, yeah?" you wonder if he's nervous about you not understanding his desires. or if he's worried about being too blunt or forward.

you tilt your head back until neuvillette coaxes you down into his lap. his hand, gloved hand, smooths down your jaw. his fingertips trail down your neck, pressing into your curves and divots. bones and flesh alike. it's exploratory.

neuvillette touch slips down your collar, to bare skin. you shudder. "i'm curious."

"y-yeah? seems like you are."

he laughs, gentle and under his breath. his palm cups your cheek, soothing and kind. with a tilt of his head:

"i'd like to make you wet with my touch, and then taste you."

he says it hushed; it's just meant for you and you alone to hear. the intention of it makes you feel crazy, out of your skin. the look he's pinning you with. the ability he wields while being entirely sincere is going to undo you.

you swallow, a little sound sticking in the back of your throat. you squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, "neuvillette, you're killing me here."

"am i?" there's a hint of a tease in his voice. you want to coax out more of it. you try and bury your face in his hip, but he doesn’t let you. he drag your chin straight and holds his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip.

"yes, y-you are." you mean to sound firm about it. but it comes out as a whine.

"so precious." he says softly, adoring. his thumb presses in into your mouth and runs along your teeth, into your gums. "would you like if i tasted you too?"

"fuck, neuvillette—" your words get muffled as his fingers press into your mouth further. he presses down on your tongue, the scent of clean leather and his gentle personal cologne almost suffocate it. you welcome it.

"is that a yes?"

you try to reply, but your words don't come out— his fault— so you only nod. perhaps too enthusiastically, but neuvillette doesn't seem to mind. his lips curl into a gentle smile, and he strokes over your cheeks. his only hand trails lower, finding home on your inner thigh.

"are you wet now?"

"'pworably—"

"cute." he says again. he still looks hungry. like he's going to eat you alive. there's an appetite in him, even if he doesn't know what it fully is or what to do with it. it seems, it really seems, like he's learning it. "may i find out—?"

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" The sharp crack of knocking on the door interrupts him as he leers over you. It's Laith, on the Seven— "the court time is within a half hour. do you require an escort?"

his grip on your thigh tightens. almost to point of hurting, but in the best way. you know you're wet now.

"no, laith, i will be alright on my own. i will be departing shortly."

"the prosecution's attorney sent over some last minute evidence files and requested i deliver them as well." the knob of the door starts to shift and you almost bolt up and away. neuvillette places his spit-covered hand on your chest to brace you down.

"i do not require the documents at this time. have them prepared for me at the opera epiclese."

the knob slips back into place, "of course, Monsieur. i'll see that they're delivered."

steps echo away from the door and you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, "awful timing."

"unfortunate." neuvillette sighs. "truly unfortunate."

his duty is paramount. you know this as he helps you to stand and as he straightens your close. he's being more dutiful about it than he could be, given his next court time is so close. you relish it.

"... are you wet?"

"right now?" you feel sticky in a way that's a bit cold now. you press your forehead to his lips in a quiet beg for a steadying kiss. he relents easily and gives it to you. "yes. you have that effect on me."

neuvillette takes a steadying breath and squeezes around your shoulders, "i apologize for the timing of things, but—"

"i know." you tell him. "it's okay. besides, i have fingers and some toys at home. you've given me new material to work with."

"... you think about me when you're pleasuring yourself?" he blinks at you, eyes wide. you can't help but smirk.

"consistently." you nod and beam at him. "often. basically every time. i haven't even seen your cock but my mind's eye has come up with some creative theories and visual concepts."

that gets him to blush, a high, pearly pink that's almost purple. it fades into his hairline.

"this is going to be a particularly difficult court session."

"i can only imagine. is it my fault?"

"only partially." neuvillette assures you with no bite. "perhaps blame wriothesley for that book he lent me. he insisted i read it and get back to him for a review."

"huh."

you could lose it. really. wriothesley is a bastard. you should punch him. or kiss him— except you've grown from those days and you haven't seen that busted-lip smile of his in years. nice to know he's still doing you favors. you should send him an edible arrangement.

"and myself, too. thoughts to entertain at home, and not at the office."

"perhaps, perhaps." you tell him. you don't mind. you brush your lips to his cheek.

"would you visit me, after court?" who knows when that will be. you don't really care. you have a key, afterall.

"of course." you'll have tea prepared. perhaps sex education flashcards. maybe. or you'll break out the lacey slip that's been seldom-touched since purchase and surprise him. who knows. the world's your oyster.

and as you walk with neuvillette out of the palais mermonia and see him off on one of the aquabuses, you catch it in him again. in the almost-longing gaze he sends you as he departs, you see it. something awakening. old and new all at once in him. directed at you. he's famished. or, perhaps—

thirsty.

#lore writes #water tasting master neuvillette's finds his new favorite drink :3cc #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette reader insert #drabbles #ANYWAYS #clorinde is Épée Honnête btw :3ccc #slightly virginal inquisitive kind neuvillette #MEOOW

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changetyre · 2 months ago

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How long? II Lando Norris X Reader ⓈⒾ

SUMMARY: Finding your soulmate doesn't always include a happy ending.

WARNINGS: Angst Angst Angst with a sprinkle of fluff. Sickness, death.

A/N: This is a story I wrote a while ago for Wattpad and which I always loved but reading it back now there's been things I've wanted to adjust which is what I chose to do here ;)

Lando POV II

"Tell me about her," she asked me passing me back our photo.

I looked at it, my thumb grazing over her in the picture I kept in my wallet.

_____

Y/N POV II

Lando and I've been together ever since I can remember. We met when we were only toddlers and became inseparable ever since. We both knew in our hearts how much we meant to each other, we knew that we couldn't live without each other. However, another part of us, and everyone around us, told us there would come a point where we'd meet other people.

And we did meet other people, in fact when I went to college and Lando joined F1 we both decided to try to date others and it was the most miserable time in both our lives. Which only reinforced our feelings, we were irrevocably in love.

We were aware that we were a very cheesy couple, the kind of people who just didn't care when people were around us and loved to show our love for one another no matter the time and/or place. We were the kind of couple to gift each other little things and have dinner dates every week. Land never failed to bring me flowers every weekend since we started dating.

Life felt like a dream when we were around each other, we literally felt like we were in the clouds, floating in our own bubble of love. But it didn't take long before it burst.

Given the amount of time Lando and I had spent together we had discussed anything you could possibly imagine and despite some thinking this was a horrible and selfish thought, when Lando and I talked about losing one another, we always thought he would go first...simply because of his job.

What Lando didn't know though was that every night and every time Lando went on track I would pray, pray for his safety, pray for his health, pray that if one of us had to go...for it to be me...because I could simply not live a life without him...the single thought made me choke up.

'Be careful what you wish for.'

One year ago I was diagnosed with Breast cancer. For some reason the news didn't come to me as much of a shock as I thought, it was like something in my mind and body had expected this, had somehow mentally prepared me for it. On the other hand, I could tell how much this devastated Lando, so much he'd set his mind on quitting F1 to care for me which I had to practically force him not to.

We had caught it early on and I only needed a few weeks of chemotherapy. Luckily the news came at the end of Lando's season, he would be home and he wouldn't get distracted on track.

Chemo was worse than anyone had ever described to me, it felt like I'd been completely stripped away from my own body and I was miserable but I knew I had to get through it, I tried to keep a smile all the way through it, for Lando, but I knew he could see right through me and he had as many sleepless nights as I did through it all.

Finally the last week of Chemo, everything was better. Lando was certainly brighter than before although I could tell he was still worried, I could see it in his eyes. Every time I'd say I was tired, huff, breath abnormally, or complain about any sort of pain I could tell Lando's heart skipped a beat.

It annoyed me at first because he constantly hovered, but I never said anything and eventually, I understood. I knew that if I was in his shoes I'd be exactly the same and now I found myself wondering whether I'd wished for the right position to be in because even though I was in pain physically...Lando was in pain too, even more than I was...and it broke my heart to see him go through it.

Now I wanted the season to start more than ever so Lando could put his focus and worry somewhere else other than me, and even though I worried that he might have an accident because of all this distraction I knew how much he adored driving and it was what he needed.

The start of the season went well, not as good as we expected but it was good enough and the boys still had the rest of the season left.

I was with Lando in Monaco for the race, I was so excited about having him race here in Monaco since we'd recently bought our apartment here and we hadn't been able to enjoy it because of my treatments.

It seemed like things were finally getting back to normal, Lando and I were floating back up in the clouds again and we were finally finding our rhythm again...it was almost too good to be true.

I was home making dinner for Lando and me, he'd texted he was almost home and I'd decided to make some food for us. The whole day I'd noticed I was particularly exhausted and I kept running out of breath doing simple things. I had just set the table when all of a sudden it felt like my lungs had disappeared.

I dropped to the ground in pain gasping with all my power for some air. I thought I was going to die right there and then all until I heard the door open.

"Y/N!" I heard Lando's panicked scream. "LOVE!"

He pulled me up and turned me towards him, I clutched my chest. "I can't breathe." I wheezed.

"SOMEONE HELP ME!" He screamed out.

And eventually, for me, everything went black.

I woke up on an all too familiar surface. I was in a hospital bed, all sorts of tubes and needles attached to me. I looked for Lando and saw he was outside talking to the doctor, I could see him through the window.

Lando was facing my way while the doctor's back was towards me. I could tell it was a serious conversation and as much as I tried to deny it I knew what was happening. The cancer was back...and this time it wasn't going away.

I saw the anger and pain in Lando's eyes as the doctor spoke to him, he argued. I imagined he kept asking for a solution that simply didn't exist. Lando held his tears in all until he locked eyes with me. I gave him a look letting him know it was okay, I knew and that was enough for him to break down.

The doctor simply patted his shoulder before walking away. Lando walked to the room wiping his tears away as best as he could. Once he came in I could tell he didn't know what to say.

"It's back-" he spoke in barely above a whisper.

"I know baby." I opened my arms for him and he broke down in tears again. I cried with him, not because of my pain but because of his.

"How long?" I asked him after a few minutes.

Lando kept his head buried in my chest but I could feel him shaking his head.

"Baby how long?" I repeated the question.

His head finally rose up, his eyes were swollen and the tears just kept coming. "They're not sure, he says it could be 6 months or a week." Lando's voice broke at the last words before he buried his face in my chest once more except this time he wrapped his arms around me holding me tightly as if I could slip away at any second.

"I love you..." he wept "I'm so sorry." these last words shattered me.

"I'm sorry too...I love you." I whispered to him as I kissed the top of his head.

"Baby I'm scared-" he whispered into my chest.

I didn't exactly know how to comfort him, I let Lando cry it out as much as he needed to while I tried to remain strong, I found myself pondering over how I felt, I wasn't scared but I was in pain, and I was so miserable for leaving Lando like this, we definitely didn't have enough time together.

___

The next morning once Lando had come back into my room with a cup of coffee I decided it was time to talk about the next step. I knew deep down Lando still wanted to push for a cure that simply didn't exist but I also knew I didn't want to spend another second stuck in these hideous grey walls.

"Baby I want to get out here," I spoke. I was prepared for a discussion.

Lando simply looked down and gave a shaky sigh. "I know...and I'll get you out." his lip quivered and I could see tears brimming up in his eyes again.

"You're not going to ask me to stay?" I needed confirmation.

Lando got up and walked over to me, he scooted me over and sat down on the bed. "The day I met you-" he took a deep breath trying to keep himself together. "I made a promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to make you happy no matter what-" a tear slipped down his cheek. "I hope you know that if it was possible I'd take your place right now because seeing you like this..." another tear fell down his cheek. "it's been hell." I placed my hand on his cheek caressing it, I was crying too. "But I know you better than anyone and I know that you're not the kind of person to go out in a hospital room and I know you want to do as much as you can before you-" he stopped himself and his breath hitched. He couldn't say it.

"You're right." I quickly said not wanting him to finish because I could tell how hard it was for him. "I want to spend every second I have left with you, with the people I love, out of here." His lip quivered again as more tears left his eyes.

"Let's go then." Lando got back up starting to pack my things.

The news spread through the F1 world fairly quickly and I was flooded with pitiful messages all over my social media. Lando's friends from work who I'd grown close to didn't know what to say when I showed up in the paddock with them for the Monaco GP. Most of them simply gave me glances that spoke a thousand words.

Carlos, Alex, George, and Charles had all been incapable of holding their tears back as they saw me, giving me a hug that only existed for these situations.

After the Monaco GP, Lando and I found ourselves going to our favorite spots within Monaco, I was tired, so tired and I could feel death inching closer every day but I held on, I held on because...I knew he wasn't ready...I wasn't ready.

One morning I woke up to find Lando had planned a whole day for us and it all started at home. I'd walked to the living room to find Lando had prepared a very scrumptious breakfast. And he'd decorated our balcony with roses and candles.

We walked to it and there Lando got down on one knee, pulling out a small black box, which he opened to reveal a ring. My hands flew up to my mouth, I had always dreamed of this day but certainly not like this.

"My dearest y/n, I've imagined this very day over a thousand times in my head and I've come up with hundreds of speeches for this very occasion but it seems none of them would work for what we're going through now." His voice broke. "You have been the first and only woman in my life I have ever loved, you have been my best friend since day one, you've been my rock, my world, my everything and I simply do not want to spend another day not being able to call you my wife...so y/n, my love will you marry me?" I could tell he sped up the last bit to hold his tears back.

"Yes." I let him slip the ring on my finger before he rose up and we engulfed each other in a deep kiss.

"Propose...check" he pretended to hold a list and checked off the first point making me laugh.

"So what's next my fiancé," I asked him.

"Well, why don't we get going and I'll show you...my fiancé." he gave me another kiss.

Lando took me shopping for a bit before he drove us both back home. I'd noticed something else had been set up and once I walked into our room I found a wedding dress hanging in our closet. I gasped admiring the dress, it was simple but beautiful.

"Pietra helped me pick it out for you, we tried getting a more over-the-top one but apparently you can't just buy dresses like that overnight." he shrugged.

"It's beautiful." you admired the dress.

"Well you better get dressed, and I'll do the same. I'm going to get dressed somewhere else and when the time comes your driver will be here." he winked.

"Wait what?" I was confused.

"Just be ready in 2 hours...I love you." he gave me a quick peck on the lips before walking out. I got dressed and ready as best as I could with the time I had left, I did a simple hairstyle, partly because I was never good at doing my hair and partly because I barely had the strength to keep my arms up for longer than 3 seconds.

20 minutes before the 2 hours were up I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and Pietra, Alexandra, Lily, and Carmen were all standing there in matching dresses. You looked at them confused but on the brink of tears because of how beautiful they looked. "Did I die already?" I joked, and they laughed but I could tell the thought pained them.

"You look beautiful." P had to pat her eyes as she looked at me. I had naturally grown closest to her because of the brotherhood between Max and Lando.

"Thank you for doing this?" I had to hold my tears back too.

"Let's go." Alex and Lily extended their hands out for me and I took them walking out with them. We walked downstairs and Carlos was waiting in an Aston Martin DB6 Volante, that had been decorated with white flowers.

We arrive at the beach to find it prepared for a ceremony, all of Lando's friends from the paddock and his friends from Quadrant were there, as well as both our parents. I just about started crying there and then.

I got out of the car and Carlos stood there offering me his arm guiding me to one end of the carpet that had been rolled out. I saw Lando at the other end and tears quickly brimmed my eyes. As soon as he laid eyes on me it didn't take him half a second before he started crying too, Max Fewtrell quickly stepped in to hand him a handkerchief even though he was shedding a few tears too.

Without You by Harry Nilson started playing, and it was enough for me to let my tears run free. Carmen handed me a bouquet of roses and I began walking down the aisle, and for some reason, all my strength seemed to leave me right there and then.

I stumbled causing everyone to try to jump forward to grab me, My mom caught me, I could see the concern and the pain in her eyes but she also understood I needed to keep going. She wrapped her arm around my waist and helped me down the aisle.

And now it's only fair that I should let you know what you should know...I can't live, if living is without you...I can't live, I can't give anymore.

The song reached this part just as I reached him, he wrapped his arms around me, letting his forehead rest on mine.

"You look beautiful." he sniffled.

I placed my hand on his cheek before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Let's get married," I whispered to him.

The ceremony was short, Lando had wanted to arrive at the vows quickly and once we did he pulled out a sheet of paper, a tear was already rolling down his cheek.

"My best friend, my rock, my first love, my only love, my life, my world, my everything, these words don't come remotely close to describing what you are to me. I hope you know I consider myself the luckiest man on earth to have met you, to have loved you, to have cared for you, and to have married you-" he chocked up. "But although I thought it was impossible...as much as I feel the luckiest man...I feel the unluckiest too." he looked up to meet my eyes completely distraught. "It's unfair the world is taking you away from me when our love story has only just begun, all the dreams, all the plans, all the promises I have yet to fulfill to you will stay here while you will go." he gulped down, he had a knot in his throat. "I will cherish, love, and protect you for the rest of the time we have left together, I will continue bringing you flowers every weekend, I'll wake you up with kisses in the morning, I'll make you smile and laugh every day, and most importantly I will, with all my power, do my best to keep you happy." he finished.

I leaned forward giving him a long kiss on the cheek, now it was my turn and since this was all unexpected I hadn't prepared anything but already had enough to say.

"My Lando...you have made me the happiest woman on earth since the day I met you. You are the most loyal, hardworking, loving, fun man I have ever known and I consider myself the luckiest woman on earth to have fallen in love with you. And the luckiest woman for you will be the first, last, and only man I will ever love." Lando's lips quivered as I said those words, a sob escaping his lips. "I will forever be sorry that we didn't get more time together, that I couldn't give you what we had so long hoped for, a life, kids, to grow old together." I cleared my throat having to compose myself. "I wish there was more I could do to keep you happy in the time I have left my darling, I can't promise you much, but I promise that I will love you with every fiber of my body and soul until my last breath." I ended.

We were pronounced husband and wife and Lando pulled me in for a long deep kiss, mixed with both our tears.

It was the most perfect day of my life, surrounded by so much love from our families and friends, surrounded by so much happiness. Once the moon was out and the tide started rising things started getting packed up but Lando and I decided to take a walk along the beach.

We walked in silence, simply appreciating and cherishing each other's company. Once we were nearing the end of the beach I had to speak about what was on my mind.

"Lando." I started.

"No." he immediately replied.

"Baby-" I was going to keep going.

"I know what you're going to say and you can't ask me that-" he spoke softly but I could hear the anger and hurt in his voice.

"Lando listen to me please-" I stopped making Lando turn to me. He looked down and he was crying silent tears. "After I'm gone I need you to promise me you will keep going no matter how hard or painful it is...I want you to give your career 1000% percent like you always have...and someday whenever you're ready I want you to find someone who will make you happy, who will take care of you, who you will fall in love with and start a family with-" I spoke clearly, this was a thought I'd head since the first time I'd found out I was sick.

"No, I can't." He replied sniffling.

"Yes you can and you will," I assured him.

"How will I ever love someone as I love you..." he locked eyes with me.

"I'm not asking you to love someone as you love me. But you will learn to love again, I just want you to promise you will not shut yourself out, you need to keep going...for me." I walked up to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, with one hand I wiped the tears from under his eyes.

He looked at me unsure and simply nodded, I knew he didn't mean it right now but it was as much reassurance as I would get from him for now.

"I'll never find anyone like you." He spoke once we'd started walking back.

"Maybe not, but you will find someone, there's plenty of women out there Lando, amazing, beautiful, incredibly talented women and I'm sure there's someone else for you." the mood had livened up a little bit.

____

LANDO POV II

The next morning I woke up...she didn't. She'd passed in her sleep, in my arms. A smile was still on her lips. I knew she was gone but I still tried to wake her, I still needed her to wake up.

I was inconsolable for months after her death, and my friends and my family had to help me back to my feet. Literally, because it was as though all my strength, all my will to live had died with her that day.

"She made me promise her that I would find someone else, that I'd fall in love again." I stifled a laugh remembering our walk at the beach.

"She sounds like an amazing woman." She commented. She had a very genuine smile.

"She was...I never met anyone like her." I sighed, that ache in my heart was still very present but bearable now.

_____________

Bonus A/N:

If it serves as any consolation I cried my eyes out writing this story. .

#f1 angst #angst #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris angst #f1 x reader #changetyre #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1fic #f1

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lady-ashfade · 10 months ago

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Through My Window

Percy Jackson x fem!reader

—£ They’re in their final year of high school

-£ words: 800

—£ warning: angst, self doubt, happy ending who?, fighting.

you’ve always been jealous of her. her perfect skin, her golden hair that shined brighter the sun. and how she got to be with him more then you. for months he left you to travel around the world and take on quest to save the world. and everytime he came back with stories. it hurt that you were never in them.

“i love you more then anyone, mortal or not. no one else will ever have me.” His lips kissed your forehead as he held your head close to him. it was senior year and he came back to school to see you, one year left before college. “hmm, love you too percy.” you caressed his hand on your cheek while you leaned into him. the stars looked so good tonight. you two hung out on the top of the hill over the city.

the year went amazing while he was by your side. studying together was always fun, the two of you teasing each other when someone got the answer wrong, or ending up falling asleep in each others arms. you loved it all. driving to school with each other, hanging out, going on dates all the time, you both working.

this year was bliss.

Percy stood with a cheeky grin on his face while standing before you, candles lighting up the path he made. “I know this is cheesy but I know you like that.” your smile grew wide as you almost started to cry from being overwhelmed. “will you go to prom with him?” it wasn’t even a doubt in your mind. you jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly.

you picked out a dress, green to match his eyes. it made you feel like a princess when you saw yourself in the mirror in the store. he’d love it. percy could never stop gushing over you.

weeks went by and nothing was out of place, it was all normal to you. the same arm that wrapped around your waist, the same eyes that admired you, his protective nature.

you started to believe everything he told you.

the night before prom he came to your window while it was pouring. it was funny because every time it rain you thought of him, and boom he was there. opening the window for him, “hey beach boy.” you helped him in.

“hey.” his voice was husky and low. if it wasn’t for the rain running down his face then you would have see the tears.

he looked around the room at anything but you. you hummed in confusion, “you okay?” you knew the answer. he sat on the bed with his shoulders hanging low. his foot tapped on the floor beneath him anxiously. he never liked to see you upset and he knew how this would affect you. leaving right before the night you two had been waiting for for years.

“i’m leaving.” he watched in silence for your answer and it was already making him sick. he would hear the sound of your heartbreak again. “what do you mean?” walking over to him slowly while you tried to wrapped your head over it. It wasn’t fair for them to pull him away before he could have fun like a normal person. but he wasn’t normal.

“i’m leaving you.”

stoping in your steps you stare at the back of his head right before your hand met his shoulder. your heart dropped right before it raced in your chest. “what?” the words tasted horrible in his own mouth but he had to do. he had to leave you. there was nothing more that he wanted then to have you safe and with him. but this time it was different, everyone he loved was being attacked.

he wouldn’t risk you. he sighed while holding back his own tears. “i thought i could do it,” standing up he turned back at you while his own heart broke to see you staring at him like that. hurt and betrayed. “i wish it was different.”

you shook your head and stepped back fully, everything in your mind running. you felt sad and angry, scared and confused. but he wasn’t telling the truth, there was something more he was scared of saying.

“It’s annabeth, you’re leaving me for her aren’t you?” Your accusing glare made him freeze. you think he’d ever actually do that to you? He couldn’t blame you in this moment because he promised to stay but here he is, leaving.

Percy didn’t want to say what he was about to but this would make you hate him, make you glad he was leaving. “Yes..” he whispered. your jaw tensed and nostrils flared in anger. you pointing the the widow, “get out! I never want to see you ever again Percy jackson.”

he let out a defeated sigh and walked to the open window while rain still poured down. He crawled half away out but look back at you for one last time. the one thing he will remember is the tears now trailing down your cheeks and the look of heartbreak.

“I’m sorry” he didn’t get a response before you shut the window behind him while closing your blinds.

#percy jackson x you #percy jackson imagine #book percy #book percy jackson #Percy Jackson x reader #book Percy Jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader

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utahimeow · 1 year ago

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swan song — satoru gojo

summary — why work so hard when you could just be free?

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — major jjk spoilers, graphic depictions of violence, hurt/comfort, angst, happy endings, reader has a cursed technique (mentioned once), established relationship

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — based on swan song by lana del rey. this is the most self indulgent selfship coded thing i’ve ever written but i needed to give gojo the happy ending he deserved idc if its cheesy or out of character

He’s dead.

Dead.

The strongest. Dead.

Satoru Gojo is dead.

A flash, then his body becomes two — legs here, torso there.

He’s not moving. Scarlet splatters the ground, blooms like a lily.

The air is disgustingly thick, and it hangs like a noose, and it cuts your throat. Nobody is breathing. Everybody knows.

This time, he’s not getting back up.

A scream claws its way out of your throat, vicious as it pierces through the air.

Someone else is stepping up to replace him already, a sorcerer with hair like seafoam. The King of Curses turns towards him, his stolen face twisting into a demonic grin, dripping with victory.

Right now there’s just one thing on your mind. Like instinct, like it’s your destiny. You don’t care about the politics, the consequences, the implications of his death. None of it matters.

You just want to be with Satoru.

Your feet are moving. They almost take off, but a steady grip pulls you back.

“You should leave.” Shoko’s voice quivers as she speaks. You’ve seen her composure crack so rarely that when you do it feels like your first time witnessing it.

Your face is hot, and it’s wet now. Your eyes sting. You don’t try to stop the tears, or even wipe them.

If you were to look up, you’d find eyes full of sorrow and shock and pity—you’re the grieving widow. His students have lost a teacher, his friends have lost a friend. At least I’m not her, they all think, I haven’t lost the love of my life.

Without another word, without even so much as one final glance at Satoru’s corpse, you leave. You can’t bear to be there any longer.

The taxi driver does not question why you’re crying. He pretends he does not hear the way you sniffle and gasp for air. He drives you to your home and drives away when you’ve paid him.

You breathe out. Your shoulders sag with relief. You will yourself to stop crying.

He’s in the living room, a thick arm thrown over his eyes as he half-naps. As soon as he hears you enter however, he springs up, beaming like the sun.

Satoru laughs a little at your puffy face and your glimmering eyes. He gathers you into a hug, his body hard and imposing and warm, and you cling to him. His heart pumps blood around his body and it’s loud in your ears.

“That was traumatic,” you say, but it gets muffled when you bury your face into his chest. He smells fresh, like the wind on a warm day. He must have showered since he teleported home.

Satoru’s laughing again. You wish he’d never stop. “You knew it was fake the whole time, how bad could it be?”

“I had to watch you die, Satoru! It was horrible even if it was fake,” you admit, tightening your arms around his waist, where his torso meets his legs.

He laughs, and it reverberates in his chest and rumbles through your body. You’re angry. You can’t climb inside of his skin and live there and you’re angry about it. His giant hands draw circles all over your back.

“I’m here, baby. I’m all yours now,” he tells you. For the first time, he means it without any exceptions.

…

“What if you faked your death?”

Satoru’s head whips over to look at you, scanning your face to find something that will tell him you’re not serious. But you are serious.

One word, he asks, “why?”

“So we can give up being sorcerers and leave Japan and never come back.”

Satoru grows quiet. There’s a pit in your stomach. He tells you constantly that he’d give you the world, and you believe him, and he loves you more than anything, yet he can’t bring himself to give up on humanity. Without him, the world doesn’t stand a chance. He’s the strongest, after all.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. It’s sincere.

“Yes,” you tell him, swallowing as you consider your next words. “I just got you back from the Prison Realm and now you have to fight Sukuna, who might actually kill you… You just give and give so much to the Jujutsu world and what do they give you back? Shit all. And I’m tired of watching you be wrung dry.”

He’s silent again. All the years that you’ve known him make it easy for you to know what he’s thinking. More than likely he’s thinking of Yuuji and Megumi and Yuuta. Maybe he wonders what Nanami would tell him to do, or what Geto would say.

It’ll be selfish. He’ll be abandoning everyone at the worst possible moment. He turns your words over and over in his head. Then he thinks of a life with you, a peaceful one, where you’ve left behind your days of sorcery, where he doesn’t have to be some pseudo-god.

Where he can grow old with you.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’s necessary for him to disappear. It’ll be a struggle without him, but he has faith. They’ll persevere.

“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

“I’ll use cursed energy to create a clone of you. Since my clones can’t use cursed techniques it’ll have to be right when Sukuna is about to kill you. You switch out and teleport out of there.”

For a moment he stares at you, then he chuckles, shifting sideways so he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with resolve.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says.

“I have,” you say. “For as long as I’ve loved you.”

…

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

He’s convinced of it, actually. Life has filled your cheeks out and erased your dark circles away. Your eyes shine brighter. Fear no longer lives in them, nor does hopelessness.

Your fingers are gentle as you pluck fresh, plump tomatoes off the vine. Satoru’s heart swells because you’ve been so excited to harvest them.

“It’s just a handful for now,” you tell him, letting him peer inside the basket you have on your arm. There are a few bunches of rocket and basil leaves, and a small squash too.

He reaches in, takes a tomato and pretends to take a bite out of it until you snatch it from his hand and scold him.

“They just look too good, baby,” he says between laughs. You roll your eyes, but you don’t manage to bite back the smile that grows on your lips.

“Go finish building my chicken coop,” you tease, calling him by his last name, the one he took from you, then brushing past him to head back inside your home.

“I told you it’s almost finished!” he exclaims, trailing behind you as you make your way to the vintage renovated kitchen of your house.

Satoru settles on a stool at the island at the centre, observing the way you rinse the vegetables in the sink. To him it’s fascinating—well, you’re fascinating. The way your brow scrunches slightly with concentration. He hopes you never run out of vegetables to harvest and wash. He’ll make sure you don’t.

“By the way, what do you think about getting some mini goats?”

“I don’t care as long as you take care of them,” you tell him. “Do you want salad or roasted vegetables for lunch?”

Satoru’s heart races. He’s transported back to 2006 for a moment, when for some reason he wanted to be around you all the time and thought it was weird that he liked it when you teased him. Before he realised.

“Roasted vegetables, please. I love you.”

Satoru doesn’t look much different now. He’s gotten a little more toned, put on some muscle from some of the heavy work he does on the farm.

And when he smiles, he’s not pretending anymore.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk x you #jjk spoilers #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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skiddlecat · 2 months ago

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you know what? fuck it. the dynamic between taco and microphone is really interesting and dumbing it down to "evil terrible abuser and poor innocent victim" flattens both of their characters simultaneously.

they both hurt Each Other in ways that can't be undone!!! mic did her fair share of Fucking It Up Big Time as well and i think the way their fallout went down is the best example of times mic could have been better. and before anyone says it NO i'm NOT saying she didn't have a right to back out when she did but what i AM saying is that i think the way she handled cutting taco off showcases one of her biggest character flaws EXCELLENTLY:

when she's hurt by someone, she will hurt them back twice as hard. cheesy makes an insensitive joke? she calls him a monster. taco relapses in her bad habits? she weaponizes her past friendship with pickle. i'm pretty confident in saying both of these responses are Pretty Damn Disproportionate. and i think that's really interesting!!! we should talk more about this!!!!!!!!!

taco did a lot of bad things in their friendship and should absolutely be held accountable for it, but i also think simply calling her a heartless abuser is horribly undermining her character. like, imagine with me, if you will:

(post-writing note. HOLY SHIT this was way longer than i thought it'd be. putting the rest of this post under the cut because the previous paragraphs are pretty much all my thoughts but i kind of go into a full taco character analysis below. if you want to see that then keep reading i suppose LMAOOO)

you once accidentally formed a friendship with someone based off of a lie. you exposed the lie, sabotaged that relationship, and cut him off. that was the last conversation you had. a good while later you realize that, oh no, you actually DID care about this person, and you miss him! but he's GONE and it's YOUR FAULT!!! so you write. you write, you write, you write, hoping to get a response, but you never do.

and then. and then you find someone else. someone who's loud, chaotic, cast out. she reminds you a little too much of the lie you built for yourself. and so, you help her. for your own selfish reasons, sure, but you attempt to reign her in. she doesn't trust you at first, you don't trust her either, and you are... less than kind to her. it's not pretty, but at this point it doesn't really matter to you, because right now she's just a means to an end. she doesn't mean anything to you.

but slowly, over time, things start changing. she starts seeing past the brick walls you built around yourself. starts trying to break them down, little by little. you avoid, you resist, you do everything you can to prevent her from getting through, because vulnerability is frankly disgusting, and you don't want to talk about your problems anyway! but, this doesn't last. you actually apologize to her, for being so closed off, because you should be doing better, and she seems to appreciate it.

someone brings up that old friend to her. you get MAD. it's like rubbing salt in the wound, reminding you of every reason you're not happy, every reason you've been scared of getting too close. he suggests that you will leave her the same way you left him.

and. surprisingly. your ally does not side with him. she tells him you're changing. you're changing. she looks at you and all of your disgusting flaws, and she sees someone not beyond redemption. and you think that maybe. maybe you can trust her. maybe you CAN let your walls down. maybe you won't screw it up this time. and, and...

one mistake.

a pretty big one, granted, but a mistake nonetheless. you relapse into some bad habits, because the situation you entered was not the one you planned for. and she's mad. so mad, in fact, that she takes your old friendship, something she knows is a touchy subject, that hurts every time it's brought up, and she weaponizes it. she looks at you as if you mean nothing to her, and then she leaves. she leaves before you even have a chance to respond.

one. mistake.

one mistake is all it took for her to grow sick of you, for her to agree with all of the terrible things people say about you. and what hurts the most is that you TRUSTED her. you thought you could be open with her, you thought she was DIFFERENT. but no, she's not different. she's just like everyone else. and maybe, if the one person who believed you could be better gives up on you... maybe they're all right about you.

the walls are back up. they're thicker, stronger, and as far as you're concerned... it will take FAR more convincing to let anyone get through ever again.

...and then mepad comes along and says he doesn't even believe you're a bad person in the FIRST place, which is. astounding and very hard to believe but he's seeing you at your absolute worst being needlessly cruel to everyone and is STILL saying this with complete confidence so, fuck, kind of hard to keep THAT up for very long. then ii16 happens and you know the drill SHE'S DOING BAD.

hoo boy this went on for a lot longer than it was supposed to. anyway all this to say i think we should talk more about how they both hurt each other rather than push the narrative that one of them was "the abuser" and the other was "the victim" because frankly that's not even how it works in real life. thank you for coming to my ted talk i've been sitting on this for weeks afraid that i'd be told to kill myself over anons 👍

#inanimate insanity #ii taco #ii microphone #should i tag this as tacomic. it's not really meant to be romantic #i won't. people are in that tag for toxic yuri not toxic up for interpretation relationships

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eyesofshinigami · 9 months ago

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Eddie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, very very mild sexual content (blink and miss it)

Prompt: For @lihhelsing "Love is helping them unwind after a rough day"

WC: 852

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 19

Eddie knew it was going to be a bad day as soon as he woke up. He managed to stub his toe twice on the way to the shower. His waffles got burnt in the toaster and they were out of syrup. He missed the bus by a minute, watching it drive away from the stop just as he ran up to it. It started raining while he was waiting for the next bus, so of course he got drenched.

He hoped that it had ended there, but no. Eddie got to work fifteen minutes late due to a traffic jam, wet and hungry and already done with today. His boss yelled at him and put him on tape-sorting duty, marking down the new shipment of tapes. Of course, halfway through, his pen exploded and covered him and the sheet he was using, so he had to start over.

By the time the end of his shift had rolled around, Eddie was tired, had a headache the size of Montana, and he was ready to throw himself into the void. Mack, the other guy on shift, patted him on the back and all it did was make his skin crawl.

The journey home wasn’t much better. The bus was late again, and Eddie couldn’t find a seat so he had to stand. The bottom of his sneaker apparently acquired a random hole and he had to walk back to their apartment with wet socks.

Eddie was done. He was so fucking done that all he wanted to do was crawl into the bed and cry until he couldn’t anymore. He also hoped that Steve wasn’t home yet from work; he was scared that something bad would happen, like they would end up arguing or not speaking to each other.

What Eddie didn’t expect was to come home to a house that smelled a little like heaven. It was warm and he called out, “Steve? That you?”

“Yup! In the kitchen!”

Eddie toed off his shoes and stripped out of his still damp jacket and hung it up on the rack. He still felt really keyed up from the day he had, so he steeled himself against his own feelings and headed into the kitchen.

Their table was set. A lasagna was cooling in the center, set on a potholder right next to a spray of daisies. Two beers were set beside their plates, still cold enough that condensation was gathering on the glass.

Steve himself is dressed in comfortable clothes, bent over the oven and pulling out what looked like cheesy garlic bread. Fuck, if it wasn’t all of Eddie’s favorite things wrapped up in one beautiful little scene. “Hey! I must have timed it just right!”

Eddie felt tears starting to gather in his eyes. “How… how did you know?”

Steve set the garlic bread down on the stove and pulled off his oven mitts before he reached up to cup Eddie’s cheek. “I heard you this morning. And then Mack called me before you left, saying you’d had a pretty shit day. So… I got home a little early and wanted to surprise you with something good.”

Okay, yeah, Eddie was absolutely going to cry now. “For me?”

“Of course, baby. After dinner, I figured we could take a bath together and I could wash your hair? Then we could crawl into bed and watch that new Beetlejuice movie? I grabbed it on the way home.”

“Steve… that…” It sounded incredible. It was perfect. So why was Eddie blubbering like he’d just been told his dog died?

But Steve, wonderful, beautiful Steve, seemed to just understand. “Because you deserve it. You had a bad day, and I just wanted to make it better. You’d do the same for me, have done it in the past. Let me take care of you, okay?”

What else could Eddie do but nod?

Dinner was delicious, Eddie ate until he couldn’t anymore, realizing he’d forgotten to eat lunch in the midst of the rest of his terrible day. He listened to Steve talk about what he’d done that day, letting his boyfriend’s words wash over him.

The bath was just as nice. Even if they were two grown men, they managed to squeeze themselves into their tiny tub. It was ridiculous, but it made Eddie laugh and he felt light for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. Steve had washed his hair, took his time rubbing conditioner through Eddie’s curls, and then it ended up with them wrapping hands around each other’s cock and Eddie panting into Steve’s mouth.

Fuck, but he loved this man so much.

Loose from the bath and from his orgasm, Eddie crawled into bed with Steve and curled up as the movie started.

“Love you, Eds,” Steve murmured, kissing the top of his head. He grabbed the remote from the bedside table to fast forward through the previews.

Ed smiled into Steve’s collarbone. The day might have started pretty fucking awful, but Steve had turned it right around. Now, it felt like the best day ever.

#les writes things #steddie #steddielovemonth #rating: t

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salty-autistic-writer · 3 months ago

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For @bucktommyweek Day 6: Pets and Kids

Title: Cold Shoulder From Soft Paw

Summary: Buck is trying to apologize. Tommy just wants to eat dinner already.

“Come on,” Buck says. “Don’t be like that. I was nice. I brought you food. I brought you gifts. I offered you a massage. What else can I do to make you forgive me? Please. Stop giving me the cold shoulder.”

There’s no reaction to his pleas. Nothing but somber silence.

Buck sighs. He’s clueless. Close to giving up and accepting that this is a fight he won’t win. And it’s making him sad. Because in the past, he always found a way to win someone back. But this … this feels like something broken. Something he can’t mend.

“I guess I just have to accept that you won’t forgive me,” he says solemnly. “I have to accept that I’m a horrible person. It’s alright. You don’t have to like me. Just know that I am going to try to do better. Somehow, I will make it up to you in the future. I don't know how. But I will. I promise.”

“Evan. Why are you talking to my cat like you two are starring in some kind of horrible cheesy break-up movie?” Tommy asks, confused. Buck points at the black cat sitting on the window sill with her back turned to Buck, licking her paw and beating her tail from side to side in a way that seems agitated. He shakes his head. “I can’t deal with this, Tommy. So far, every animal I have met in my life liked me. And now, your cat hates me! And it's not hard to figure out why. The first time I saw her, I accidentally stepped on her tail when she tried to get between us because you didn’t even tell me you have a cat! That meow she made when I hurt her ... I can't get it out of my head. And don't you dare lie to me. You already knew that she would be jealous and that she would hate me! That's why you never mentioned her before I entered your house and gave her that horrible first impression of me."

Tommy sighs. “You’re so dramatic. You both are, actually. Listen. It's been two days. This is a new situation for all of us. She doesn’t know you. And you don’t know her. Not yet. She’s not used to someone else being here. Just give this a little time. She’s going to warm up to you eventually. You don't need a dozen toys and snacks for that. She loves old empty boxes and cheese the most anyway."

“You sound so sure,” Buck mutters. “Well, what if she won’t? What if she never stops hating me and she’s going to make you decide …”

“Evan. She’s a cat. And her name is Cookie. My cat Cookie won’t destroy our relationship. I promise,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes. But the corners of his mouth are twitching. “Now please get up from the floor. I’m really hungry now.”

Buck sighs. “Alright.” He stands up, leaving his circle of cat toys, to join Tommy at the dinner table. He misses Cookie throwing him a mildly interested glance before she jumps down from the window sill and slowly approaches one of the many toys Buck brought with him.

#bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy positivity week #bucktommy fanfic #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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noaltbruh · 2 years ago

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hello! BIG congrats on 200 followers!! for the event i was wondering if i could request 💤,🍭, and 🍰 for johnny, gyro and josuke? thanks!

Ohhh alright! This'll be interesting! And thank you! :))

Link to main event.

💤How often do they fantasize about their S/O? Is the latter constantly on their mind?

Honestly, you must be something special if Johnny Joestar let you be a part of his life. You truly matter a lot to him in a world that has treated him like he was scum. So, you can guess this boy inevitably finds himself thinking about you on more than a few occasions.

Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed by negative thoughts, or is just not in a...Very happy headspace, which is when you come in! Just imagining you calls him down a little, and puts a small smile on his face, you're a very reassuring presence to him, you could say.

Johnny is also rather shy, so sometimes, he may find it easier to hide away in his thoughts and fantasize about you, instead of making them a reality. He doesn't want to appear clingy or too needy to always be by your side. he is.

~~~~~~

Gyro doesn't use his head much outside of combat lol. But those few brain cells he's still using are more inclined towards you than anything else. He's a quite proud guy, so he may find these thoughts overly cheesy, but he eventually learns to embrace them.

Imagine that he's just come up with a new joke, he won't be able to think about anything else but telling you about it. Or maybe he saw a teddy bear that "looked familiar" and he immediately bought it for you, so you could match!

I can see him also fantasizing about riding his horse with you, but that is the one idea he'll try to scrap and push away no matter what, no woman can ride Valkyrie...Although the perspective of it doesn't...Sound horrible.

~~~~~

Sweet sweeter sweetest boy, Josuke's thoughts about you are just as diabetes-inducing. He's not one who falls in love easily, but once he does, it's hard for him to think about anything that isn't you.

He won't pay attention in class because he's too busy imagining to be making fun of the teacher with you. He'll lose focus playing videogames since it's not same to play alone anymore. He might even just see a dress in a shop and give it to you for absolutely no reason aside from that fact that he thought it'd make you happy.

Also, stealing this idea from my friend, I have a feeling Josuke would often imagine what it'd be like to marry you. Just imagining you walk down the aisle while he's desperately try to hold back tears.

Yes, he has cried just thinking about it.

🍭 How easy is it to fluster them?

Now, Johnny used to get bitches, but not anymore, and he's kinda forgotten what it feels like to have someone show that type of interest in you. This means that getting him flustered will be a piece of cake.

Even if you're bad at flirting and mess up some words in an attempt at being smooth, he won't even notice and get embarrassed anyway. Compliment and show him that you appreciate his efforts, and it won't be long before his cheeks turn pink.

Also, friendly reminder that anything the stand feels is felt by the user as well. Hug or pat lil' Tusk act 1 with your own power, and Johnny will also get flustered by the indirect manifestation of affection.

~~~~~

Luck is not exactly on your side when it comes to get Gyro flustered. Dude has hooked up with lots and lots of women, and has learned a lot from each one of those experiences, simple flirting is not gonna work.

Take into account that most of your attempts will be nullified by him with ease. He'll tell you how cute he thinks it is that you're trying to embarrass him, before he teases you back, actually succeeding in doing so.

There is one obscure way to get him to turn red, and that is calling him by his actual name. He blushed even just saying it out loud. If you were to do so, and continued to after he told you to, you can be sure that it won't take long for him to try and hide his face with his hat.

~~~~~~

Josuke is quite the easy prey too, I won't lie. Perhaps not as much as Johnny, but it won't take too much to get him flustered. He really likes receiving compliments from you and remembers all of them, blushing a little just at the memory of it.

It is very likely that both of you will get rosy cheeks though, since this boy is ready to compliment or tease back in such a natural way he may not even realize what he'd doing. You both look cute though, and probably end up giggling together realizing what just happened.

It may be obvious, but I think saying something nice about his hair, especially if it's not his usual haircut, would really hit him right in the heart. A pat on his head, and he's already leaning on to your chest, not showing his face, trying to deny his embarrassment.

🍰 How teasing are they? Do they often flirt with their S/O?

Johnny couldn't flirt to save his life lol. Like O said, he just doesn't have a clue anymore about relationships, and despite how much he loves you, teasing you is not the best way he has to show it.

He does know that you'd probably like of he tried to, from time to time, so he might make an effort to think of something smooth to make you sway. When he realized he doesn't know what to do, he'll probably ask Gyro for help lmao.

Tries to play it cool when one of his pickup lines actually work, but he's definitely letting out a huge sigh of relief and hearing Angels' choirs. I can see him getting the hand of it with a lot of practise, but he's trying :D

~~~~~~

Yes! Definitely! Gyro just adores flirting and teasing you, he can't help himself, it just comes incredibly natural to him. Not that he minds though, he enjoys every second of it.

Rest assured that he won't be missing out on a single opportunity to make you blush. He's really good at it, since he's had his fair amount of experience with dating beforehand, and his confidence and smoothness are of great help.

Even if you're getting attacked, he'll still find some way to get you flustered.

Maybe he's just beaten the crap out of gunslinger while covered in blood, looking all menacing. If he catches you staring at him, he'll probably say something like "Mh? What is it? Like what you see?~" Followed by his iconic laughter and a wink.

~~~~~~

Okay, Josuke's situation is a mix of two main factors. He's someone who values romantic love and doesn't go around flirting with anyone he sees. Which means that if he were to tease or compliment you, you genuinely means what he's saying, and because of this, it comes very simple to him.

With that being said, this boy is also naturally good at flirting for some reason, he has a lot of abilities he keeps hidden, and if he's feeling goofy that day, or thinks it's a good time, he won't hesitate to bring out this...Talent of him.

He 100% likes to do so when the two of you are in public, especially since it knows that it's even more effective this way. If you were to tell him to stop, he'd chuckle before actually doing so. He respects his darling's wishes, after all ;)

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whovianwriter · 9 months ago

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leonard mccoy x reader

Everything

AN: Thank you so much for requesting, sorry it took me so long I restarted like three times cause I kept changing my mind on different things. Feel free to request anything!

Warnings: Blood, injury to the reader, hurt/comfort, thoughts about death, sad but then happy at the end

“Damn it, the engine was hard to fix but I finally got it.”

Y/N said as she was walking to her desk, then she felt the ship shake due to the engine going back on line but the shake would get worse before it got better. So she tried to stabilize herself with her desk as she waited for it to finish. But Then she saw one of the interns carrying nails and pieces of junk before she knew what happened. He fell on top of her and she felt the pain a couple minutes later as she felt something wet and warm get soaked through her uniform. There was yell and her vision began to fade when she saw Scotty picking her up.

“Come on Lass, keep your eyes open. You can’t fall asleep.”

It was getting hard to focus but she knew that this might not be ending on a happy note, she saw memories rush to her. Her childhood, a million smiles, some tears then she saw Leonard when they first met at the Academy. They started dating and fell in love, their wedding, they both just swayed to the music for so long they didn’t want the day to end. They both knew that they had finally found the right person for their other half. “Tell .. Lee.. I.. Love .. him.”

“You can tell him that yourself, Once you get fixed up.”

They soon got to the medbay and he laid her down at one of the tables, when Leonard came out to see what the noise was when he saw her. His wife bleeding out as he ran, a nurse stopped him as three doctors got to her. They knew he couldn’t work on her, they were too close. He felt the anger as her eyes closed and then he was upset then the anger came through. Scotty pulled him outside so the medical team had as much space they needed. “How the hell did that happen?!?”

As Scotty told him what information he had, Leonard was a mess as he kinda went into shock as he kept looking into the window to see anything but couldn’t he then saw the red on Scotty’s shirt and it made him want to hurl. That’s Y/N’s blood, he sat on the floor looking down trying to see if this was some horrible dream. He then saw another pair of feet run up to them and saw Scotty walking away and the new person kneeled in front of him lifting his head. It was Jim. “She’s going to be okay.”

Leonard looked back to this morning when they were snuggled together in their room, she had her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. Holding her like she was his life line. Their legs tangled together as she played with his free hand, ‘We should just call off, stay in bed. Snuggle, watch old shows and eat the leftovers. I’m too comfortable to move.’

‘Darlin’ as much as I want to do that, we only have a half day today and then we are off for a week for shore leave. I promise we can do all that tomorrow.’

‘Fine, but I hope you know I will expect cheesy rom coms as well.’

He laughed and kissed the top of her head before starting to untangle himself from her to get ready for the day, but once he stood she still didn’t stand up but was stretching out on the bed, he bent down and kissed her before saying, ‘I wouldn’t expect anything else, sweetheart.’

The sound of the hiss of the door opening brought Leonard back to the present, he slowly got up and relied on Jim a little so he wouldn’t lose his balance. It was one of the afternoon doctors coming to talk to them. He couldn’t remember his name right at the moment. “Y/N is going to be ok, we gave her a sleep hypo, so her body can heal a bit before we wake her up tomorrow morning. We made sure to get everything out but she will be sore for the next couple days at the very least. The damage wasn’t too bad, it hit bigger veins so that was why there was so much blood. You can come in and sit with her, Doctor McCoy.”

—------------------------------

“Len, I swear I will hit you with a pillow if you do not stop following me. I’m only going to the bathroom, I’ll be back in like 4 minutes.”

They got back to their room the next day in the late afternoon, since then which had only been a day he followed her everywhere just to make sure that she didn’t need his help. She had woken up with ease and even cracked a joke. She then wanted to make sure the intern was alright, he was wearing a welding apron, the most he got was a bruise.

Leonard felt like if he left her alone for too long he would see that he was still in the medbay waiting to see if she would wake up. He was thinking about that when she came out of the bathroom and came over and crawled into his lap looking at him while she had one hand on his cheek. “I’m ok Len.”

“I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“But you didn’t, I’m right here we both are. I admit I thought that that might have been the end for a second and all I could think of is you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, when we met, all the jokes you tell, our wedding where we stayed the whole night on the dance floor. I told Scotty to tell you that I love you. He responded with ‘You can tell him yourself.’”

“Ok I’m cutting off the rom coms, that was so cheesy.”

Y/N laughed then turned her attention onto her husband, “I love you Leonard McCoy, you are my everything.”

“I Love you, you are my everything.”

She bent down and kissed him, till they both couldn’t breath.

#leonard mccoy x reader #bones mccoy #bones x reader #star trek #jim kirk #dr mccoy #leonard mccoy #hurt/comfort #star trek imagine

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

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By God, would it be possible for us to get more of soap and his tinder adventure with ghost.

I beg you from the bottom of my heart to grace the world with more because this is simply the best thing on earth.

Please please please.

(hope it’s still okay i’m using your ask for this haha)

not sure why it took me so long but finally! more of the tinder adventure :) this may go on ao3 later but i haven’t decided yet

tinder roulette

2.9k words

Tinder, in Soap’s opinion, is more of a fun pastime than anything else.

Of course, that isn’t to say he hasn’t used it for its intended purposes—hookups, if anyone is to be honest, it really isn’t a dating app—but it’s long since lost its novelty and has instead become something solely built for Soap’s entertainment.

And Gaz’s, too, apparently.

“I can’t believe how many men on here actually use those stupid fishing pictures on their profiles.”

Gaz has been hoarding Soap’s phone for the better part of an hour, now, liberally swiping left and right on others’ accounts as per routine when neither of them have anything to do. Only this time he’s essentially just been swiping left for a variety of reasons that are mostly beyond Soap.

“I don’t like how he’s holding his phone.”

“Then swipe left,” is usually Soap’s unhelpful and unheeded input.

“Already did,” is what Gaz will say.

Soap sighs as Gaz continues browsing. Normally it’s more fun for Soap than what it’s been that day, but something about the current selection feels… lacklustre. There hasn’t been much of anything funny or fascinating to pique his interest, so Gaz’s say has remained precedent.

It usually does. Just more so today, which Soap is completely fine with—at most he might chat with someone that matches with him (or, again, Gaz might chat with someone under the guise of being John, 28), and otherwise he’ll do absolutely nothing.

Until he hears Gaz suck in a sharp breath beside him. Which could be either a very good or very bad sign.

But by the way Gaz tenses, finger hovering over the screen like he’s afraid he’ll be electrocuted if he does anything, Soap takes it as a very bad thing.

Soap finally looks back at the screen after having been off in his own head for the past fifteen minutes.

At first glance, there isn’t anything that Soap sees that makes him think Gaz’s reaction was warranted. Then, and unfortunately, he starts connecting the different things he’s seeing across the profile—the glaring Simon, 32, the cheesy bio classified underneath it.

And the photos. God, the photos. Soap would hate himself for his immediate recognition coming from a set of bare, scarred and broad shoulders if he didn’t have the excuse of being familiar with the identifiable tattoo that stretches up Simon, 32’s forearm.

Gaz turns to Soap. “You don’t think…?”

“If I’m being honest, Gaz,” Soap says slowly, “I dinnae want to think about this at all.”

Gaz’s thumb inches closer to the screen, and Soap’s heart stops when he sees the hint of a mischievous grin begin to form on his fellow sergeant’s face.

“So then you wouldn’t mind if I…?”

“Gaz,” Soap warns.

“What? It’s probably just an old profile like yours. And besides,” Gaz huffs, and Soap really does not like where this is going, “aren’t you at least a little curious to see what happens? Given your…”

Soap scoffs. “No, because nothing will happen. So hand over my—“

He makes to grab for his phone but is unsuccessful when Gaz, with stupidly lightning reflexes, stretches his arm out of Soap’s reach, and, very much to Soap’s dismay, presses down his thumb and swipes right on their lieutenant’s profile.

“See? What’s the worst that could—oh.”

It’s glaring, that horrible, awful, eyesore of a pop-up that reads It’s a match!

Soap thinks he might die. This is when and where he lays to rest permanently. Because what the fuck?

Gaz winces, sheepishly handing the phone back to Soap. “That is… this is a good thing, innit? Means he likes you back, right? Right?”

Soap doesn’t take it right away, instead shrinking in on himself, desperately scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms as if it’d erase the last minute of his life. As if it’d erase his entire existence. Because even if they matched—a fact in and of itself that Soap is still having a tough time processing—Soap will eventually have to face Ghost knowing that they had, whether or not the man has checked his own notifications, and that idea alone is mortifying.

Soap is going to kill Gaz.

“This is what I get for not listening to my Mam about goin’ to mass,” Soap groans, plucking the phone from Gaz’s hold. The first picture on Ghost’s profile stares back at him—a goddamn mirror selfie angled in a way that hides his face, but definitely not the definition of his arms thanks to lighting and a muscle tee Soap would have never thought his lieutenant to own—and he doesn’t so much as hesitate to exit out of the notification so he can forget this all happened as soon as possible.

Which would be never, in all honesty, but Soap’s an optimist.

Most days.

“You think I could get a transfer before I have to see him again?”

Gaz quirks an eyebrow. “A transfer by this afternoon? Ain’t gonna happen, mate. Not even the higher-ups could manage that.”

Soap frowns. “This after—what are you talking about?”

Gaz makes an affronted sound. “What am I…? Training, you idiot,” he snaps, smacking Soap upside the head. “You’re on duty with him later. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“‘Course not.” Soap pauses. He tries to smile but all that forms is a grimace. “If I asked you to fill in for me…“

“Absolutely not,” Gaz says. “You’re facing this yourself, mate. Today. And then maybe after you and Ghost can snog, or something.”

Soap jabs his elbow into Gaz’s side. “You act like this isn’t your fault.”

“But it’s a yes to the snogging?”

As much as Soap might like to entertain the thought any other time, he just groans as he stands from the ratty couch kept in the common room with nothing more than the intention to hide away until facing his inevitable doom.

It’s great, the things he’s feeling at the moment. So great.

And of course that feeling stays all throughout what seems like no time at all before Soap is procrastinating his way to training, an extra weight on his shoulders and far too many thoughts swirling around his head that all cease the second he makes eye contact with Ghost.

A pissy Ghost.

“You’re late,” the lieutenant says.

“Sorry, sir,” Soap mutters. He keeps his gaze anywhere but on Ghost. “Got… caught up.”

Ghost grunts. “Right.”

The silence that follows is characteristic on Ghost’s end. Soap, however, can’t bring himself to say anything without the fear of it somehow leading to asking Ghost if he’s been on his phone at all since that morning without reason to justify the question.

But obviously Ghost picks up on his nerves, and given the man’s irritatingly blunt nature, it’s no surprise he’s confronting Soap about it the moment the recruits are busy and out of earshot.

“You tense, sergeant?” Ghost says. Never a question with him; always an accusation.

“No,” Soap lies. He can’t look over to his colleague without that stupid picture appearing in his mind. “Just…”

“Tense?” Ghost repeats.

Soap sighs. Concedes, “Aye. Tense.”

When Ghost says nothing, Soap finally risks a glance at his lieutenant only to be met with Ghost’s own gaze—too intense, too piercing. Soap hadn’t known brown eyes could look so cold until Ghost.

Soap can’t help but feel as if Ghost already knows. Because in all honesty, he probably does, and there had never been any use in trying to maintain what little remains of Soap’s own dignity.

If he had had any to begin with.

Ghost tilts his head. Scrutinizes Soap further with those eternally analytic pupils of his. “And for what reason, sergeant?”

Soap is going to throttle his superior officer. He’s going to wring the man’s neck, get discharged, and never have to worry about this ever again. Because Ghost is taunting him, clearly, and how unfair is that?

“I think you know, sir,” Soap grumbles through grit teeth, because he supposes he may as well face this head-on now as much as he fears the moment it’s said aloud.

But to his surprise, Ghost actually falls back just a bit, shifting his weight between feet in that awkward, stilted way he rarely does.

Like a kid caught with their hand shoved in the cookie jar.

“Well, don’t dwell on it too much, Johnny,” Ghost finally says—the words are quieter, softer this time. “Was an accident.”

Soap curses the crumbling feeling of hope in his chest that maybe, best case scenario, this whole incident would lead to a confession. But of course not—Ghost swiping right on Soap was an accident.

“Ah. Well.” Soap clears his throat, shying away from what’s become a much kinder gaze, “So was—for me too. Gaz had my phone.”

Ghost hums. Some look glasses over his eyes before he turns from Soap and marches away to continue barking orders at the rookies. Soap doesn’t know if it’s any better than having them both linger in a suffocating awkwardness.

An accident. Right. Why did Soap think it could ever be anything else?

The remainder of training is torturous, with the way Ghost doesn’t utter a word to Soap beyond anything work-related, or some professional-opinion bullshit—all the while was an accident rattles around Soap’s head as the day progresses at a snail’s pace.

He can’t decide if it all being an accident makes the situation any better. He can’t decide on a lot of things today.

And clearly, for Ghost, it doesn’t matter either way.

Soap is going to kill someone. He just hasn’t figured out who yet.

“He said it was an accident.”

Gaz hardly looks up from his tray as Soap slumps into a seat across from him. The mess hall is filled with the hushed buzz of chatter, sporadic and spaced out about the room. The open, public environment is the only reason he feels safe enough talking about it—it’s the only place he isn’t concerned about having Ghost suddenly appear in that eerie, ghostlike way of his.

“Told me not to worry about it,” Soap continues, “as if he hadn’t been making me more worried with his weird interrogation.”

“Remind me why you like him like him again,” Gaz mutters before shoving another forkful of food in his mouth. He chews and swallows unreasonably quickly. “Starting to seem like you don’t actually have feelings for him, mate.”

Soap huffs. “Only because it’s obvious the bastard doesnae feel the same. What’s the point, Gaz?”

Gaz stares at him. Blinks once, twice. “I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

Soap groans loudly, sinking low in his seat. He wishes just one person could give him a straight answer to resolve this entire thing. A be-all-end-all solution to put him out of his misery—because even if Ghost says it was an accident, it still happened, and it still means Ghost is active on his own Tinder to some horrifying-to-think-about extent.

And Soap is horrified to think about it. Not to mention terribly conscious of the fact.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Soap grouses. Admits, “I just told him it was a mistake for me too.”

Soap has endured many looks from many people, and he doesn’t think anything compares to the incredulity on Gaz’s face at that moment.

“You know, I felt bad for getting you into this up until you said that,” Gaz tells him. “But hearing that shit is just unbelievable. You hear yourself, right?”

“Every fucking day,” Soap sighs. He buries his face in his hands, shoulders bunched as he grumbles nonsense into his palms. “What do I even do now?”

“Nothing,” Gaz says, then pauses, shrugs his shoulders. “Or tell him the truth. Maybe he also lied.”

Soap frowns, brows furrowing deeply behind the cover of his hands. The idea never occurred to him, because what would be the likelihood of Ghost ever lying about something as trivial as this? Near zero, Soap would think.

But the idea gives him just a piece of that crumbling hope back. And so does the tone of Gaz’s voice that hints he may know more about something than he lets on.

He always seems to. Soap doesn’t know whether or not he should be thankful.

Before he can decide, however, Gaz is continuing with his ever-so-sage counselling, “If you’re going with the latter, you’d better start looking for him now. ‘Cause if he was lying, he will be avoiding you at all costs.”

Soap huffs, finally letting his arms drop back to his sides as he begins to get up. Once standing, he says to Gaz, “I hate that you’re right.”

Gaz snorts. “Usually am.”

Despite his eye roll, Soap does plan on heeding his advice instead of arguing that no, Gaz is definitely not usually right. Because he isn’t. So what if he’s just on the nose today?

Soap sets off on his search.

It takes well over an hour to locate Ghost, after checking all of his usual spots and hiding places several times over, and asking just about everyone he saw if they knew about the lieutenant’s whereabouts.

The answer, of course, is always no idea, but it was worth a shot anyway—only considering he still manages to find Ghost on his own in the end.

Elusive bastard. Soap thinks if the disappearing act is kept up, he might start to be inclined to agree that Gaz was onto something about Ghost’s own dishonesty.

Maybe it’s a little unethical to be confronting him right out of the showers, though.

It’s a surprise Ghost doesn’t appear to be immediately alerted of Soap’s presence with the loud thud of the door swinging shut, his back remaining turned to Soap all the while the sergeant works up the courage to clear his throat.

And maybe admire the planes of his lieutenant’s back just a moment. He’s pulled on everything but a shirt already—even one of his gaiters has made it on before the hoodie that lies in a heap on a bench beside him as he dries his hair.

Again, though, Soap is more focused on the muscles that had him recognizing Ghost in those photos earlier that day.

“Can I help you, Soap?” Ghost grunts. He drops the towel he’d been using for his hair next to the hoodie he shortly pulls over his head—Soap is only allowed a brief glimpse at damp, tousled, blond hair before a hood is obscuring it.

Soap isn’t sure why he thought Ghost hadn’t noticed him enter.

“You lied to me before,” Soap says. He may as well bite the bullet now—to drag this out any longer than a day seems childish, really. He’s old enough to know that, but stupid enough to have let Gaz have access to his phone, and to still have a Tinder account in the first place.

Ghost tenses. His back stays to Soap as he freezes, and just barely Soap is able to make out the sharp intake of breath.

“Thought I told you not to dwell.”

Soap shrugs, though Ghost can’t see it. “You tell me a lot of things, sir.”

Ghost seems to consider this in the minute rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, in the echo of a distant, residual dripping and an overhead fan.

He finally ducks his head, the sound of fabric shifting as he shoves his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. “Maybe I did lie. Maybe I didn’t. S’pose it doesn’t matter either way, does it, Johnny?”

“Why not?” Soap cocks his head. “I mean, Gaz did have my phone, but he had a point about getting my head out of my arse.”

Ghost turns, then, eyes narrowed at Soap with something akin to skepticism. “And what point is that?”

And for what reason, sergeant?

“That I needed to grow a pair and tell you how I feel,” Soap confesses. “To just use this whole thing as an excuse to do that.”

Ghost blinks, those stupidly brown doe eyes of his widening. “Is that what this is?”

Soap chews the inside of his cheek. “If you were lying.” He attempts something playful, but it falls flat. Meek.

There’s still so much distance between them. Too much. And with the way Soap’s heart currently swells with hope, he’s praying that changes soon.

He just has to wait on Ghost.

“I didn’t think anything would happen,” Ghost says.

“Neither did Gaz,” Soap replies. “But I could forgive him.”

“Only if I was lying?”

Soap nods.

“Then you’re a better friend than I’d be, Johnny.”

It’s enough of a confession for Soap. It’s likely the closest thing he’d ever get to one from Ghost.

And that’s alright. Because it’s the best thing to be getting out of what (admittedly) mild fiasco he’d gotten into.

“I’m only so willing because it ended me here,” Soap says. He stalls a moment, almost unashamed in the way he properly looks Ghost over. “And I’d really like to compare those pictures to real life, if I’m honest.”

Ghost huffs. He grabs his towel and slings it over his shoulder before he’s moving toward the exit just behind Soap. Soap’s heart jumps as he gets closer, closing that distance, until Ghost is leaning down to Soap’s ear and murmuring, “I can make that happen.”

The lieutenant teases Soap’s hand, pretending to grab at it but stopping at a mere brush of fingers before he disappears out the door and leaves Soap to stand alone, dumbfounded.

But only for a moment. Because goddamnit if he isn’t immediately trailing Ghost to his quarters after that.

(taglist!! i didn’t forget i swear: @sketchscientist @crazy-phan-girl13 @crazies-unanimous @hanniballecterkinnie @lunainlove @lucibell-writes )

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing #fanfic #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

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littencloud9 · 7 months ago

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"shut up or i'll kiss you" + chuuran

"you shouldn't do that" + souheki. mwah

YAY! this takes place somewhere after the chuuran makeout session in poe's novel trust me it happened. also nb ranpo and transmasc chuuya because they are in fact t4t

"Shut up or I'll kiss you," Ranpo snaps. They know it's an effective threat, and Chuuya predictably presses his lips together. He stares at them with wide, horrified eyes, like Ranpo suggested he jump into the volcano or something equally terrible. How insulting. Ranpo isn't a bad kisser. They know because Chuuya was actively pulling them in for more back in that novel, and also because they know everything in general. Chuuya glares darkly, and Ranpo watches him fight an internal battle for a full minute before he gives up, stomping up towards them. With barely any warning, Chuuya slams their lips together. He's not gentle with it, biting and pushing with the force of a thousand suns, but Ranpo doesn't expect anything less. They kiss back with a barely concealed grin, amusing themself. When Chuuya pulls back, his glare hasn't wavered. "So as I was saying," he grumbles, continuing his earlier tirade. Something about... Ranpo doesn't know, to be honest. They were trying to do their work (for real, because Fukuzawa asked them to), and tuned out most of his fussing. Well, anyway, Ranpo chooses not to point out the bright red flush on his cheeks. Chuuya might actually explode if they do.

souheki!! you ask and you will receive <3. are they fake dating or actually dating here? who knows

"You shouldn't do that," Ranpo calls right before Dazai's hand touches the dog figurine on Kunikida's desk. He retracts his hand. "Why not?" "It's made of Kunikida-kun's ability and it's for Mr Fancy Hat." Ranpo doesn't need to explain any further. Dazai wrinkles his nose. Kunikida is so cheesy. "Yeah," Ranpo agrees with a snort, even though Dazai didn't voice that opinion out loud. He supposes his face did all the talking. "They're disgusting." "Oh, for sure," Dazai says as he heads towards Ranpo's table. The detective is sitting on his desk, so Dazai squeezes himself between his legs, resting a hand on his chest. "Just horrible. Thank God we're not as lame as those two." "Exactly!" Ranpo's eyes open, revealing brewing mischief that stirs something deep in Dazai's stomach. "It would be a shame if we ever fell to their level." "It would." They both turn their heads at the sound of someone climbing the stairs to the office. From the strength and pace of the footsteps, they can tell that it's Kunikida. Sharing another look, Dazai grins. He doesn't need to say anything else, for Ranpo gets the message. Eyes fluttering shut, Dazai presses himself as close as possible, sliding a hand down Ranpo's back to hold him there. Ranpo's legs wrap around his waist as they push their lips together, licking into each other's mouths. Ranpo flinches in surprise when Dazai runs his free hand down the expanse of his exposed throat, retaliating by tangling his fingers in Dazai's hair and tugging. Just then, the door opens, and the sound of files dropping on the floor fills the air. "Jesus fuck," Kunikida groans, shutting the door with a slam. His voice rings out from outside, "I am giving you exactly one minute!" Dazai and Ranpo separate, cackling in each other's hold.

#writing souheki is so fun. they are just menace4menace #hope u enjoy ela mwah mwah #bsd #chuuran #souheki #my writing #ela <3

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bamboozledcorvid · 11 months ago

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Alright I watched My life with the Walter boys and it’s pissed me off so much.Why does anyone like Cole, he sucks. And why don’t people like Alex he’s great.

Cole

• he “doesn’t do relationships” yet actively goes after Jackie knowing she would not be okay with the whole fling thing.

• he made a massive deal over not doing anything to hurt his brother and how much he regretted accidentally kissing his brother’s girlfriend before just to then kiss Jackie like an episode later.

• he used the fact he messed up his leg to justify being horrible to his family, friends and girlfriends.

• tried to kiss Jackie when she was far to drunk to consent to something like that.

• got drunk at his mums award ceremony.

• he knew how hurt Alex was and he supposedly felt bad yet at the bonfire was taunting him about stealing his girlfriend, then proceeded to whine about getting punched.

Alex

• I’ll admit his “I don’t know how to be anyone else” line was incredibly cheesy but so is his character he’s awkward and cheesy and nervous.

• he was obviously in love with Jackie and would have done anything she wanted.

• “it’s okay” after telling her he loves her was so cute, he told her she didn’t have to say it back.

• wouldn’t kiss her whilst she was drunk.

• supports her goals and dreams.

• made amends with Cole and told Paige he deserved better once he realised he didn’t need to prove himself to have Jackie.

Cole’s just so much more unlikable once you take away how hot he is and like realistically Alex is also hot he’s just cuter.

The real villain isn’t Cole tho it’s Jackie

#my life with the walter boys #alex walter #cole walter #jackie howard #netflix #team alex

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months ago

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Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 6

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas having all the bits (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist

5. Fatimah

After their time in the heat suite, Bucky and Steve have to confront the painful reality of their situation after a mistake is made.

When Steve gets back to the suite … it’s not good.

The room stinks of unhappy omega, first off. Steve’s wrinkling his nose before he even lands eyes on Bucky.

Bucky, who is sitting naked in the middle of the still not-fixed nest, stone faced and with dried tear tracks visible on his cheeks. He’s staring at the tv. Steve’s stomach immediately twists in concern and he hurries forward to the bed. “Bucky, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches and his eyes flick to Steve for a second, angry, before they return to the tv. “Just giving myself a reality check,” he mutters.

Steve is painfully confused. Then he spots the tablet lying on the bed. His sense of dread increases. “... Bucky,” he says softly, reaching to pick the tablet up.

It’s off of the lock screen, opened to several tabs of messaging and care plans. One is Bucky’s, but there are also some from previous patients who checked into the suite. Steve spots the requisition forms from the last ace patient. There’s a picture of the breeding bench. Another patient file is from one of Odinson’s cases, where the omega had wound up needing to be committed down in psych inpatient.

Blinking, Steve closes out the tabs of confidential patient information, no clue how Bucky could’ve accessed them. The last tab open is Steve’s own discussions back and forth with the other staff about Bucky’s care. The newest message is only about 10 minutes old, having arrived while Steve was still down in the conference room. It’s an automated send from Labcorp that makes Steve’s heart stop in his chest.

Rapid Urinalysis Report: [HCG].....................pos.+ [omGestrin].............pos.+

*Sample submitted for long test confirmation

Oh fuck.

“Honey,” Steve breathes, not looking up from the messages on the tablet. Shit. Does Bucky know what the test results mean? “Honey, how did you open this? There’s a password.”

Bucky scoffs quietly, still staring at the tv. “I know tech. That stuff’s a joke.”

There’s something playing on the TV on low volume. When Steve glances over his shoulder, he finally processes what it is. His eyes widen as he sees a shot panning across the sterile interior of a facility: rows of naked bodies, all in various stages of pregnancy or else being impregnated, strapped to medical furniture and equipment. The footage is in color, but old. Maybe from the seventies. It would have to be, because it’s depicting an omega breeding facility. And not some cheesy imitation from a porno—a real one.

Steve’s stomach nearly turns. “What the fuck?” It’s being played from a website, not cable or one of the hospital’s streaming services. Steve doesn’t even have the wherewithal to be impressed that Bucky could figure out how to bypass the television’s settings like that, because he's too busy starting up a low, unhappy growl. It rolls upwards and sticks in the back of his throat, showcasing his disgust at the horrible images on the screen. “Bucky, turn that off.”

Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard him. He just keeps glaring up at the tv.

In the film, the narrator speaks calmly even as someone in the footage moans out in distress, and Steve makes the mistake of looking back at the tv screen. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, mad. The format of the film appears to be educational, though the imagery is lurid and borderline pornographic. Steve is hit with an unpleasant memory of the first time he’d been shown such a video in grad school. Jerking his eyes away from the TV, he growls again and Voices, “I said: turn it off.”

Bucky’s whole body gets tense, his eyes flicking to the remote control in the sheets. His jaw clenches as he fights to not obey the command, and then he shoves up from the bed, still stark naked, and stalks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Grinding his teeth, Steve grabs the remote himself and hurriedly turns the television off. “Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair and fumes. “Fuck!” he hisses louder, jerking in anger at the situation. And of course his stupid dick is reacting, chubbed up under his scrubs from the brief sight of something perverted and wrong, something he’s got no right to find arousing. Humiliated by his own body’s reaction, he reaches into his pants and gives his balls a cruel yank, effectively killing the problem. Sighing, he goes to stand outside the bathroom door. “Bucky?” The door doesn’t lock for safety reasons, but Steve decides that he should try to be patient and give Bucky some agency here. He knocks lightly. “Honey, can you please come out? I’m not mad at you, I promise. I’m sorry I cursed.”

“No.”

He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes as he tries to speak calmly. “Look, I know you’re upset, okay? I promise if you come out, I won’t touch you. I won’t even come in the nest. I’ll sit on the chair and you can have the bed all to yourself while we talk.” He waits for a few long seconds but gets no response. “Buck?”

“Was it part of the treatment?” Bucky says, voice muffled from the other side of the door. “Tell me the truth. Did you do it on purpose?”

Steve frowns. “Do what on purpose?”

Bucky’s silent for a long time. Eventually, voice barely loud enough for Steve to make out, he says, “Get me pregnant.”

Steve’s stomach drops out. So Bucky does know what the test results mean, and he’s clearly gone and done some research with good old ‘Dr. Google’. “No,” Steve says emphatically, guilt sweeping over him at the situation and how Bucky’s had to find out about it, and the horrible conclusions he’s making now. Steve puts his hand up flat against the door, as if he can touch Bucky that way. “No way, Bucky. That’s not ... No. We don’t do that here.”

Another long beat of silence, and then Bucky’s voice comes through much clearer. He’s moved closer, must be standing right on the other side of the door now. “I googled it,” he says. “It’s a thing. Other hospitals do it. They call it TPOT: therapeutic preg—”

“Therapeutic Pregnancy with Optional Termination,” Steve says, cutting him off. “Yeah, I know. We don’t do that here. And breeding facilit—I mean, erm, treatment institutions like that video was showing don’t exist anymore.” He takes a chance and pushes the door open the barest bit, and is met with Bucky’s pinched face looking at him through the crack. “Please come out and talk to me?” he pleads. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have. I promise.”

Reluctantly, Bucky agrees. Steve backs up and goes to put the tv remote and the tablet away while he hears Bucky padding back across the floor and climbing into the bed. When he turns back around, Bucky’s pulled a bunch of the blankets around himself protectively. Steve smiles sadly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to come out, Bucky.”

Bucky makes a face and avoids eye contact. “So you weren’t trying to get me pregnant?”

Steve winces. “No. In fact I’m on birth control myself. It’s hospital policy for all Alpha Supports. And … so is the routine pregnancy testing,” he says, trying to be delicate about it. Bucky just sits there with an upset expression on his face. “We’ll take care of it, of course," Steve promises. "It’s only been a couple of days, a week and a half at most."

“At most …” Bucky echoes confusedly. "But we've only been in here for two—" He cuts off with a look of dawning horror. “Oh. Oh god, no. You mean it’s not you? It could be from them? From the … the rape?” He nearly chokes on that last word, a terrified little sound that barely gets past his vocal cords.

It leaves Steve feeling utterly powerless. “It … could be, yeah,” he admits. He can’t very well lie to Bucky now, even though he wishes he could spare him this. The poor kid is starting to look green around the gills, and so Steve hurriedly adds, “But I promise you, Honey, it is so easy to take care of at this stage. Just two little pills. It’ll be like getting your period. You’ll hardly feel a thing.”

“What?” Bucky’s face crumples and he keens in distress. “I’ve never had a period Steve!”

Fuck, Steve thinks. He’s so fucking dumb and he’s only making this situation worse with every sentence that comes out of his mouth. He can feel Bucky’s distress through the bond and it is honestly killing him to not be touching him right now. “Bucky, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Please, can I come over there? Please?” He toes off the uncomfortable Keds and reaches for the hem of his scrub top like he’ll pull it off. “Buck?”

Bucky sniffles and nods, his head tucked down in shame. Steve doesn’t waste any time in shedding his clothes and crawling into the nest to pull the omega into his arms. He holds him tightly and rocks him, hushing sweet sounds and words against his skin. “Shh sh sh. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, Sweetheart. I know it’s scary. We’re gonna fix it. I’m here. Alpha’s gonna take care of you.”

Bucky all but collapses into him, clinging and crying against his chest and whimpering needy little omega sounds. Steve soothes him until it passes, and then they both sink down to lie together on the bed. He uses a hand at Bucky’s lower back to hoist him in firmly against his body, slotting one thigh between Bucky’s. They lie together like that for a while, both of their heartbeats slowing as they reconnect through touch and scent, calming themselves down with each other. “Feel a little better?” Steve asks gently, after a long time has passed.

Bucky hums noncommittally. “No. … Yeah.” His eyes flick up to Steve’s face. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?” Steve scoffs at the absurdity of it. “Why would I be mad?”

“I dunno,” Bucky mumbles. “I snuck around while you were gone. Hacked the passwords.”

Steve tuts and yanks Bucky in harder against him, kissing the top of his head. “No, I’m not mad,” he says, making sure that Bucky can hear in his tone how stupid he thinks that idea is. “I just hate to see you hurting,” he says. “And watching that garbage on the tv? God.”

Bucky squirms a little in his arms, testing his dominance. So Steve squeezes him more forcefully and doesn’t back down, and it makes Bucky shiver in pleasure and fall into it. “...Okay,” he says quietly, body going lax again in submission.

Steve kisses the top of his head and rests his chin there. “You want to talk about it?”

Bucky shrugs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“A lot,” Steve scolds.

“Well. First I looked at the tablet. Cause it ‘dinged’. I saw the test results, then the messages between you and the other doctors.” Bucky sighs heavily. “And then I googled some stuff and I … just kind of went down the YouTube rabbit hole.”

Steve sighs unhappily. “Bucky … that video … You know that was old, right? That’s not something that happens anymore.” When he’s met by pure silence on Bucky’s part, he realizes that this isn’t something Bucky knew. “Honey,” he coos sadly. “No. Omegas aren’t treated like that anymore. You have rights. Hell, TPOT isn’t even used in a lot of places anymore. We have other ways now.” He kisses the top of Bucky’s head. “It’s illegal to do any of that to an omega patient without their consent,” he whispers. “Tell me you understand, please.”

Bucky shivers in his arms, but he nods. “I believe you. I understand.”

“Good boy.”

He presses his face into the juncture of Steve’s neck, mouthing over his glands. “Steve, I want to know,” he pleads. “I want to know if it’s yours.”

“Mine?” Steve tenses as he realizes that Bucky means the pregnancy. “Oh, Buck. You don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter.”

“What? Of course it matters!” Bucky whines and scrapes his teeth over Steve’s bond mark. “If it’s not yours, then … then that means it’s …” he stammers, getting choked up. “I don’t want it to be them,” he finally whispers. “Please, I need it to not be from them.”

Steve hugs him tightly and shushes him. “Shh, Honey. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Either way, you didn’t ask for this. You don’t have to worry. We’ll take care of it, I promise.” Bucky gets quiet after that, the tension in his body making it pretty clear to Steve that he’s still thinking about it. “Hey,” Steve says quietly, wanting to get Bucky’s mind off of it, “So, I just had a meeting with some people from your, uh, home.” Bucky pulls back and looks him in the face at this information, and Steve nods. “A man named Russel?”

Bucky’s doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “‘Course.”

“Is he your father?”

“He’s everybody’s father,” Bucky says dully. “I don’t know who my real parents are.”

Steve frowns, remembering the concern he’d seen in the woman named Rebecca's eyes—eyes that'd looked a lot like Bucky's. Her concern had seemed genuine. He decides not to bring it up to Bucky now. “I read a little bit about your family, about The Children.”

“Are you gonna let them take me back?” Bucky asks, worried. “I don’t want to go back. I’ll be in so much trouble.”

“No,” Steve says firmly. “OmCare has custody of you now, remember? You’re safe. There’s no way they’ll be allowed to take you back, not with the way they treated you.” Some of the tension leaves Bucky’s body at that promise, and Steve strokes up and down his back soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay, Buck.”

Bucky relaxes somewhat at the reassurance. “And what about my, um …” He touches his stomach in a heartbreakingly vulnerable gesture. “Can they find out if it’s from you or … or them?”

“You tested negative when they admitted you from the E.R. It could’ve been a false negative, but it’s unlikely. You had an IUD at the time, and we gave you emergency contraceptives that night.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah, so. It probably is mine. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you use a condom?”

Steve flushes in embarrassment. “Condoms don’t really work so well for alphas. And medically speaking, well ... you needed to be exposed to my semen.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m on the shot!” he insists, rushing to explain himself even though he knows it's not his fault. “It’s ninety-eight percent effective in preventing pregnancy.”

“Ninety-eight,” Bucky echoes, and Steve’s heart aches.

Bucky’s so young, dealing with so much trauma, and now Steve’s gone and compounded the situation by impregnating him. “I’m sorry this happened,” he says, pulling him in close. “I know it’s the last thing you wanted to deal with right now.”

Bucky gets quiet, rubbing his face against Steve’s chest and appearing to be thinking about it. “I’m pregnant,” he eventually whispers, sounding baffled at the idea. He worms one hand down between their bodies, touching his belly. “It’s yours.”

Guilt sweeps through Steve and he kisses the top of Bucky’s head. “They’ll give you some medication for it. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, still sounding dazed. Then his stomach lets out a loud grumble, surprising them both. “Oh.”

Steve chuckles and gives him a squeeze. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Bucky’s behavior shifts as the evening progresses. Steve notices slight changes, like how the nest suddenly becomes more important to him. He sends Steve to go get more soft things from the storage room, and won’t let Steve be involved with arranging one bit of it.

Steve is also ordered to spray more of his scent around the bed, and Bucky nearly bites the head off of the woman who slides their dinner trays into the room for them. Steve snickers at the possessive reaction and calms him down by agreeing to hand feed Bucky his meal in the comfort of their nest.

There are other tells, like how he gets lethargic and wants to stay close to Steve at all times, how his sexual urges grow less urgent, and his cravings for skin contact and scent marking take precedence. How he starts purring and going sloe eyed every time Steve takes care of him in any way.

Steve recognizes it for what it is. Bucky’s slipping from heat and into the symptoms of early gestation. Omegas are especially prone to very early behavioral changes like this, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. Steve feels so guilty, not only because he’s technically the one responsible for the situation, but also because a part of him secretly enjoys it. And he knows how messed up that is.

He makes sure to send Banner an update via the tablet and puts in a request for the appropriate medications for termination. Bucky will need to take them within the next few days, though they haven’t discussed specifics yet. Steve doesn’t know if Bucky will want to do it with him around. Some omegas can’t, their natural drive to protect offspring too overwhelming when the alpha who impregnated them is nearby. And besides, it’s still a delicate topic. Bucky didn’t consent to becoming pregnant, and he might not want to be forced to think about the necessary next steps right now. His behavior over the past few hours seems to suggest that he’d rather not.

He keeps referring to Steve by his designation rather than his name, and Steve slowly starts to answer back to it in kind. If what Bucky needs is to remain in the moment and simply enjoy the intimacy of being bred, then Steve’s happy to do that with him. As his Support, he’s obliged to.

So they cuddle all that evening and into the night, and Bucky’s need does return, albeit with a different tone than before. There’s less desperation to it and more of a lazy sort of growing arousal, smoldering coals instead of a raging fire, Bucky’s scent changing from one of pure heat to that of a bred omega seeking pleasure. His hormones are no doubt raging, making him feel instinctively pleased at having the alpha he’s bonded to with him, providing for him and holding him close. Steve selfishly enjoys it, not wanting to take away anything that might be adding to Bucky’s comfort right now. It’s Bucky who eventually takes it further, quietly asking Steve to touch him in the middle of them watching a movie. Steve is happy to oblige, pulling the omega to sit between his legs and lie back against him so that he can reach around and lazily fondle him.

For the first time, he explores touching Bucky’s chest, running his hands gently all over his pecs at first, and then honing in on his breast buds with light strokes of his fingertips. “This feel good?” he asks, nosing against Bucky’s neck and watching what he’s doing from over the boy’s shoulder. The sight of his own large hands touching such a delicate, intimate part of Bucky’s body makes Steve's dick throb where it’s trapped between them. “Buck?” he prods gently. “You like it when I touch you here?”

“Y-yeah.” Bucky’s breathing is shaky, his hands digging into the tops of Steve’s naked thighs on either side of him as he unconsciously presses into the touch. “Mm, it’s—oh—it’s sensitive.”

“Mm hm.” Steve thumbs lightly over each of Bucky’s nipples, opening his mouth to suck wetly at the tender skin of his glands.

Bucky moans at the dual stimulation, jerking in Steve’s lap and crying out helplessly, “Oh!”

Steve hums against his neck and draws all his fingers together, pressing against the little peaks of Bucky’s breast tissue. There isn’t much there now, just enough to play with, the area around the nipple engorged from the hormones of his heat and now from his budding pregnancy. Steve tries not to feel too guilty for enjoying it, for selfishly imagining the little swells growing full with milk for their pups. He doesn’t know how Bucky feels about this part of his body, whether or not he carries shame about it, but he takes a chance and murmurs a heated, “So pretty here, Buck,” against his skin, plucking repeatedly at the little peaks. “Love touching ‘em.”

Bucky makes a high, inelegant sound, and a second later the scent of fresh slick is flooding the air. It makes Steve groan, his hips rolling against Bucky’s back. “Yeah?” he purrs, trailing one hand down between Bucky’s legs and scooping up the evidence of his arousal. “You like that?” He brings his wet fingers back up and rubs the slick around each of Bucky’s nipples, sensitizing them further to the air. He captures the tightened buds rolls them hard between his fingers. “That?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky whimpers. “Steve…” He pushes his chest out into the touch, his own hands flying up to cover where Steve is fondling him. “Please,”

“Pretty little titties,” Steve growls, losing control of himself just the barest bit in that one selfish, dirty comment.

Bucky's breath hitches in a sob, and then he’s tearing away, pulling out of Steve’s arms and scrambling to turn around. He straddles Steve’s lap gracelessly and falls forward against him, kissing him messily and rubbing himself against him. “Alpha,” he begs between kisses. “Please, touch me, please.”

If Steve wasn’t rock hard before, he is now, with Bucky rubbing his little prick against his abs and dragging the lips of his dripping sex over his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, hands falling into place on Bucky’s hips to try and control him. “Fuck, Honey.”

“Steve, please, please.” Bucky’s still kissing him and rubbing all over his face, his beard, breathing heavier the more worked up he gets. “Oh, please, mmm.”

Steve’s fingers dig into the fat of Bucky’s hips, pulling him down to grind their bodies even harder together. Fuck, his wet cunt feels so good sliding over his dick like that. “Yeah?” he says, his voice roughened from constrained arousal. “What do you want, Honey? Tell me.”

Bucky whimpers and rocks harder in his lap. “Please,” he keeps whining, their soaked crotches gliding together. “Inside, please. Breed me. Want it.”

Steve growls and fights not to lose control at such sweet begging. He desperately wants to flip them over, pin Bucky to the bed and fuck him mercilessly. “Show me,” he says. “Show me how you want it, Omega.”

Bucky whimpers helplessly and continues to squirm for a minute, but then he seems to work up the strength to move and nearly throws himself off of Steve, going ass up and face down in the sheets, presenting himself. “Please, like this,” he begs again. “Alpha, please, please …”

Just as Steve locks eyes on the swell of Bucky's cunt, it pulses and pushes out a wave of fresh slick. He curses and scrambles to get on his knees behind him, forcing Bucky’s legs wider with his own and bending over him to cover him with his bulk. He locks teeth at the base of Bucky’s neck and humps forward at the desperate whine he gets for it. “Want me inside you, Omega?” he growls, instinct already moving his hips, trying to line his cock up. “Hm?”

The tip catches at Bucky’s rim and he gasps and cries out in relief as he’s filled. “Oh, Alpha—”

“That’s it,” Steve grits out, nearly losing it at the overwhelming pleasure of being inside him again. “Fuck, Bucky. Oh, fuck.” He rests his forehead between Bucky’s shoulder blades and grabs at his hips, swallowing heavily as he tries to regain his composure. “You feel so good Sweetheart.”

Bucky sobs and pushes back hard against where Steve is buried inside him. “Please, please, Alpha, please! Need it, need it. Please, Breed me.”

Steve growls at hearing those words again, his knot throbbing near painfully as it comes to life. He feels himself losing more of his control, primal instincts turned into overdrive at Bucky’s behavior, at his scent, at what he’s just said to Steve. “Bucky,” he grunts, if only to stop himself from uttering something filthy back to the omega in response. He pulls back and fucks hard into his heat. “Shit."

Bucky sobs and presses into it, saying needy, desperate things into the bedsheets that make Steve’s knot grow too fast and his balls throb with the need to release. Bucky’s whining cries just get more desperate and less coherent as he begs for Steve’s knot, for his cum, his babies; begs to be bred up and mated and owned. It gets to the very core of Steve in a way that he knows he shouldn’t encourage, but that he can’t help but respond to. He keeps his hands at Bucky’s hips to pull him back into every thrust, growling possessively, fucking him sloppy and hard and making him sob in pleasure as Steve’s swelling knot forces its way in and out of his pussy again and again.

When Bucky starts to orgasm for the first time, he grabs Steve’s wrist and yanks, probably trying to get his hand on his little cock while he comes. But Steve’s hand winds up sliding around onto the curve of his lower belly and holding him there instead. Bucky keeps coming and sobbing in pleasure and cradling Steve's hand there against him.

And Steve just loses it. He growls and hauls him in with the hand at his belly, fucking him harder, pushing his other hand into the back of Bucky’s neck to force him further down into the sheets. Bucky goes pliant as a rag doll beneath him and lets it happen, and the next thing Steve knows he’s popping his knot and coming. He rides it out, falling down onto Bucky, flattening him against the sheets, hips rutting mindlessly against his ass as he humps his spend deep inside.

Bucky comes at least once more while he's lost to it, and then again when Steve has recovered and turned them onto their sides. He rocks them, using their tie to tug and pull against Bucky’s cunt, stimulating him gently. “You want another?” he asks, touching Bucky’s chest with teasing plucks each time he rolls his hips.

“Please,” Bucky moans, too blissed out and satisfied to sob for it anymore. If he realizes the things he’s said in the heat of the moment, he doesn’t seem to care. His hand covers Steve’s where it rests on his belly and he purrs happily. “Mm.”

Steve’s heart clenches. “Honey.”

“Feels so good, Alpha. Please, make me cum again.”

He swallows heavily and digs his nose into Bucky’s neck. “Okay Buck,” he breathes, inhaling the ripeness of their combined scents, reminding himself that there’s no shame in enjoying this. If Bucky’s finding pleasure in it—and he clearly is—then Steve can indulge too. It’s only natural, after all. Breeding an omega up is one of the most intimate things an alpha like Steve can ever experience. There’s no greater honor than satisfying the needs of someone whom he’s bonded and bred. He should be thankful that Bucky wants to experience this with him now.

He lets Bucky’s hand curl over the back of his own, the both of them holding him over the swell of his lower belly. Steve makes sure to let his lowest two fingers trail below, touching over Bucky’s cockhead. He fucks his knot in him softly while moving those fingers, and Bucky’s breathing starts to pick up again as he gets close. “So easy,” Steve murmurs into his ear. “So good for me, Omega.”

“Steve,” Bucky moans, sounding lazy, happy, and pleasured. “Mm, that’s ... ohyeah"

Steve hums and untangles their fingers to get full use of his hand. “Here. Let me go, Honey. Let Alpha rub on your clit.”

Bucky cries out sharply at the words, then gasps at the firm press of Steve’s thumb rubbing underneath his wet little cockhead. “Oh!” He slaps his hand over the back of Steve’s again and Steve grunts in satisfaction. He really, really likes the way that Bucky tends to grab onto his hands when he’s feeling pleasure.

“Right there?” he purrs, moving his hips just so to have his knot tugging on the most sensitive spots inside. “That how you need it?”

Bucky keens and nods, humping desperately between Steve’s knot behind and his hand in front. “S-steve,” he gasps, gripping Steve’s wrist as he continues to pleasure him. “Oh, oh, m’close.”

Steve growls and nips at his bondmark, tries to wedge his other arm further underneath so he can get to Bucky’s chest. He plucks at his nipples with one hand and keeps working his cock with the other. “Good boy. Wanna feel you cum on my knot, Sweetheart. You gonna do that for me? Hm? Gonna give Alpha one more?”

Bucky sobs and nods, his body rippling in pleasure as he starts to climax. The way his cunt contracts rhythmically down on Steve’s knot feels almost as good to him as getting to have another orgasm. Steve groans lowly and gives into the base urge to rut him through it, tugging against their tie and undoubtedly prolonging Bucky's orgasm. “Shh,” he soothes him through it. “Shh. I know. I know it feels good.”

Eventually, Bucky quiets down, and Steve’s hands settle in at his chest and belly to hold him close. Steve can still feel his balls pulsing weakly every once and awhile, body still releasing even though the pleasure of the orgasm is long over for him. After an undetermined length of time, his knot begins to go down and he softens and slips from Bucky’s body.

Bucky whimpers, pressing his bottom back needily. A lot of Steve’s cum has run out of him and he’s rubbing their combined fluids between his ass and Steve’s groin and belly, not wanting to let it go. “Alpha,” he whimpers sleepily, fitful.

Steve growls and holds him tightly. “Shh, it’s okay, Buck. I’m here. I’m right here.” He slips his hand through the mess of Bucky’s cunt and brings it up to grip his neck forcefully, smearing cum over his bonding glands and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s still inside you,” he promises. “You’re all bred up, Honey. I’m right here.”

Bucky moans and goes plaint in his arms again as Steve continues to rub his cum into his skin, the scent clearly reaching Bucky and making him relax. “Alpha,” he whispers. He’s started purring, just a little. He sounds exhausted but at peace. “Alpha, mmm, stay.”

Steve rumbles deep in his chest, answering the purr. “That’s right Honey. Alpha’s got you. Not gonna let you go. Just go to sleep now, Buck. You’re safe.” He forces his thigh between Bucky’s legs and leans into him, so that they’re angled towards their fronts, Steve half covering Bucky’s body with his own.

Bucky is quick to drop off into sleep, and though Steve has vague plans about getting up and checking a few things before bed, he too winds up drifting off before long.

By the next day, it’s abundantly clear that Bucky’s heat is over. They take a bath together and then get dressed, Steve having explained that they’ll check out of the heat suite before the evening shift change. It’s while they’re eating lunch together that Bucky says, “I didn’t know it would end so suddenly.” He sounds equal parts relieved and disappointed. “I thought heats were like, a week long or something.”

“They can be.” Steve gently explains that it’s because of the pregnancy, that Bucky’s body is sending signals that it doesn’t need to have sex anymore. He asks if Bucky feels okay about the sex they had last night. “I know it was very, um … instinctual,” he says carefully. “Very intimate. Are you okay now?”

On the surface, Bucky doesn’t seem distressed. He just gets quiet and holds onto Steve, which isn’t unusual. Omega patients tend to be clingy at the end of their cycles, especially when there’s a bond involved. “I’m okay,” Bucky says. “I think I needed it to be like that. Otherwise I would’ve just felt …” he trails off, then shakes his head. “I dunno. Scared, I guess. I needed to be reassured that I had you.”

Steve feels awful. He pulls Bucky in for a big hug, and the omega goes willingly. “Don’t be scared, Honey. We’re going to take care of it.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Bucky says. “When you bit me I didn’t know what to expect. But I’m glad it was you. This whole time, I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t you.”

Steve coos and says of course, holding him close and scenting him comfortingly until a nurse buzzes in through the intercom and tells them they’re cleared to leave the suite whenever they’re ready. It’s sad and feels rather anticlimactic, but that’s typical. It’s hard to say goodbye to any partner after Supporting them through a heat, and Bucky’s case is even more so.

Steve helps Bucky to get settled back in his room and says goodbye once his shift is over. He’s already told Bucky that he’ll be spending much of the next few days interacting with OmCare and his therapists.

“But when will I see you again?” Bucky asks, looking at Steve plaintively from his hospital bed.

Steve winces and smiles from the doorway. “I work the day after tomorrow, so we’ll see each other then. Dr. Banner is still your attending now. He should be in tomorrow morning to go over your care plan with you.”

“Oh.” Bucky seems a bit dazed and a bit lost. He keeps looking to Steve, as if the alpha hasn’t yet told him something he’s supposed to. He’s clearly anxious about Steve leaving his sight.

Steve tries to reassure him as best he can, knowing that Bucky’s clingy behavior is a holdover from their days spent locked together in the heat suite. It’s going to take them both a minute to get reacclimated to real life again, being around other people. Steve forces himself to escape quickly after that, leaving Bucky’s room despite what his body and instincts are screaming at him to do, which is to stay with Bucky and keep his pregnant bondmate satisfied. It’s just another urge to be fought, Steve knows. Bucky’s not really his mate and he’s not really pregnant. Or at least, he won’t be for much longer.

Steve changes back to his street clothes and clocks out at the nurse’s station, feeling depressed about it all. He stops by the pharmacy to make sure that there’s an Ativan prescription in the works for him, and the tech on duty checks the computer system to confirm that he’s cleared for leave whenever his detox symptoms hit.

It feels weird, going back to his apartment where Bucky isn’t. Steve does some laundry and turns the television on for background noise, notices that his phone is missing and has a tantrum as he realizes that means it’s probably back at the hospital. Fuck.

He stomps downstairs to take the trash out, in some-kind-of-mood about his phone, when he runs into the single father from 4B by the mailboxes. The poor guy is struggling to carry his groceries, his mail, and his conked out two year old all at once, and so of course Steve hurries over to help, holding out his arms helpfully to try and take the grocery bags. Instead he winds up with the two year old plunked against his chest, her unconscious face lolling over his shoulder. Steve wraps his arms around her rather than drop her. “Um, okay.”

“Thanks,” 4B says, looking tired but grateful. “She gets heavier all the time.”

Steve smiles awkwardly and nods. They make their way up the stairs and 4B unlocks the unit door. When Steve’s forced to actually step inside the apartment to set the baby down on the sofa, he’s then faced with 4B at the door on the way back out, smiling at him. “That was great, thanks,” he says. And Steve gets the distinct feeling that he’s about to be asked to stay for coffee or something, but then the guy’s eyes land on Steve’s neck. “Oh,” he says, looking disappointed and like he’s trying not to be. “I didn’t know you were involved with anybody.”

For a second, Steve’s clueless, and then he colors and reaches up instinctively for his newly-marked bonding glands. “Oh,” he says, touching it briefly before forcing his hand away. “Right. Well, that’s…” he trails off from what he was going to say and just nods as he inches out the door. “Right. Yeah. Well, glad to help. See you around.”

4B nods and closes the door, and Steve breathes a huge sigh of relief, then of disappointment at himself. “Great,” he mumbles, very not sure about how he feels about having just used his eighteen year old patient as an excuse for a mate. He groans and heads back towards his own apartment, pretty sure that this bond withdrawal is going to suck worse than ones past.

He got too mixed up this time, he thinks throughout the rest of the evening, his hand migrating to his neck more times than he can count. He’d played around with his feelings for Bucky too much, lost too much control around him from the very beginning. And worst of all, he’d gotten him pregnant, then gone and indulged in it as if they were a real couple. Stupid.

He finds himself obnoxiously hard throughout most of the evening, and winds up jerking off to the thought of Bucky despite the fact that it’s wrong, just to get some relief and finally be able to fall asleep.

He has the next day off, and even though he's already realized that he left his phone at the hospital last night, he continues to ignore the problem because he subconsciously doesn’t want to have to go back to the hospital and face being around Bucky.

Bucky, who’s probably being given his abortion drugs and psychotherapy, preparing for a comfortable withdrawal on Steve’s pheromone detox kit and to soon be sent off to his new foster home. All of which makes Steve heartsick to think of.

It’s a temporary feeling, he reminds himself. Likely part of the bond breaking down already and just making him uncomfortable. He’ll go in for his shift tomorrow and see how he feels, he decides. He can take off time whenever the symptoms start to become too much. In anticipation of this, he spends most of that morning tidying the apartment and doing laundry, thinking about Bucky as he keeps trying not to think about Bucky. When he goes to the store for a grocery run, he buys several pints of ice cream that he knows he’ll be binge eating during his upcoming days spent detoxing on Ativan and All My Children.

By late afternoon he’s got nothing left to do but go to the gym and work out his feelings on the punching bags, then he exhausts himself with a run. When he gets home he barely has the energy left to shower and towel off before he nose dives into his mattress and sleeps for thirteen hours straight.

Steve arrives for his shift the next morning, caffeinated but already feeling the uncomfortable pull beneath his skin that hints of the detox to come. A quick shower in the staff locker room and then he’s clocking in at the nurse’s desk and looking over notes for his current patients. Bucky is no longer on his patient list.

401’s still refusing the hysterectomy she needs, so he heads over to her room and pulls up a chair to try once more to talk some sense into her. As soon as the woman sees him, she’s turning her head away and asking for a beta nurse. She’s said before how she’s uncomfortable being alone with an alpha. “Will you call my husband back please?” she asks him, head turned completely away. “I can’t be alone with you.”

Steve has tried with all his might to be culturally sensitive, but he’s short of patience at this point. “No, you don’t need him here to be able speak with your physician. Now Fatimah, look at me,” he orders quietly, waiting until the woman turns her head back in his direction. She keeps her eyes firmly lowered. Steve sighs. “I wanted to speak to you alone,” he says, “because I know he’s pressuring you not to have the surgery.”

Her lip trembles but she shakes her head. “No. That’s not true. I don’t want it.”

Steve leans forward in his chair. “You’re going to die if you don’t have it.”

“You don’t know that. You are not God.”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Fatimah. There are more important things than having children.”

“No,” she says. “Not in our culture. I told you.”

Steve knows very well what she told him, just like he knows her husband has been threatening her with divorce if she consents to a hysterectomy, just like he knows that someone once excised and infibulated her genitals to ensure that she’d never feel a shred of sexual pleasure for the rest of her life. Steve was patient and tolerant about it all before, but that was before he spent seventy two hours in a heat suite bonded with Bucky, before he overextended his emotions, and before he was facing a very uncomfortable upcoming detox. He’s currently all out of patience for and tolerance of horrible things today.

“Fatimah,” he tells the woman in front of him sternly. “You are going to die without the operation. Your body will develop septic shock, and then you will die. We need to remove your uterus. If we don’t, you'll die from infection within the next week. Do you understand me?” He waits, seeing the distress grow on her face as she agonizes over the choice and his cruelly blunt words.

“But … my husband,” she says.

“The hospital has social workers who can help you,” Steve promises. “If worst comes to worst and he really abandons you, OmCare can help you. The important thing is that you’ll live, Fatimah.” Steve is leaning heavily forward as he implores her. If it were any other patient, he’d have reached out to touch the bed or her hand by now, but he holds back at the last second, remembering Fatimah’s modesty requirements. When he can see on her face that she’s reconsidering, he stands up decisively and nods like that settles it. “Good,” he says, turning for the door. “I’ll have the surgeon schedule it for this afternoon. They’ll come and get you ready.” He lingers a few seconds at the doorway, waiting for her to call out and refuse, but she doesn’t say a word, only cries.

Crying he can live with.

Steve has just finished patient rounds when he decides he’d better go try and find his phone. It has multiple missed texts and calls when he finally finds it, plugged in and charging at the nurses’ station. “Crap,” he mutters, keying in the passcode.

“Do you not check your email?!”

Steve looks up at where Clint is approaching from down the hallway, Banner at his side. Steve’s mouth hangs open like a dummy for a full five seconds. “Um …”

“He left his phone here overnight,” Sharon says flatly as she passes by from the other direction. She’s pushing the meds cart around from room to room and she nods at Steve. “I charged it for you. You’re welcome.” She pushes into the next patient’s room, gone from sight.

“Sorry,” Steve says at Clint, unsure what he’s apologizing for but certain he’s about to find out. Banner looks highly unimpressed when he and Clint come to a stop in front of him. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” he says.

Steve glances down to his phone and the—yikes—thirty-seven missed texts, calls and voicemails he has. “What happened?” he asks, dread already filling the pit of his stomach. “Bucky?”

“He’s been refusing treatment,” Clint says.

“Refusing how?”

“He won’t terminate, for one,” Banner says grimly. “And now he’s refusing detox. He keeps asking for you. The therapists are working with him but it’s slow going.”

“Slow going?” Steve repeats, confused. “I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

Banner shakes his head and leaves it to Clint to cringe and explain, “It seems he didn’t understand about the … temporary nature, of your relationship.”

“What.” Steve blinks. “No. No I explained it to him. He knows what a Support is.”

Clint looks physically pained as he has to clarify, “No, not the Support part of it. He understood that much at least.”

“Well what then?” Steve huffs, impatient and frankly growing concerned at how nervous Clint is acting.

“The bond,” Clint says. “He didn’t know it wasn’t permanent. He didn’t understand that you two weren’t going to be, well, mates.”

Steve freezes in place, feeling horrified as those words sink in. “What?” he asks, shocked. “No. He … he must’ve known. I explained what a Support was. He didn’t think it was real?”

Clint shakes his head sadly. “The poor kid was raised in a cult. He knew you were just there as a heat Support, but apparently he thought it changed things once you two bit each other.”

“Oh god.”

“He didn’t have the real world experience to know any better. He’d always been taught that bonds were permanent.”

“Shit.” Steve is rapidly starting to feel like a piece of human garbage. “So you’re telling me that nobody explained it to him? That this whole time, ever since I bit him, he’s been thinking it was real? He thought I was mated to him?!”

“Hey, keep your voice down,” Clint hisses, looking around nervously. “He’s right down the hall.”

Steve’s eyes shoot towards Bucky’s old hospital room. “Same room?” he asks, tense.

“Yeah. Steve, look,” Clint sighs. “We all fucked up on this one. It’s a unique set of circumstances. Nobody thought he wouldn’t understand.”

“Clearly.” Steve scoffs, fuming over his own stupidity. Poor Bucky! All this time, and he’s been thinking that Steve is permanently bonded to him? Steve can’t even process how intimidating that must’ve been for Bucky, how overwhelming.

… Or how hurtful, once Steve just up and left after the heat suite. “Shit,” he whispers, thinking of how confused and abandoned Bucky must have felt. And Steve had been unreachable for over twenty-four hours after that! “Oh, man,” he groans, feeling even more like human garbage and wiping his hands over his face in stress. “Fuck. I have to see him.”

He starts striding down the hall towards Bucky’s room, feeling the bond draw him closer with each foot of distance that he closes.

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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