#and you know buck would be fucking foaming at the mouth when he finds out what eddie did

[pinkponydiaz]

eddie diaz number one gossip, starts a rumor buck has a new boyfriend but says he doesn’t know who, just that it’s new, chimney spirals because he needs to know, bobby is happy but concerned because he doesn’t want to deal with eddie being a weirdo about bucks new partner again, hen and karen are prepping another shovel talk that will get cut from the show again, and then a few weeks later hen opens the ambulance doors because bobby told her buck was doing inventory and he better not be fucking up her ambulance and buck is sitting on the gurney, eddie fucking diaz in his lap and they both look up when she gasps, buck is blushing, eddie is smirking because that motherfucker started a rumor about himself!! because hes choosing joy and joy is causing drama at work and making out with his boyfriend thank you

[loaksbitch]

neteyam sully going all gentle and sweet when he fucks you until you try to run away from the pleasure he is giving you and he snaps? omg please — no but like i want this blue man so bad and i know you do too. 🧎🏽‍♀️

warnings – agedup!neteyam, p in v, inexperienced reader, brief clit stimulation, p penetration, soft sex but turns to slightly rough, edging-ish? idk, size kink, multiple orgasms, pussy tapping, neteyam is the man we all want, overstimulation, light grinding… that’s it i hope i didn’t miss non ; wc 2.2k!

neteyam would look at you with pure love and care only, wanting to pleasure you and make you see stars. he does not miss how your chest heave up when he lightly touches your soaked slit, eyes glancing down to your folds then up to your barely open eyes.

“feels good, princess?” you only mewl, he hasn't started yet but you’re falling apart. neteyam lets a soft groan out when you whimper, his middle finger applying pressure on your throbbing nub, flicking it side to side

such a pleasing sight.

the man on top of you was quick to hold on your thigh, pushing it wider and glaring at you when you try to buck your hips away from him. “sweet girl.” he warns, now two fingers stroking your slit, you arch your back, your clit rolling between the gap his finger had.

“‘teyam.” you whisper, hands sought between your legs and wrapping against his wrist. you just shake your head when you feel something coming back and forth. your legs shaking cause your mate to chuckle.

“i haven’t touched you yet, you're quivering, princess.”

his tone makes it harder, latching to his wrist and closing your thighs against his arm. “it hurts, i feel like pe–”. “you are about to cum.” he cuts you off.

your eyes shut tightly, legs shaking uncontrollably and chest heaving up and down crazily. “neteyam!” you whine when he suddenly stops. pulling back his fingers, he finds your silly face cute when it twists as he licks in his finger, taking all your wetness.

once done with his fingers, neteyam slowly brings his hand to your body, running them on your curves, squeezing on every part of your plushy meat. he hums when he touches your breast, so perfect and swelled that it fits so much in his hand.

“please?” your voice is soft when you speak, eyes watching how your mate raises a brow. “please what?” he says and you gulp, your throat starting to dry out. “more, nete’ i want more.”

neteyam leans to kiss the side of your mouth and removes his hand from you, you shriek when he holds you by the curve of your waist and raises you slightly up to the hammock.

your back settles on the cold mattress, whining as you miss his touch on your burning skin.

he starts from your breastbone, trailing wet kisses down to your stomach, his hands squeeze on yout breast causing you to watch your back and press to him more. he watches your reaction, fuck you’re so hot.

you really wanted to open your eyes and watch what he was doing to you but you can’t, but when his lips on your skin are foaming your brain. neteyam literally has your mind spinning.

you didn’t notice how he was facing your leaking pussy until he was throwing your thighs over your shoulder. neteyam grips on your flesh snd phlld you close to his face, his hot breath fanning over your clit.

shocked, you look down at him and watch how his amber eyes are telling you to trust him. of course you simply do trust him. your eyes slightly widen when he takes out his pink bold and gives your pussy a bold lick.

your head falls to the soft pillow, jaw dropping but no sound leaving you. your one hand fists on the sheets while the other finds its way to his hair.

“oh” you choke giving him a boost to confidently lap on your slick and fuck his tongue in you.

neteyam wraps his lips around your clit, eyes shut and starts to suck on the nub instantly making you lose it and moan loudly. neteyam doesn’t give a fuck, this was your honeymoon and he was going to make sure the whole town knew you are his and he was the reason to this sound.

or maybe the na’vi’s could rub or jerk off their frustration to your sound. who knows, right?

he doesn’t mind, literally letting you put all your pent up emotions and feelings on his hair, pulling on him when he eats you out. he feels so fucking lucky.

you kept getting wetter in his tongue, your orgasm just leaking out of you. neteyam keeps licking you clean like a thirsty man he was, taking all the sweetness from what you give him. “mh-mh.” his voice vibrates on your pussy and you cry out.

neteyam won’t lie when he says that was unexpected but the way you came undone was so attractive. your half body rising up from the bed and brows knit when your cum oozes out your cunt. fuck. fuck. fuck.

neteyam gives your clit kitten licks, stimulating your nub and grazing his teeth on it.

“‘teyam,” your voice is so desperate, you know what’s about to come. you and neteyam are gonna be one soul now, he was going to fuck you, mark you as his when he slides in you, and you invite him.

your chest rises and falls when he comes to your view. neteyam was soaked with your slick nectar from his nose down to his chin, and slightly few rolls on his neck. “see what you did, hm?” you look away, feeling like it’s forbidden to see.

“no,” he hovers over you, hand gripping on your jaw and making you face him. “look at the art you created, pretty girl.” you hesitate but give in, taking his appearance and the mess you caused.

“i’m gonna fuck you now yeah?” your ears fold against your hair, tail twitching with excitement. neteyam catches up with the move and grins. “gonna make you feel good.”

you bite on your lips, stopping the moan that begged to be freed.

neteyam presses a soft and gentle kiss on your lips, not sure what to expect. you decide to kiss him back and close your eyes to the feeling. his large hands were roaming on your body, memorizing your details.

what you don’t notice was how the other hand was stroking himself, getting himself ready to fill you up. neteyam pats on your thigh and pulls your left leg to his back, wrapping it against his waist while your other leg rests on the mattress.

your eyes shoot open when you feel him slide to your tight cunt, stretching you more than before when he did with his fingers. your eyes tear up and you whine to the kiss but neteyam only kisses you harder, as if it would distract you from the aching and hurting pain down there.

he was big, no, neteyam was huge. his tip was the only part that slid in yet you feel so full.

neteyam was large, full and firm in you when he enters you, his breath fanning over your lips. he tries to control his breathing, pupils blown wide. he loves how you cling to him, helping you with holding you close when he fucks you more and more deep.

“are you okay?” he asks looking down at you and breathless you give him a nod, placing your hand on the back of his neck. neteyam uses his hand and brings it to your chest, placing it between your breast and kissing your forehead.

“you’re doing good, try to breathe normally.” you didn’t notice that you’re heaving so up until he pointed it out.

neteyam takes your lips again and feels your muscle relax helping him sink into you until he bottoms out. the way your pelvis, the part below your navel pokes out with the shape of his dick and neteyam moans audibly.

you feel him place a soft kiss on your cheek, then your eyes, then your temple. neteyam was fighting and restraining himself from fucking you senseless and it was visible from the veins in his neck and arms.

you clench on him and his breathing ragged, shaking his head and whispering a silent, “don’t do that yet.” before opening his eyes and looking at you like you’re the only person he has.

“am i hurting you?” he asks and your breath hitches, tears in your eyes when you shake your head.

you just wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him to you. “please neteyam.” you beg, he knows what you want, neteyam was just trying not to hurt you because this must be a special moment, for both of you and not painful.

neteyam only nods, strong arms trapping your head between them before he snaps his hips to you. you can’t help but moan, stomach fluttering with no pain found anywhere and pleasure striking.

his tip kisses the opening of your cervix and your body jolts up with every hard thrust he delivers.

over and over and over again you say his name, him only kissing your sweat beading skin and smiling at your state. his amber eyes look down at you, fascinated by your expression and body languages.

he was definitely not hurting you.

neteyam groans, one hand sneaking behind your knee and holding onto it before pinning it to the mattress. the change of position helps him stroke deeply and he watches his slippery cock leave your cunt only to push back in.

neteyam keeps you close, watching your face attentively if any pain occurs but it doesn’t seem like that, not when your eyes are rolled to the back of your head.

“baby.” he chokes and your legs tremble. still pinning your leg on its place, neteyam leans back to sit on the bed while still plunged to you. his arm holding him up leaves the side of your head and his hands wander to your body.

as if he was trying to claim a territory that has been granted to him.

neteyam hums, watching how you squirm under him when he finds his way to your clit. “wait net—oh great mother!” you shriek when he lightly taps on your pussy. trying to jump away from him but it only pisses him off.

“fucking running away?” his voice erupts goosebumps on your skin. “don’t. even. think. about. it.” with every word, the way he taps on your pussy gets violent and hard.

you don’t say anything, trying to turn side ways so you will escape his torture. “fuck no you don’t, princess.” the arm that was holding on your leg grips your hips and pins you flush against the sheets.

he whimpers when your kissy tightens on his dick, going flush on you and thrusting all the way to your gut. “take it, take me baby.” you cry, teeth trapped between your teeth. “there we go baby, squeeze me like that, such a good girl.” he lowly barks at you.

neteyam was stil holding your hips, accelerating his thrusts and pushing into you so deep.

“nete, i want to cum.” you spit, taking the man on top of you by surprise for your bold words. “yeah, you want it?” you were quick to nod. your body tingles from the orgasm you just had when he fucked you with his tongue yet you need more.

“then do it, do it now baby.” the hammock that’s to move, his rough thrust knocking it. “for me?” you nod, licking your dry lips. “for you!” you mewl, your voice going high at the last part.

you gush at him, leaking on his cock and milking him so good. “oh fuuuuck, oh fuck.” neteyam hisses, not too far from his own finishing line. it felt so good he wanted to be with you forever.

your legs are uncontrollably shaking, pain starting to hint on your body. the stimulation is being too much and neteyam isn’t cumming. “too much?” he says, thumb meeting your clit snd loving how you shake your head at the pleasure.

he likes to torture you. “i’m alm…” he stops, gritting his teeth when his balls tighten. “i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna— princess.” neteyam leans to you quick, wanting to be in your arms, to be held by you.

you wrap your arms on your head, much bigger than yours. you hold him tight just like he did minutes before, whispering to him to let go and give you every drop of him.

he whines to your chest when he cums, ropes of white strings webbing your cunt. you moan at the warm and heavy feeling inside you. you wait from him, neteyam only stays laying on your breast when he takes breath and calms himself.

you feel him kiss your breast valley before holding himself up. “i love you, i love you so much.” you smile, not caring that your cheeks are heating up when you suddenly feel shy and bare in front of him. “i love you too. this was amazing.”

you both giggle, neteyam pressing his forehead against you and silently thanking eywa for giving him you

no because i wrote this after i had a panic attack when my online bsf asked me out, i still didn’t reply to him and i need your help guys :’)

likes + reblogs super appreciated — i love each and everyone of you sm! ** mwah

[subspencer]

Okayyyy so I’m in a hotel rn and in the bathroom there’s a big tub and right next to it is a shower and a wall that separates it BUT half way up the wall is just a giant window so if you’re in the shower you can watch someone in the tub and I literally can’t get the thought of arriving at a hotel on a case and seeing that set up and waiting until Spencer is in the shower before “innocently” taking a bath at the same time and then teasing him by masterbating in the tub while he watches in the shower before yk,,, shower sex 💀 okay it’s late and I need to sleep apparently 😂

okay so i changed it a little bit but ! whew ! it’s finally here (sorry this is over a month late lol <3). reader can be gender neutral. 

cw: mutual masturbation, perv!spencer.    wc: 1.4k

Spencer had this small, annoying rule. Whenever the team was out on a case, sex was off the table. Something about maintaining focus, or whatever.

He was fine with sharing the same room, but no sex. And sometimes, that made it so much worse. He was always at a fingertip’s length away, curled in bed next to you while you slept in his arms. Pressed closely together, but only in the most innocent of ways. 

This self-imposed rule your boyfriend had was, in summation, fucking stupid. Because how did he possibly think that abstaining from sex would improve your focus on anything? If anything, you were wound even tighter after days of busting ass at work and nights without any stress relief. 

He could sense it had that effect on you. Before bed that night, Spencer crawled onto the mattress behind you, planning on doing something small to help with that. He would’ve let you spend hours mindlessly scrolling through your phone, resting your head on his chest while he played with your hair for as long as you needed to feel a little more relaxed. 

Instead, you swatted his hand away as soon as he got near you.

“Fuck off, Spence. I’m not in the mood,” you grumbled. He knew from prior experience that playing with your hair sometimes had the opposite effect of relaxing; it tended to lead to more physical places in no time. Things that Spencer ruled against doing while on cases.

“Fine,” he sighed, rolling off the bed. “I’m gonna shower first, if that’s alright with you.”

“That’s fine,” you rolled your eyes, barely containing your annoyance as you flipped over to your side, continuing to scroll through your phone in an effort to ignore him. The sound of his footsteps rescinded towards the hotel bathroom, and you tacked on, “I just think it’s rude that you don’t want me to join you!”

Spencer laughed at your stubborn display, walking into the bathroom as he shed his clothes. When you didn’t hear the door close right away, you snuck a small peek behind you. You could see his reflection in the bathroom mirror, slowly fogging up from the steam. Still, you got a good eye full of his bare torso, toned and speckled with the occasional, tiny freckle or mole. 

“We’re on a case,” he reprimanded, poking his head out of the doorframe to give you a stern look, right before shutting the door behind himself. “We can do that when we get home!” 

You groaned and flipped onto your back, irritated as ever. If Spencer was so adamant about his no sex on cases rule, then you figured you might as well get some rest. But several minutes of tossing and turning later, you remembered that the hotel room also came with a decently sized bathtub. And what better way to actually relax than with a bath?

You grabbed your towel from its discarded place on the armchair, stripping down and wrapping yourself in it before padding toward the bathroom. Spencer squeaked when he heard the door open, a little out of surprise as he saw your shadow through the foggy glass shower door as you walked inside.

“I told you, we can’t,” he said with the slightest bit of disappointment.

“Relax, Spencer. I’m here for the bath, not you.” You ignored the shower and moved around to the other end of the bathroom, running water into the tub that was situated behind a tiled wall that separated it from the shower.

He sighed, half relieved and mildly offended, and dropped his guard. He dipped his head back under the shower stream, letting hot water run over his face and through his hair, beading down his body. When he looked back up, he noticed something.

A small window on the tiled wall of the shower, looking directly at the bathtub.

You had your back to him, bending down to test the temperature of the running water on your hand as you waited for it to fill up. The tiny bath towel doing barely anything to cover you. 

Spencer tore his eyes away, an instinctual reaction telling him that he probably shouldn’t be looking. But just as quickly, he peeked again, in time to catch you dropping the towel and climbing in. He couldn’t see anything under the foaming bubbles, but he could see your face as you turned to rest your head against the other wall.

Your eyes were closed as you leaned back, sinking into the soothing warm water. He hadn’t seen you look so calm this entire week, and it made him smile to see you this way. But then he saw your chest rise and fall with a deep sigh. Followed by a tiny whine that he could tell you were trying to keep quiet. And suddenly he wasn’t looking at you with adoring eyes anymore. 

He pushed his wet curls back and stepped closer to the window, watching to see what you’d do next. Maybe he was dreaming about it. Maybe he was more affected by his own rule than he thought, and this was his brain getting back at him for not giving in sooner. But moments pass and he knows he’s not imagining it.

Your hands were under the water. The only thing he could see was your face and your knees bent upwards, leaving him to guess what was happening under the surface. Your bottom lip slipped into your mouth, held firmly between your teeth as you lolled your head to the side, and he knew. He’d seen that face enough times.

Hot water ran over his shoulders as he pressed as close to the window as he could; feeling only slightly guilty and inappropriate for observing you do such a private thing. But he’d done that to you several times before, so surely he could justify himself for peeking in. 

A whimper escaped your lips, and his hand moved down to find his cock, absentmindedly wrapping his fingers around it as you continued. One of your hands came up from the surface just briefly enough for him to see you wrap it over your chest, tugging one of your nipples, and he started to move his own against his length. 

He picked up pace, trying to keep his own moans at bay when he saw your legs twitch. A sure sign that you found a perfect rhythm for yourself. Your mouth fell open, and he’d trained his eyes on you hard enough to be convinced he saw your lips silently speak his name. His hips bucked into his palm. His other hand slammed down to the wall, bracing himself against it as he drew himself nearer to orgasm. 

Your eyes screwed even tighter as you felt a knot in your lower stomach wind up. He fucked up; moaned out your name too loudly, and you opened them, quickly finding him in front of you, behind the window. 

Even with the surprise, you were too close to stop. And when you realized what he was doing behind that wall, you couldn’t possibly have. You mewled his name loud enough for him to hear, rolling your hips to grind yourself against your fingers as the knot grew. 

Spencer’s perfect lips parted. Hearing you say his name like that brought him so fucking close. He wanted to forget his own stupid rule. He was half a second from telling you to come in here and join him, to take you against the shower wall. But he didn’t last. As soon as he heard that familiar, high-pitched whine coming from you as you hit your orgasm, he was painting his release all over himself, covering his hands and abdomen and some of the tile. 

His head dropped against his shaking arm that managed to support him through it all. When he collected himself and looked up again, you were gone. The water was still moving from when you must’ve gotten out. 

The glass door opened behind him as you stepped inside, already dripping from your bath. 

“You know, they recommend showering after baths…” you joked, moving under the stream of hot water. Spencer stepped closer, water now running over both of you as the gap between you came down to an inch. You ran a finger over his belly, wiping a small bit of his come before it washed away, and held it up to him before cleaning it off your fingers with your mouth. “Just to make sure you’re all clean.”

[fishstyx]

curious.

featuring. mahito x fem!reader

wc. 1.5k

genre. smut, dark/taboo

tw. 18+ nsfw, noncon, stalking, somnophilia, alcohol, thigh fucking, penetration, size kink, stomach bulge

synopsis. there’s just one thing mahito has yet to learn about human anatomy... and when you hobble out of a bar at daybreak, you’re about as good as volunteering your body.

What a poor, lost little thing you are, trudging through the back alleyways of Tokyo with little to go on under the twinkling twilight. You stumble around in the darkness as if trying to outrun the first rays of sunlight, fingers fumbling to find purchase on the sides of buildings unfamiliar to you. You must’ve been drinking all night long to require wall support to keep you upright now, hiccuping as you drag your hands along the concrete. Truly the lowest of the low, a runt in a world teeming with lesser beings. Human swine would do well to know their limits, but apparently you don’t.

And what an easy target you make; a little too easy, even. You wouldn’t have a clue what was happening if Mahito cornered you now, idle transfiguration descending upon you with a single touch of the hand. 

But what a waste that would be, disfiguring a remarkable specimen like you, so utterly out of it that you can’t even tell that he’s right behind you—so dangerously close that he’s practically breathing down your neck as you make your way home.

Sure, Mahito has his pick of the city’s stragglers at all times of the day, but what suddenly draws him to you lies in how disheveled you look, the little bit of makeup you have on smeared across your face, that low cut shirt of yours riding even lower than it was made to.

Not to mention that he’s absolutely dying to get more acquainted with human “anatomy”—but he hates how his victims squirm and squeal when he takes his time, as if they have any chance of actually escaping him. It’s an insult, really, so he figures he’ll go after someone on the more... susceptible side. Someone who’s not only wandering around alone, but also on the brink of collapse, unable to call for help. Someone who makes no attempt to fight back, someone who will let him have his way with them, someone who doesn’t mind the intrusion simply because there is no alternative.

Someone exactly like you.

You’re making this way too simple, not a single look behind you as you stagger your way home. You even have the courtesy to leave the front door of your house ajar, the stupid little thing that you are, not an ounce of energy left to spare as you pass out into the bed.

He’s on top of you immediately, ripping your clothes off to ogle their contained contents. So this is the female body, he thinks, half mesmerized, half disgusted by the way your taut tits spill out from underneath your already revealing shirt. He studies every inch of your exposed skin carefully before rolling your sensitive nubs between his fingers, finding that they stiffen on command. Even when you’re out cold you react to his touch; he was right not to kill you immediately. 

His personal playground, exactly the way he wanted it.

Proportions aside, he finds that there are few differences between his male body and your own. But there’s something that piqued his interest at a movie showing once and he wants it to try for himself today. He palms at his erection, intrigued by his natural reaction to the sight of you all sprawled out. Is there really something so special about it? He can’t say he sees the appeal, but apparently his body can, his bulge pressing harder against the cloth the longer he looks at you.

His pants come undone when he feels his damp excitement through the fabric, glint of his precum illuminated by the kiss of the rising sun, satisfying heaviness of his dick bared to the ticklish air. He marvels at the way his hand fits perfectly around his length, fisting it as he stares at the rise and fall of your chest. This is the part that he didn’t get to see on screen, the part where he ruts against your lower half with his own.

It’s not like he knows what he’s doing yet, bucking his hips into the first thing he can fit his dick into: the space between your thighs. Mahito squeezes them together and slips his shaft between the plushy flesh, reveling in the chills that run up his stomach. It’s a nice visual, the way his cock disappears for a moment before resurfacing atop of your barren legs, and an even nicer sensation. But it doesn’t quite feel half as good as he thought it would be. His mind races with the flickering images of o-shaped mouths and curled up fingers. Humans are so… dramatic, he thinks to himself, pulling his meat out of the cushy canal of his creation.

But then his eyes wander to your silken panties, the one place he hasn’t ventured yet; how annoying that humans wear more clothes under their clothes. He laughs to himself when he pushes them aside to reveal a wet, pulsating mound. Now that’s more like it. A finger inches inside you, followed by another, as he tries to determine if it’s a good fit or not.

Well, he won’t know until he tries.

Burying himself inside your leaking cunt, he gasps at the way you hug him flawlessly. It’s warmer, so much warmer than your thighs, and suddenly it feels like he’s alive for the first time in his life. Your breathing changes as he starts to move, pushing your ragdoll figure into the mattress. Tingly pleasure envelops him entirely when little whimpers and moans begin to tumble from your lips.

Mahito bends over to meet your mouth, taste of hard liquor encircling his tongue as he forces it inside, exploring your wetness in its entirety. You share a soft groan when he adjusts his angle, hilt of his cock pushing against a spot so spongy and so textured that his sensitive head shivers in pleasure.

Fistfuls of flesh gathered in his hands, he continues to move by instinct, chasing after the milky cream that foams around the base of his cock. The slip and slide motion of each and every stroke seems to register even while you sleep, your hips rocking ever so slightly into his own, mouth moving open and shut but never quite overflowing with distinguishable words.

The lewd noises of your dripping pussy fill the room, second only to the clapping of skin on skin as his tender balls pound against you. Reckless abandon takes over and the snapping movement is driven by so much force that you begin to stir, eyes twitching.

But you’re not awake yet—responsive, but otherwise subdued. He knows because the things that spill from your lips next can only come from a person who can’t even tell that they’re being raped.

“It feels… so…” you whisper, and he pauses for a moment to listen to what you have to say.

“Feels so… full…”

He throbs at the words, instantly feeling himself grow harder, deciding that it’s time to try out one of his little “experiments.”

“Feels full, huh?” he says into the curve of your neck, crooked smile dancing on his lips. “Good thing I can make you feel even fuller.”

Reshaping himself is almost second nature at this point. Mahito stretches you out with the deft fattening of his cock, your walls drawing taut around him in turn. Snug, you become impossibly snug around him as you throw your head back, convulsing from the pressure. It’s an inhuman size, so monstrous that when he pistons his pelvis forward, he finds it substantially harder to bottom out.

The clear outline of his cock stares him in the face now, a delicious belly bulge shifting up and down with every slam. You struggle to catch your breath, the stimulation forcing you to release your hot, sticky fluids. Entire body shaking, you keen your satisfaction, stilling only when his thrusts run shallow.

A jittery feeling takes the human curse over, the buildup of all the sweet sensations bubbling over and bursting from his fully stimulated cockhead. He pulls it out to get a better look and ends up squirting all over you, shooting his seed onto your thighs and teats. How delightful, he thinks to himself, overjoyed by how it glistens in the full heat of the sun. The perfect present for you to wake up to.

It’s quiet now, only a soft pant—yours—audible in the spring of day. 

He ponders his options. You could take hours to come to your senses. But as much as he’d love to take off now, to leave you in total confusion and bewilderment, his desire to see the absolute horror cross your face as you take in the spatters of dried-up cum is even stronger. And eventually, he gets just that.

You don’t disappoint, bleary eyes fluttering open in your half-conscious state, locking with the curse crouched beside you, then darting wildly from the mess he’s made to the stitches on his face. How fortunate, or rather unfortunate; you were born with enough latent talent to be able to perceive him. You’d scream, but he’s already ahead of you, covering your mouth before you can produce a single squeal.

“Morning, dollface.” Tears prickle your eyes as you look on in fright, too afraid to move a muscle.

“I had a lot of fun in bed, didn’t you?”

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[goldencherryhazz]

Better than sex

A/n: it’s currently nearly midnight and I have been working on this for the past three hours, so I don’t even know if it makes sense but I will check in the morning lol! Notes would be much appreciated, pls don’t copy my work!

Warnings: smut, daddy kink, choking, oral fem!recieving, fluff

Agreeing to go on tour with Harry was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made, travelling to every corner of the world and watching your boyfriend perform in front of thousands of people in the most extravagant outfits every night was honestly a dream, but now after four months being on the road with him you we’re finally going home for a break.

‘Wake up darling’ Harry said stroking your cheek, it was only 7’o’clock in the evening in the uk, but jet lag was getting the better of you so Harry being more accommodated to flying here there an everywhere gladly drove you two home from the airport whilst you napped.

You give him a lazy smile stretching your arms in the air ‘we’re home H’ you say excitedly looking at the front of your home, you honestly thought you forgot what it looked like after not seeing it for 4 months.

‘Yes we are my love’ admiring his girl and how cute she looked rubbing her sleepy eyes with her whole palm like a child.

He opens his door and climbs out of the car, quickly making his way to your side to open the door for you like the gentleman he is, ‘m’lady’ he gestures for to to get out the car ‘well thankyou kind sir’ you giggle at him, pecking his cheek on your way to the back of the car.

You two make a quick job of getting all your luggage into the house, only dumping them in the porch already agreeing to deal with it in the morning.

You walk into the kitchen to be greeted by Daisy, your two’s cat who Anne had kindly looked after whilst you and Harry were touring, you felt bad for leaving her for so long but Anne had insisted seeing as Daisy got along with her cats aswell, so she basically had a massive sleepover, ‘hey dais how are you, missed you soo much’ you coo towards her she let you stroke her for a maximum of two seconds before she spots Harry in the doorway and bounds over to him. You chuckle, Daisy had always had a soft spot for Harry and you couldn’t really blame her ‘not giving mama cuddles huh, missed your daddy too much’ he said with the cat laid in his arms, her paws up as if she was in surrender. Eventually she scrambled out of his arms going to her bed in the living room you presumed.

‘Wanna go and watch a film in bed baby, you can choose whatever you want promise I won’t make you watch The Notebook again’

‘Yeah sounds perfect’ she smiles walking to grab his outstretched hand which didn’t have any rings on which was a strange sight after being so used to seeing him with them on.

The two of you trudge up the stairs, and when you finally make it to the top you run into the bedroom that you and Harry shared, and jumped onto your California king bed, making Harry laugh at your antics. You had truly missed this bed after being in a different hotel at least once every two days over the last four months, there was just something about the duvet and the memory foam mattress topper that you couldn’t get enough of, the sheets were also extra soft and smelled like fresh flowers, you laid flat on your back with tight arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, as you practically sunk into the mattress ‘this is better than sex’ you say jokingly but sounding quite serious due to how comfortable you were at that moment.

This made Harry spin round to face you with his eyebrows raised a smirk on his lips, he made his way to the bed, you had your eyes closed so when you felt his breath again the side of your neck it made you jump and had a shiver running out your spine ‘are you sure about that sweet girl’

You open you eyes in shock, not knowing what you said would get him riled up that quickly, or bruise his over so increasing ego, but you knew if you kept playing along he would give it to you really good just so that he could prove you wrong, and you were all for it.

‘Are you saying that this bed is better than my cock...my fingers...and my mouth?’ Kissing you on the sweet spot on your neck between his words.

‘Hmm, I don’t know you’ll have to show me can’t remember.’

‘Oh baby you don’t know what you’ve gotten your self into, I’m gonna make you remember it for days’ making a moan escape your lips, he pounced on top of you pinning you arms above your head kissing you on you lips multiple times before dragging them down your

Harry knew you were probably joking but he loved having his way with you and for the last 4 months being on tour the only sort of intimacy you two had was quick fucks in dressing and hotel rooms with being so busy all the time and at night Harry was understandably tired after doing a show. He wanted to dominate the shit out of you tonight and you had just added fuel to the fire, so with no fear of someone walking in on you both he was going to let loose.

He pulls back and releases your arms, ‘strip for my baby, then I want you to sit at the top of the bed with your back against the headboard’ you moaned softly at his words, already putty in his hands and instantly start undressing as he did the same.

Once you were naked, and sat against the headboard you couldn’t help but stare at your boyfriend pulling his t-shirt over his head making his arms flex, your pussy become slick with your wetness as you watched him. Once he freed his cock from the confines of his boxers, he gives his shaft a few tugs trying to relieve some of the building pressure.

‘Jesus, can smell you from here’ he moans crawling up the bed, you legs spreading even more on instinct to give him more room. He lays on his belly once he is closer to you wrapping his arms around your thighs swiftly dragging you so that his face was barely centre metres away from your sopping cunt, you drape you legs over his shoulder heels digging into his back.

‘M’gonna use my mouth and my fingers and I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you squirt everywhere sweet girl’ you squirm in his grip his eyes looking directly into yours. He gives you no warning as he ducks down pressing a kiss directly on your clit, then licking a bold stripe up your entire pussy ‘always to wet for me, you taste just like a strawberry angel.’ You throw your head back, you hands gripping onto the sheets to prepare yourself for what was to come.

He focuses back on your clit flicking his tongue from side to side, he teases a his middle finger round your entrance making you buck your hips ‘patience sweet girl’ he says removing his lips from your clit to suck a hickey onto the inside of your thigh.

‘Feels so so good daddy’ the first words you had spoken except moan after moan since Harry started, your fingers pinching your nipples, he smirks up at the pet name, his cock twitching against the sheets.

He decides to give you his fingers, inserting two at the same time, you whine at how easily they slid into you. He gives no time to adjust curling them into a ‘cone hither’ motion then pumping them in and out going knuckle deep every time hitting spots that you would never have been able to fine with your own, a calloused finger rubbing tight circles around you clit. ‘How good is daddy making you feel, tell me’

‘So f-fucking good, your fingers feel amazing inside me daddy’ you can’t stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head as his mouth finds it’s place back on your clit, adding a third finger into you cunt, still thrusting at a delicious pace, You could feel the knot tightening in your belly, but not only that you felt like a balloon was ready to burst within you.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, knowing that he loved it when you tugged on his curls, but you also did it so that he wouldn’t pull away and deny you of an orgasm when you were almost falling off the edge.

‘Clenching around my fingers baby, know your gonna cum, stop holding back leg go for me’.

‘Shit daddy, I’m so close’ you cry out

‘Yeah you gonna squirt for me, soak the sheets?’

‘Yes daddy’

‘Go on then, cum for me sweet girl’

You couldn’t hold back any longer, after a few more thrusts of his fingers you let go screaming as you do, the ballon inside you also bursting resulting in you squirting over the lowers portion of Harry’s face and the sheets beneath, he moaned out. Your legs were shaking, your head was thrown back, and your back arched as he continued thrusting his fingers inside of you to ride out your intense orgasm. After a few moments you took in a sharp breath having forgotten how to breathe ‘holy shit daddy’ you barely mustered up, you felt like you were floating in mid air, you don’t think you’ve cum that hard in a very long time.

After a couple of minutes you start to come down from your high, you look at Harry who was still in the same position, his eyes were glazed over in lust ‘that was so fucking hot angel, swear I could’ve cum just right there and then’ he licks your folds cleaning up you up a bit. Harry swore he could spend hours between your legs, he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

Eventually he presses one last kiss on your clit, before blowing air directly onto the small bud, making you squirm at the overstimulation.

He moves up you body, pressing kisses against your skin along the way, swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples then blowing air only each in just like he had done to your clit making a shiver run up your spine. He reaches your lips kissing, dipping his tongue into your mouth so that you could taste your juices.

‘Was that good sweet girl’ his words muffled by your lips.

‘Yes daddy, m’kinda sleepy now though’ you say shutting you eyes a lazy smile spreading across your face.

‘No falling asleep on me now, haven’t even fucked you yet, m’cocks leakin’ for you.’

This makes you perk up a bit, now yearning to be filled with Harry’s cock, you had only just come down from your last orgasm but you were ready for another one.

‘Want you to come deep inside of me daddy, want you to fill me up so bad’ you whine.

‘You want my cock baby’

‘Yes please daddy’ you were desperate now.

‘Well since you asked so nicely’ he reaches down tugging his cock a few times spreading pre-cum over his length, before slipping into your warm cunt both of you groaning at the feeling, he thrusts all the way inside you his length stretching your walls deliciously.

‘Ohhh sweet girl, swear you pretty cunt was made for me, can I move now’

‘Yes daddy, you can move’ he instantly complies not being able to stay still any longer. He starts a steady pace pulling nearly all the way out before thrusting back in hitting the deepest spots within you. You reach your arms over his shoulders tracing some of his tattoos along the way then gripping onto the soft skin. Whimpers and groans filled the room as Harry buried his face in your neck, your natural scent mixed with your favourite perfume intoxicating him, you take your chance to suck a hickey onto his neck after not having much time to mark him up.

He was fucking into you at a fast pace now, getting lost in pleasure ‘so deep daddy’ you moan. He moved his face from you neck, gripping onto the headboard with one hand to get more leverage, the sight of him above you pounding you into the mattress turned you on even more if that was possible.

‘Daddy can you c-choke me’

His hand flies to your throat gripping it just enough so it restricted you breathing slightly, ‘like that baby, you love it when daddy rough with you, don’t ya’

‘Yes daddy, fucking love it’ you scream as he starts hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

‘Oh shit, daddy’s gonna cum, you gonna cum with me’ he groans hand getting slightly tighter around your throat.

‘I’m gonna cum to daddy, please keep fucking me like that’ your eyes roll into the back of you head you heels looped round his back and crossed at the ankle to keep him as close as possible. His thrusts start to falter and his cock twitches telling you he was about to fall over the edge ‘cum inside me daddy, want you to paint my walls with your cum, please daddy want it soo much’ you whimper also starting to tumble over.

‘Shit I’m cumming’ he growls sheathing into your cunt his cock twitching one last time, his balls resting heavy against the space between your pussy and your tight second hole, he emptied his load inside you, the sensation of his seed filling you up also made you cum, Harry’s grip on your throat giving you a head-rush as you do, you both felt euphoric. After the waves of your release come crashing down in you your body goes limp, you know that you will be sore tomorrow and probably the day after but it was all worth it. Harry’s takes longer to come down from his high, his cum now dripping out of your pussy. ‘You okay bub’ you say sweetly looking up at him.

‘Oh I’m more than okay baby, feel fucking incredible’

He takes his loosened hand off of your throat before resting his body on top of yours, his cock still buried inside of you ‘I take back that last statement about this bed being better than sex’ you whispered breathlessly into his hair stroking through the sweaty curls.

‘You better’ he tiredly laughs into your neck.

[rjhpandapaws]

Bad to Work With

Ch 3: Things to (Never) Learn from Hindsight

//Going to preface this with the fact that I didn’t mean to write angst, it was supposed to be fluff

Gavin wasn’t one to learn from his mistakes. A considerable feat considering the sheer number of mistakes he’d made just in recent history. He would suffer the consequences and come out on the other side only to make the exact same mistake or one that was worse. Hindsight wasn’t something he benefitted from. He looked back on most of his mistakes with the knowledge that it would only be a matter of time before he did it again. Up until recently he wasn’t a victim of situational regret. This was one of the few times he wished he could go back and undo something. Not so much the night itself, that wasn’t what he had come to regret; but the elevator ride. If he had managed to keep his mouth shut for once in his life he wouldn’t be staring down yet another coffee cup adorned with a sticky note. It was a different cafe this time, they always were. It seemed like whenever Gavin left his desk there would be a coffee waiting for him when he got back. This was the first one he had ever gotten that was waiting from before he’d arrived.

It wasn’t even that it was bad coffee. These niche cafes Richard was finding had amazing drinks. Gavin had even gone to some of them on the weekends. The thing of it was that he had a system despite the fact that his desk looked like a bomb had gone off. Richard didn’t know what the system was and he would set the cups in whatever open space was available and then leave. On the few occasions Gavin didn’t notice them in time they wound up getting knocked over. When they fell it was either onto the other papers or into his computer terminal. The papers were usually salvageable; but he was pretty sure Silas was ready to murder him. He probably had it plotted out and everything. Gavin sighed quietly and picked up the foam cup. There was no logo on this one, so he found it safe to assume it was from one of the newer cafes in the area. The sticky note on the other hand was short and simple. Gavin would have even dared to call it sweet if it were from anyone other than Ricard. He stuck his note to his monitor like had with all the others and settled in at his desk for another long day.

The issue was Gavin was almost endeared by it. He hadn’t been in a romantic relationship since high school, and no one had ever tried like this. Not for him anyway. It was making what was left of his resolve wear thin. Richard had learned exactly one thing about him and ran with it. The level of emotion to it all was what had Gavin on edge. He didn’t do feelings because he wasn’t good with them. It was less draining to just have a night with someone and then go their separate ways. He’d never had to resist his own wants like this. He avoided repeats for a reason, he wasn’t about to change that. He wouldn’t let things get beyond coffee. Except, as he waited for his computer to boot up he texted Richard.

Me: Thanks for the pick me up. Coffee Supplier: Of course, I’ve been meaning to try out that cafe for a while. Me: It’s pretty good Coffee Supplier: Definitely. Coffee Supplier: Have a good day Gavin. Me: Thanks, you too

It was the first time he had actually messaged Richard. He had saved his number to be polite, but never planned to actually use it. He hadn’t expected to have a normal conversation. It was nice in a way.

That’s where it should have stopped, would have stopped if Gavin had been stronger. The short text conversations became just as routine as the coffee and sticky notes. They didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, and made a point not to talk about work. It was almost like talking with Tina; if there wasn’t that unspoken something hanging over them. The temptation lingered, as it always did. The easiest excuse to use was that Richard was his superior. The truth of it was that Gavin was scared. The last time he had loved someone he wound up burned with his heart in pieces on the floor. He’d been younger and dumber then, but he still wasn’t sure this was a risk he was willing to take again. So it stayed small. Limited to brief conversations at work, notes passed through coffee, and text messages when they had the time. He stopped keeping the notes on his monitor after Hank had asked about them. They had their own desk drawer now. If he kept these things compartmentalized he could pretend that he wasn’t slowly being pulled in.  Gavin was short sighted, so at the time it had seemed like a full proof plan. Out of sight out of mind, that sort of thing. Even though he knew ignoring his problems only made them worse. Just this once he hoped it would work.

It turned into a bad week. The kind when he was just praying to make it to Friday. He made plans with Tina to meet up at Eden on Friday night. He just wanted to have a night to let go for a while. Be someone else. Monday was fine, but Tuesday marked the start of everything going wrong. It started with his computer crashing; it wasn’t coffee related for once, and things kind of stock piled from there. The heat went out in his apartment complex, and then his car decided to finally die on him. He had ignored the Check Engine Light for too long. He was at the point that if anything else went wrong this week he was going to fucking lose it. Friday, thankfully enough, was his half day. He wasn’t in the office long enough for things to go wrong. He worked through the morning and pulled a disappearing act the moment the chance arose. He planned to sleep for a while before meeting up with Tina at Eden and then leaving with a stranger. He had things he wanted to forget, and blue eyed problems to ignore. Eden was packed, like it always was on Fridays. Business types and the lucky public who could manage the cover charge were all out to get relief from their weekly boredom, and Gavin was right in the middle of it. Dancing with strangers and accepting any drinks that were offered to him. Anything to take his mind off of his problems. Especially the blue eyed one that had been haunting him recently.

He was in the sweet spot. Just past too drunk to give a shit, but not absolutely wasted yet. Which also meant that he was just beyond sober enough to recognize the steel blue eyes of the person he was dancing with. That they were the same eyes he was drinking to drown out. All he was concerned with was how well they fit. In any other circumstance the fact that this felt so familiar would have been cause for alarm. He was a little more sober by the time they managed to stumble out to a cab. Not enough to care, but enough to confirm that yes, this was something he wanted to do. Gavin was more caught up in the moment than he was concerned with the mild prickle of familiarity in the way this man said his name. He chalked up the ease with which he was unraveled to desperation. Anyone could be an expert in Undoing Gavin Reed if he was desperate enough for an escape. Tonight happened to be one of those nights and every red flag was excused and brushed aside in favor of chasing the pleasure. They were a problem for Sober Gavin. He would have the rest of the weekend to deal with them.

Consciousness came back to him slowly, like it always did after a night of drinking. He was rested and contentedly sore in ways that meant he had followed somebody home. Whoever his companion had been, they weren’t one for cuddling. He rolled over and found himself alone. It was slow to sink in that this particular room was a little too familiar. Once the thought made it through the haze of his hangover Gavin cursed under his breath. His memories of the club were hit and miss at best, he remembered dancing with strangers and drinking more than he probably should have. There were stern blue eyes sprinkled into them here and there. Gavin had done a repeat. That moment of clarity was accompanied to the door of the room quietly opening. From the look on Richard’s face he clearly wasn’t expecting Gavin to be awake yet, “Oh. Good morning.” “Hey.” He replied groggily as he sat up. There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence as Richard set Gavin’s now clean clothes on the bed. He gave him a onceover before retreating from the room like the devil himself was on his heals. It made Gavin feel sick to his stomach. He had definitely fucked up this time.

He got dressed slowly and tried to figure out what to do. Apologize was the obvious answer. But for which thing? All of them? The list of things he hadn’t done wrong was probably shorter at this point. When he finally gathered the courage to leave Richard’s room he was met with the strong smell of coffee. This was the moment of truth. “Your friend Tina says you owe her fifty bucks.” Richard said without looking at him, “And if you ever leave without talking to her again she’ll take your coffee money.” Gavin flinched, “Sorry you had to deal with her. Sorry for everything really. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “Which ‘this’?” He asked as he turned around with two mugs of coffee and held one out to Gavin, “Sleeping with me again, or being so drunk that you didn’t notice who you were with?” “All of it.” He admitted and held the mug with both of his hands like the warmth would protect him from his mistakes, “From the first time till now. For the text messages. Everything.” “Did you even mean any of it?” There was an emotion to Richard’s voice that Gavin didn’t want to dwell on. He was being given an out, and he wasn’t about to pass it up.

If he were a better person he would have been honest. Instead, he set the mug down and reached for his phone. “No.” He said as he stood. He didn’t look at Richard as he walked to the door, “It’s been fun though.” When the apartment door clicked shut behind him there was an air of finality to it. Another mistake he wouldn’t learn from. There was no coffee on his desk on Monday morning. Things were finally back to normal, so he didn’t understand why it felt so empty.

[slater-later]

Clarence x Reader Flirt at the Bar

Audience: General

Warnings: None, flirting

Notes: At Y/N, insert your own name, pronouns, and preferred complimentary words. That way, Clarence uses what you like!

Read below the cuff!

For: @da3m0ns-exe

The two of you had met at an Irish pub a few blocks down the street. Dimly lit under the cheap green ‘chandeliers’, at least, they were trying to be, hanging over a narrow line of booths. A green shamrock sign buzzing in the corner window, listing O’ Conners next to the four leafed sign buzzing beside it.

It was a fine dump, gritty and warm and thick with cigarette smoke. A few old geezers sat at the bar, buzzing back large thick dark beers as they chatted in Greek. It was Detroit after all, and everyone was welcome. The D brought everyone together. And if you had a few bucks to spare, it would make your night worth while. The jukebox buzzed in the corner, firmly set from the 70’s and stacked high with classic 45’s. A quarter would get you two songs, and it would flip through the rest. Buzzing Marvin Gaye’s Through the Grape Vine through the open speakers. There were a few TV’s in the corner of the bar, one showing a Tigers baseball game and the other the racetrack. A chestnut filly bending over the corner and splitting from the pack. Her jockey lit a firecracker from out under her behind as he rode her to the front, cracking his crop as they crossed the finish line. Taking home 50k- something a brod in the corner was upset by. Throwing her hands up as she watched, swearing! Because she had bet the bar that #5 would win. California Folly, the chestnut mare, bit her for the win, and she slapped up her cash to the house. Her buddy chuckled to himself at her anger. The bartender greedily took her cash, smirking, as he slipped it into the cash register. He changed the chalk boards odds for the next race. A commercial flashed across the screen.

It was a bettin’ bar, and it was a Friday night. That meant, the race tracks were on. They even caught the signal from the tracks out West. Meaning people could get drunk and lose their money all night long. At least, far enough into the night to be firmly fucked by 10, and either pissed from losing their money or giddy because they made a decent buck. Either way, it meant the crowd pounded back drinks. The bar took home a load whether it was packed full or filled with crickets. 

Clarence was seated up at the bar, his army jacket slipped off and hanging on his chair. He slowly leafed through his comic, head buried deep in his book. He slowly drank, the rum and coke sitting at the edge of his lips, relaxed and quiet after a long day at work. 

He had closed up shop and came in for dinner, a burger and fries, and read the newest edition of Deadpool in his freetime. He actually had a small stack of them next to them. He had cashed his check and sorted the freshly delivered boxes before he locked up. Making a mental note to pay the old man in the morning- he would stuff the bills in the register tomorrow morning.

The new stuff sold fast, and that was exactly why he needed to make his pick before it hit the shelves. He had to be strategic! Take advantage of the perks of running the store!

You slid into the stool a few spots down, gesturing over to the bartender as he made his way over. He was built, wearing a plain black shirt that hung over his body. A gold chain that hung from his neck. He looked kind and quiet, gentle. He had worked there for several years.

“Whatcha’ having?”

  “Pabst,” You nodded, popping out your wallet.

“Pint or pitcher?”

“Pint.”

“Alright, but they’re $7 until 11.” He collected your cash and made his way up the bar, pouring your drink.

Clarence’s nose was in the comic, one hand holding the bridge of it while the other slowly set down the beer. Reaching out for a fry and mindlessly dabbing it into ketchup before it crawled to his mouth. Slowly inching closer. 

His long and shabby fry broke off, falling into his lap and getting on his jeans. You couldn’t help but to laugh. “You okay over there bud?” The bartender handed you your beer, curling in the glass as you took a sip. The foam made a fine mustache on your upper lip.

“Jesus!” He bit, pissed. He had just gotten to a good spot- he fucking didn’t want to stop! “I don’t know man.” He shook his head, nabbing a handful of napkins out of the dispenser and cleaning his lap. 

He finally looked up as you set down your glass. Catching the side of your face- “I ain’t pulin’ your chain, but ya got somethin’ on your face,” He grabbed another handful, passing it over. “A lil’ on here,'' He rubbed his upper lip, brushing his faint five o’ clock shadow.

You grabbed a napkin from him, quickly wiping it away before you got too embarrassed. Shit happens. “Thanks,” You muttered with a smile, softly laughing. Folding it afterwards and placing it under your glass. 

He nodded, reaching for his comic again. 

You were in a good mood and company always made it better. You had the urge to chat, he was attractive, after all. “So, whatcha readin’?”

He looked over, eyebrows raised. “It’s uh, Deadpool. Issue #7,” He put his thumb on the page and flopped it over to the front. Reaching out his arm to show you the cover. “It’ll hit the shelves tomorrow.”

“How’d you get your hands on that?”

“Oh,” He flashed a guilty smile. Caught. “I work at the comic book store down the street, this is next week's issue,” The cover showed Deadpool stepping forward, gun in hand, his red and black latex suite dressed with a heavy white jeweled overcoat and flashing plants. He was wearing the iconic Evil Presley suit, black wig and sunglasses and all. Finger-pointing at a very unpleasant Cable, probably cursing Wade for being alive. Or was it that he can’t die?

“It’s the new Deadpool and Cable issue. It’s a new series they’re doing, do you wanna look?” He offered it and you happily accepted. Taking your time as you flipped through the pages, reading the inside insert. The introduction.

He rattled on, “It’s not as good as some of his other series but then I saw the front cover. I wanted to grab it before we ran out. I’m a big Elvis fan,” He smiled softly. Watching you read.

“Oh?” You peered up, raising an eyebrow. A hook- Elvis wasn’t exactly your man, but it didn’t deter you. “Is he your favorite?”

He beamed as he sipped his glass, nodding as the glass left his lips, setting it down on the wet napkin. “Favorite? It doesn’t begin to describe how much I love that man,” He could rattle on for forever. Even blab again about how much he wanted to fuck Elvis. But, usually, that wasn’t the most widely loved small talk conversation? He was better off tabling that conversation for a later time. Unless he wanted to blow his chance when flirting with a hot person. A man needed to get lucky sometimes, alright? Sheesh, he didn’t think some bisexuality was a bad thing. Isn’t that, a, you know? A sexual fantasy for some folks?

He drilled a finger into the side of his temple, elbow up on the bar as he watched you. How your feet shifted in your sift as you curled up closer to him, leaning in, tenderly turning the page of a secretly, newly loved comic. Mashing up the two things that made him bounce up and down with pure excitement. He was delighted.

“I’m a huge fan, I’ve always been since I was a kid. My dad used to listen to him while I was growing up, and I’ve had the itch ever since. He changed rock n’ roll forever, for the better,” He would watch old tapes of his dancing and performing on stage, having become familiar and comforting to his body. It was something he could return to, regardless of how he felt, and know he felt comfort in.

That, and watching him dance up on stage was light lightening. A friend and a lover.

“What’s your favorite song?” You smirked, flipping a page. You were more interested in his eyes than the panel. Wondering if he had caught on. 

He slid from his seat to the one next to you, dragging his beer along with him. The bartender snapped up his long forgotten dinner. Wiping down the table. “Do you mind?” He gestured to the seat, checking in.

“No,” You shook your head smiling, your delight so easy to read. “Not at all,” You swore you could feel your heart skip a beat. Your body felt fresh, warmed by the flash of heat spreading through your cheeks. You hoped another drink of your beer would help, at least to calm the giddy building up inside of you.

You would cut yourself off at two beers. At the rate of your drinking, you’d been in the hole after three. Too drunk to drive and by the soft patter of the rain outside, you didn’t want to be stuck in the rain. Trying to wave down a cab as it poured, head buzzed and tired, ready to flop down in your bed and forced to make it back. Getting fucked up was fun, but getting home could be a challenge.

  The thought already sounded miserable. You’d much rather be here, with the jukebox, under the warm hum of the bear and its speakers. It switched over to You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine by Lou Rawls. 

“Good,” He smiled with a surprising amount of soft charm. Voice low as his pinky mused with his lip, eyes slow as they took in your body. 

He had to look away. 

FUCK! It wasn’t polite to do that shit, he was either going to get a drink thrown in his face again or something!

He kept his eyes up at the bar, tongue flashing across his teeth as he chuckled to his mind. He could be so fucking stupid! This Y/N was going to beat him. 

He fisted for his cigs in his flannel pocket, offering you one.

Okay, this guy was an idiot, but a cute one.

“Thanks,” You took a cig and slipped it between the side of your lips. Grabbing  your lighter in your coat pocket, prepared as a common smoker should. You lit both of your cigarettes.

“So, you didn’t answer my question,” You shot, releasing a draw downward. 

He snapped it out of his mouth, square in hand as he shook his head awake. “Shit, what was it again?” He laughed, he was losing his head around you. You sucked all the smarts out of his brain.

You elbowed him lightly, amused. “What’s your favorite Elvis song?”

He paused for a moment, getting his mind in gear. Quickly shuffling the different songs on his head- “Hound Dog, and then Blue Suede Shoes, and All Shook Up,” It was the fast, catchy beats of Elvis’s drawl that got him. The electricity that he exuded, that made him want to dance and grab the hand of a friend, a stranger, even an old person! 

It made him want to boogie to the music.

You snickered, he hit right on the money. Damn, this guy had taste. Of the few you knew well, those were it. “Where does Jailhouse Rock rank?”

“8th,” He said clear as day, pointent. It was clearly not his favorite, but a hot contender. He had, in fact, listened to every single god damn song Elvis had published. Including the Hawaiian soundtrack album, which was a partial wash. He thought Elvis was at best when he was shaking it for a crowd, not trying to play at movie making. Yet, it hadn’t stopped him from consuming them all. “I paused not because I didn’t have a top three, but because…” Shit, he got himself in a hole? Wasn’t he playing the ‘cool guy’ really well?

“Because?” You flicked into the ashtray, bringing your arm in for a draw. Raising your eyebrows at him as you drew, feeling the air.

“Because I was thinking about you,” He slipped both elbows on the bar, facing forward towards the line of liquor and head turned towards you. Smirk painted on his lips, shameless in his expression, “You’re very Y/N.” He smiled, eyes stilling on you as they peered into yours eyes, then passed down your shoulder. “And I don’t normally get to talk to a Y/N like you.” Usually, they either weren’t interested in talking about comics and Elvis. So, what was there to talk about? Stupid small talk they he didn’t know much about? It was much harder, trying to find a Y/N with similar interests.

Your face felt warm again. You finished off the rest of your drink. Quenching your fuzzy head with the sharp inhale of nicotine, trying to peel the flush off of your cheeks. You couldn’t hide it- his soft pink lips looked beautiful when they moved. Especially when they were saying such sweet words.

You slicked a hand across your face, hiding the bite of your red cheeks, “How about we get a booth in the corner? And you tell me a bit more about yourself?” It seemed like a good idea. And it would give you a moment, to collect yourself, before continuing your chat.

You raised a hand to the bartender. He turned and you held up two fingers. A pint for you each. 

“Hmph!” His spiky eyebrows peaked up, elated. “Sounds good to me!” He snickered, collecting his stack of comics and waiting for the drinks to come. You two stepped to the back to back of the bar, sliding in next to each other at the dark spot in the room. A place, where neither of you would be bothered. Holed up, until the bar closes, chatting about sweet nothing while you got to know each other. Maybe get, caught in the rain together, under his umbrella. Before turning in, to his apartment. 

It was, in fact, closer than your apartment.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

With Zero Power

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 3382

For @spiderman-homecomeme, with the following prompts:

winter power outage

holiday smut

“I can think of one way to warm you up.”

Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for more instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t do that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I know I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. Click-click, click-click. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I feel is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she not have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“Fuck,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

Trust me, he mentally urges. Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. Ok, he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He feels rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

Fuck. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. She is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”

[peantutbutter]

Alfredo Diaz, Neighborhood Watch

Rating: T (language and mild violence)

Summary: Alfredo takes his role as part of the neighborhood watch very seriously. Maybe a little too seriously... (Inspired by the Scotland Yard Let’s Roll)

[AO3]

Everyone tells Alfredo that he takes his position on the neighborhood watch way too seriously.

“You don’t need to drop everything at ten pm because some kid comes knocking asking if you’ve seen their cat,” the man next door grouses, bleary eyed and dressed in his bath robe. But Alfredo already has a flashlight and tin of tuna. The poor girl’s tears has subsided now that she’s found someone to help her.

“He’s not your child, why are you even bothering? If he’s really missing, just let the police take care of it,” the lady across the street says, exhaling cigarette smoke in his face. He bites his tongue and doesn’t tell her that the kid has been known to run away on occasion. He doesn’t tell her about how the parents are going through a messy divorce and the poor guy is caught in the middle. The lady scoffs at him for not responding, but she turns away and heads back inside, and he continues patrolling the block. It takes him a few hours, but he finds the little man and treats him to some Dairy Queen before bringing him home and reminding him he’s loved, cared for, and if he ever needs anything, just call.

Alfredo Diaz cares about his neighborhood because after getting out of the military, it’s all he has.

The people around here like him. He’s helpful, kind, good with their kids, and more importantly, good at keeping their kids out of trouble. Even the teenage ruffians know better than to get up to hijinks when Alfredo’s around. Not because they’re afraid he’ll call the cops on them or anything, but more because they don’t want to disappoint him.

And also because sometimes he bought them beer and would hang out and tell war stories from his time in the military.

He’s a goddamn pillar of the community, he does his best to set an example for as many people as he can. Good role models are hard to come by in Los Santos.

He’s spent the past few hours sitting on the porch of his home, listening to the police scanner. The Fakes had hit a jewelry store a few miles north of the neighborhood. Far enough away that there aren’t any cops crawling the streets, but close enough that there’s the off chance that gang members might come ripping through in their escape.

Not that he knows what he’d do if any of them come gunning past. According to the scanner, the Fakes have mostly dispersed and taken off in different directions. His own bike is in the shop so it’s not like he could chase them down if they came past. And the only quasi-weapon he has on hand is a foam baseball bat he’s been meaning to return after that impromptu kids baseball game a few days ago. Competent as he is in melee combat, he knows the chances of coming out unscathed bringing a children’s toy to a gun fight aren’t good.

Besides, it’s unlikely any of them will come this way.

So, he sits vigil to do the least of what his civic duty asks him to do. Report a sighting should they come this way, and stay out of trouble.

Or at least that’s his initial plan.

But then he sees a figure running down the street on foot. They’re too tall to be a child. All the neighborhood kids should be asleep by now, and most of the teens and adults are probably watching the news, awaiting more information on the Fakes’ most recent heist.

So who the fuck is this?

Alfredo leans over the porch railing, trying to get a better look. They’re doing a good job at dodging the patches of light illuminated by street lamps. It’s hard to make out any defining features, but whoever they are, they’re fuckin’ huge. A massive frame with broad shoulders that seems to be clutching a bag close to their chest. His fingers moving to wrap around the grip of the foam bat. They’re moving like they’ve stolen something, and he frowns. If someone stole something from one of his neighbors, then he’ll be damned if he lets them get away.

He’s Alfredo Diaz of the motherfucking neighborhood watch.

He stands up, bat in hand, and the figure freezes about a block away. They both stand stock still. He’s unsure as to whether or not the person can make out his figure. His porch light is dim, and there are trees and bushes in the way that might block the view. But even if they can’t see him, they’re not taking any chances. The movement of him standing was enough to get them to bolt. They cut in between two houses and starts booking it through the backyards.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Alfredo mutters. He leaps off his porch, breaking into a sprint. It doesn’t take him long to track down his target. While the yards offer more places to hide than the open streets, they also slow the thief down. Play structures, gardens, inflatable pools. There are a number of obstacles in the way. And although the thief is incredibly fit, hopping fences with ease, they’re in no way as familiar with the yards as Alfredo is.

He knows that the Smiths tend to leave their gate door unlocked, so he doesn’t have to leap over the pickets. And that the Robinsons have a tendency of leaving their hose lying about, a constant tripping hazard for anyone who dares trek through their backyard. He also knows that the Yungs and the Sanchezes have a garden tunnel connecting their yards. He uses that to cut the thief off.

He’s breathing heavily when he corners the person in the Yung’s yard. It’s a messy tackle, but he lunges at the person’s waist, and Jesus, they’re fucking solid. “No one escapes the neighborhood watch, bitch!” he yells. He’s not entirely sure what prompted him to say that, but it feels right in the moment. Been a while since he’s felt like a badass.

They fall to the ground in a pile of flailing limbs and pained grunts. It’s a good thing the Yung’s are on vacation right now. With all the commotion they’re making, he’s sure it would have woken them up.

They struggle, a fist making contact with Alfredo’s jaw hard enough he thinks a tooth might have been knocked loose. But he manages to pin the guy — and it is a guy — underneath him. Alfredo’s knee is pressed between the guy’s shoulder blades and he’s managed to pin his hands behind his back using the bat.

Now that he’s up close and personal, he’s got a better look of the guy. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail, leather jacket, black-and-white face paint streaking with sweat, and….fuck. This isn’t some punk thief stealing from his neighbors.

He’s got the Vagabond underneath him.

Were he any less disciplined or not as well trained, he might have let go out of pure shock. But he keeps bearing his weight down on the infamous criminal because if he doesn’t, odds are he won’t make it out of this alive.

The Vagabond struggles beneath him, kicking his legs and trying desperately to buck him off. He spits out threats, snarling like a feral animal. “Get the fuck off me,” and “Let me go and I’ll let you live,” and, eventually, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Alfredo’s heart is racing. It’s taking all his strength to keep the other man from breaking free. “Mister Vagabond,” he grunts, resisting a particularly strong wriggle. “On the authority of the neighborhood watch, I am placing you under citizen’s arrest for, uh— theft for sure.”

The Vagabond stills and turns his head. He glares at Alfredo from over his shoulder. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I…No?” Alfredo responds.

Then the Vagabond smirks, and goes lax, no longer struggling against him. “Well, good luck with that,” he says.

Alfredo doesn’t have time to process just how bad that kind of reaction is when he feels the kiss of metal at the back of his head. He immediately lets go of the bat and brings his hands up.

“Anyone want to explain what the fuck is happening, here?” a feminine voice asks from behind.

He twists around slowly, swallowing thickly. A red-headed woman stands behind him. She doesn’t look angry, which he supposes is a good sign. Irritated, maybe. Definitely vaguely amused. She lifts an eyebrow pointedly at the Vagabond. “Well?”

The Vagabond slips out from beneath Alfredo. He grabs the bag and dusts himself off. “Neighborhood watch,” he says. He flashes a smug smile that sends a message, loud and clear: You’re fucked.

But the gun pressed to his head is lowered and the woman looks at the Vagabond incredulously. “Neighborhood watch?” she repeats, holstering her weapon and dragging a hand down her face. The Vagabond’s grin falters. “You escaped the LSPD but were caught by the neighborhood watch? Are you fucking serious?” The Vagabond opens his mouth to defend himself, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. The car’s ‘round front. Go.”

Alfredo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone act so meek. It’s a strange look on the Vagabond. He watches him sulk his way around the house, and he hears the sound of a car door creaking open and slamming shut. The woman circles around him and sighs. She offers her hand and he hesitantly take it. “What’s you’re name, kid?” she says, pulling him to his feet.

It’s an awful idea to tell her his name. He knows it is. But she commands such a presence that he can’t help but answer.“D-Diaz,” he stammers.

“Diaz,” she repeats back at him. “Good name. You live around here, Diaz?”

He nods.

“You care about this neighborhood and the people living in it?”

He nods again.

“Good,” she says firmly. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: You’re going to go home and get some rest. Then, tomorrow morning you’re going to make a few calls to some of your neighbors and ask if anyone saw what happened tonight. If they did, assure them that it was nothing to be concerned about. You will make no mentions of what you did or saw tonight to anyone. Not your neighbors, not the police, not even your mother. If you do, we’ll know, and we’ll have to do something about that. You don’t want us to do anything about that, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” he whispers hoarsely.

She looks at him gently and smiles, patting his cheek. “Good man. Now, get out of here.”

He stares at her in stunned silence, amazed that she’s just letting him go. Unless this is some sort of trick? But with a wave of her hand, he turns on his heel and books it out of there. He doesn’t stop until he reaches his front door, and it’s only then he thinks to look behind him to see if he’s been followed. A quick glance tells him he hasn’t. No cars linger conspicuously on the street, and he doesn’t see anyone lurking around.

But he doesn’t take any chances. He locks and bars the doors and double checks to make sure his windows are shut tight. Not that he’s sure a simple lock would be enough to stop the Fakes from getting to him if they really wanted to. But as the adrenaline wears off, exhaustion sets in, and his bed looks incredibly comfortable. Tucking a handgun under his pillow, he drifts into restless sleep.

He’s got a lot to do tomorrow.

* * *

A week later, a knock comes at his door. He answers it and sees the red-headed woman from before. Standing beside her is a tall man. It takes him a moment to recognize the guy without the face paint, but he realizes it’s the Vagabond. His blood runs cold. He fights the urge to slam the door on their faces. He can’t imagine that would go over well.

Instead, he forces a polite smile. “Can I help you?” he asks.

The woman looks to the Vagabond, who appears thoroughly displeased to be here. “My friend, Ryan, owes you an apology.”

The Vagabond — Ryan? — scowls and crosses his arms. “Sorry,” he says, not even bothering to look Alfredo in the eye. The woman elbows him in the ribs. “I’m sorry for threatening to kill you,” he amends.

Alfredo doesn’t buy it, not with the petulant and unapologetic look in his eyes, but he sure as hell isn’t going to reject it. “I…Sure. Whatever, dude. It’s all good.”

The woman pats Ryan on the back. “There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” she asks gently. Ryan flushes and grumbles something under his breath, but he nods slightly to appease her. Then she turns to Alfredo and holds out her hand. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

He takes it and gives it a weak shake. “I, uh…Alfredo.” he responds.

“I know,” she says. Because, yeah. Of course she does. She knows where he lives too. Fuck. “Can we come in?”

He freezes. His eyes dart around, quickly taking stock of who’s out and about. A handful of children are playing on the street, and a few people are walking their dogs. As much as he wants to shield innocent civilians from these criminals, he’s also not keen on being alone with them. Witnesses are good. Especially if he’s about to be kidnapped or murdered in broad daylight. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Jack looks at him gently. “We’re not here to hurt you, Alfredo. This is a conversation you don’t want to have out in public.”

“Give me the highlights,” he says, hoping he sounds braver than he really feels. He was less afraid under enemy fire in the desert than he is now. “What’s this about?”

Her gaze flicks back over to Ryan, who’s shoulders nearly cover his ears in a full body pout. “You took down my friend with nothing but a toy baseball bat,” she says with a clandestine smile. “We have a job offer for you.”

[weltonreject]

Juniper and the Gardener

|| Juniper “Juno” Saint Catherine is always looking to be home, always waiting for his time at work to be over, for the time of his life to finally start up again. || ~3.8k words

Buy me a coffee || Other original writing || Thesis: Lost & Stolen

It wasn’t his poorest habit, but Juno frequently slept in his work clothes. He had only three pairs of nice slacks—as well as the fault of forgetting to send out his laundry in a timely manner. To counteract his own shortcomings, he did, however, make the change over from beige to black. The undone center crease—and other telling wrinkles—were better disguised and appeared to be from a long commute rather than a restless sleep and hurried walk; fifteen blocks to save the few bucks in bus fare.

Juno had fallen asleep with his beer bottle in hand, resting upright against his hip and without a single sip taken. Stella always tasted like piss to him anyway. Juno yawned and walked the bottle to the kitchenette sink, holding it upside down as he cracked his tense neck. The same fork was still in the sink from the night before. Not washed, or more preferably, joined by any other utensil. No other meal had been served, even for one, while he was slouched against the headboard.

It was nearly eight that morning. He wasn’t late, but he could be if he didn’t hurry. He’d already been demoted once that year. The office didn’t take very nicely to having to change his name on his paycheck, so they wanted to make sure any check they did have to send to Juno whoever was for as little as possible. Personally, Juno thought his last name—Catherine—was a delightful change. He took it graciously five years ago, relishing in silence up until five months prior.

With the bottle in the sink, Juno began yanking his arms out of his unbuttoned shirt. The cuffs were tight and folded his hands into cracking claws before slipping up the sleeves. He kept his other—ironed—shirts on the tall rack by the door. He chose the slimly cut maroon shirt—a favorite—and quickly hurried it closed as he stepped in front of the cracked mirror in the room’s foyer.

Oh, did he not remember ever turning thirty. Or looking thirty. Or, more so, now looking thirty-seven. With the cuffs unbuttoned now, Juno adjusted his thirty-sixth birthday present: a gold watch with a black face and shining numbers. They stayed shined, even under the glass and with countless swipes of the hour and minute hand over top. It was the cruelest birthday joke a lover had ever gotten him, but then again, the truth always had a way of being cruel. There was nothing to fold over and tuck under with the truth stretched out so finely in front of him. Ticking ever so softly on his wrist.

Every action, from the moment of waking, was a passing of time to get back the pale, antique hallways of The Quill Hotel and back to room 516. He’d been living there for fifteen years, everything the exact the same—even the sheets. After he’d stayed two consecutive weeks, Mrs. Gregory marked the inner tag of his bedding bag and made sure the same sheets returned to his room. One time, after nursing a broken, bleeding nose while propped up on three pillows, she asked about the blood she found. The note was on the hotel’s pale lilac stationary, neatly folded on his nightstand, giving him the number of a helpline if he was in trouble.

The stain was still there, fading with every wash. It was on the left side of the bed, Juno able to circle it whenever he slept alone.

Juno locked his room—the only room still having a traditional lock and not requiring a keycard— at eight fifteen. He was due in the office in fifteen minutes. He could make it with a pace of about a minute per block, provided Miss Rosanne didn’t have any new pictures of her grandchildren at the ready at the front desk. Juno took the hallway at an angled gait, trying to cushion his footsteps.

The carpet on the fifth floor was wearing spectacularly on the edge of the landing and down each step. The carpet was teal and purple, although now mostly just brown and gray. If anything, Juno preferred the faded colors to their original dye. The bright colors reminded him of far worse days. Hurrying to his room with far more embarrassment and anxiety about who could be tracking him across the same carpet, tainting the eager footsteps echoing his own all the way into his room and back to his bed.

Purple and a warped greened teal had bloomed on his own skin too often after such tracking. They never turned such a benign brown or gray, instead looking so yellow he feared a kind of rot growing from his shame. The frayed carpet had been kind to him, leading him out the front door every morning.

“Morning, Mister Catherine.” The gardener, Landis, greeted him almost immediately. He was kneeling on the other side of the hotel’s walkway. He was laying mulch, a small towel tucked against his knees. His work trousers were torn; the work of a stubborn rose, Juno was sure.

“Morning, Mister Fern.” Juno lifted a quick hand. His watch glinted in the morning sun, like a wink from under his jacket cuff. “Beautiful day.”

“Gorgeous.”

Spring had just started to poke through the blanketing cold fronts, warmth sighing in with the light breeze. Sun had melted the heavy, thick clouds and began peaking through like water through a frozen lake. It made the long walk to Juno’s office pleasant. He didn’t even think to misread the building’s sign of Campbell & Violet as Cramping & Violent that morning.

###

No one greeted Juno as he slipped his way to his desk. It made sense, though, seeing as everyone was on the phone with clients and hospitals and insurance firms. He didn’t expect anyone to cover their receivers and mouth a delighted Good morning! to him—of course not. Those that greeted him every morning in the hotel were obligated to do so. That was part of their job, too. Saying hello to the disgraced paralegal Juniper Saint Catherine was not a part of the job description of anyone in that office. Honestly, if it had been, Juno didn’t think he would’ve taken the job.

He savored his privacy. Juno thought of it something shareable. A set amount given to him, only able to be split and handed out like the segments of an orange. He thought about never starting on the peel, back when he was in his twenties. But then where would all that bitter sweetness go? Not to anyone that genuinely mattered. The vulnerability of sharing private moments would stay in thick, calloused isolation for the rest of Juno’s life. And he’d decided, by thirty, he wanted an orange grove.

“Catherine,” Someone said, swinging around their desk to his own. They relished in his new last name far too much. Juno heard something not quite delight in the spoken soft syllables of the surname. It was something like satire, like a joke only the man could hear. “Need that filing report done by morning meeting.”

“That’s less than…” Juno checked his watch, although already certain it wasn’t enough time. “That’s less than an hour.”

“Well, what can I tell you. Should’ve gotten here earlier.”

“I’m on time.” Juno didn’t expect to be correct. “I have a life outside of this office, you know.”

“And I’m sure you do.” The man—who’s name was irrelevant to Juno by that point—shrugged. “But when you’re here it’s our time, okay?”

“I’m not a fucking intern.” Juno grumbled, yanking open his desk drawer to gather his favorite pen and highlighter: another gift.

“Sorry? What was that?”

“I’m not an intern.” Juno over-enunciated. The man hadn’t expected Juno to repeat himself, to use company time to talk back. “I’m double your age and a grown fucking man. Don’t treat me like I haven’t figured out how to scrub my balls yet.”

It was a common complaint at home that Juno had too much of a sharp, grotesque tongue when he was angry. Then again, he wasn’t angry at home very often. He was out of practice.

The man blinked, considering the snap back. “Morning meeting.” He said finally. “I’ll do a longer schmooze bit in the beginning and buy you an extra ten minutes, if you should need it.”

Juno made the morning meeting, walking into the office with the report in one hand a large cup of coffee in the other. He looked at Son-of-the-Firm-Something-or-Other and made a very large charade of handing it over to the nameless man, who, as Juno realized was supposed to have it done himself.

Those extra ten minutes may not have been Juno’s to have, but as reparations, but they were ten minutes he’d converted into a stewing clip of embarrassment for What’s His Face.

It was enough to pass the next seven hours in petty delight.

###

Juno rushed home in a fast, more angular commute than the morning. He buried his hands in his front pockets and bent forward, hoping he’d stumble and find himself rolled over in the hotel’s flower garden. The hotel’s shadow would block out the sun and allow his disoriented look up at the sky to be clear and vivid. The gardener would be there, probably scolding him for crushing his work, but still helping him up and home.

The gardener was not out front when Juno crept inside. He ducked behind a family checking in to avoid Miss Roseanne. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the hotel staff—rather the opposite, considering his indefinite stay—but he was aching to be back in his room. To have time all to himself again.

In the middle of Juno discovering that his twist off beer bottle wasn’t twist off, someone knocked on his door. Juno only ever had one visitor. He paused the request for entrance with a swift bang on the hinged deadbolt—knocking the bottle cap clean off, without foaming over. Juno held the bottle out to his side and then answered the door.

The gardener stood in the hallway, gently playing with the bottom button of his denim jacket.

“You didn’t come over last night.” Juno said, stepping to the side and bracing his weight on the door.

“I finished late, hun, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You aren’t a bother and you know it.” Juno sighed. “Get in here.”

“I missed you.” Landis said, safely past the foyer of the room.

“You could start saying that instead of hello.” Juno muttered, locking the door again.

“It’s true. The moment I see you again, I realize how much I’ve missed you. That little ache goes away.”

The little ache: Landis’s sense that there was something else more important to be doing, or something out of place that couldn’t be seen, but needed to be fixed in order to continue. An obsessive thought that was completely silent but ran on a repeat. The ache was the record spinning around one more time.

“Why don’t you sit down, let me take off your boots.” Juno handed Landis his beer and pushed him back into the hotel’s teal green armchair.

Landis collapsed with a faint huff, letting out a low groan as Juno hoisted his leg onto his own bent knee. He tipped back his beer as Juno began unlacing his shoes. They were double-knotted, but also caked together with a thin layer of mud and mulch. Juno picked at them ferociously, not wincing when a splinter of wood got under his nailbed. He wanted to simply race to the point when he would free Landis’s foot and he would slip down lower in his chair.

“How was work today?” Landis asked. He rested the bottom of the bottle on his shoulder, his temple against the cool bottle neck.

“The same. Can’t get much worse.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

The demotion hit Landis harder than it did Juno. Juno laughed his way out of the payroll office, thinking what idiots they were for not just firing him. He was still more talented than he was gay, apparently. Enough of both to keep around. Landis, on the other hand, felt it as a personal cut from his own hand onto Juno. It was his name he carried on his smaller paychecks. But also, as Juno had to point out it, it was also Landis’s name and his “fault” that Juno walked into pay roll with such a high skip in his step. They could have just enough of both too.

“It’s okay. I still have a job.” Juno brushed the flaked mud from his right knee before switching to bending his left. He started on the other knots. “And I still have you.”

“Those two things aren’t married; you’d have me even without the job. Maybe even have your old job if it wasn’t for me—”

“Oh, you’d love me even if I was unemployed?” Juno teased, running his hands up Landis’s calves. He squeezed his muscles, pulsing a quick massage over their undoubted aches. Landis groaned and yanked his legs back from Juno. He put his beer bottle on the floor by the back right leg.

“Get up here.” Landis straightened his posture and closed his leg, pressing his knees together. Juno stood and put his knees on either side of Landis’s thighs, just fitting against the curved sides and armrests. Landis slid his hands up the length of Juno’s back, feeling his muscles twitch as he squirmed; Landis always had cold hands. “I missed you so much today.” Landis rested his head against Juno’s cheek. He inhaled deeply, burrowing his nose into Juno’s neck. “I barely saw you—you were late for work, weren’t you?”

“Barely.”

“Be on time, if only for me. I want a good glimpse of my husband in the morning.”

Silence fell over them both. Not quite the same silence they kept when in public together, but a far sharper one. One with teeth and claws. One that left marks on them if they weren’t careful. One that the people around them swallowed when they would whisper.

“Only for my husband.” Juno promised, threading his fingers into Landis’s hair. The roots of his hair were still wet, after his cordial cleanup after landscaping. Juno always told him he didn’t have to clean up to see him. He’d always take him at his most well-worked, and kiss him just as deeply as the roots he’d planted.

Juno loved his husband more than any words were capable—but he knew he had to create them sometime. He couldn’t let their relationship stay liminal and simply for the “in-betweens”. This was Juno’s life, not anything else he attended just to simply see the hands of his watch swing all the way around and tell him he could return to his bedroom. Return to Landis’s arms: tanned, firm, and tired. Juno missed Landis, too, every moment of the day. But, more articulately, he missed his life.

How could any words ever say that?

“Why don’t we go to bed, hm?” Juno slid back, trying to get his feet on the ground without stumbling. “You must be tired, Handsome. Always working so hard.”

“I’m not tired.”

“No?”

“No.” Landis hoisted Juno up by his waist. “I can still make love to my husband.”

“Landis, no, it’s been a long few day for you--”

“And I miss you.”

Would it be selfish for that to be enough? For Juno to accept that he was enough of a reason to bring life back to their room, to their bed, to himself?

“I can’t tell if you want me to argue.” Juno laughed, covering his own mouth. He braced his other hand against Landis’s shoulder. “Because I won’t.”

“Only argue if you opposed to the ravishing.” Landis jokingly pretended to toss Juno backwards onto the bed but caught him again before easing him back onto his own feet. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“You said that yesterday.” Juno feared for a moment he was only worth a repetition. But then he saw the look on his husband’s face, the non-mourning loss in his eyes, as he got carried off by the teasing touch of Juno’s fingers on his collar.

“And I’ll say it again tomorrow.” Landis pressed against Juno, both of them braced by the bottom of the bedframe. “Always, until it stops being true.” He lifted Juno again, easing him over the frame’s edge. “Then I’ll tell you that I miss you right then and there, even when I can still see you on the sidewalk. I’ll tell you and never leave you alone.”

“Then how will you miss me?” Juno arched an eyebrow, letting himself be laid down on the new sheets.

“Unless I can have you like this, every moment, then there is always something to miss.” Landis climbed over the bedframe as well, not bothering the two steps to walk around to his side of the bed. On all fours, he shifted his weight from side to side, jokingly shaking the bed and jostling Juno.

“Every moment, huh?” Juno kept his eyebrow raised, adding Landis’s favorite smirk—the one that got them to the same position fifteen years ago. “Aren’t you getting a bit old for that, Handsome?”

Landis didn’t respond and slipped his hands back under Juno, cradling his back against the mattress. Between the shirt and the blankets, his hands warmed and were almost like liquid curling around Juno’s spine. Openly, and stupidly, he moaned into the static silence of room 516. The warmth of being held was more than enough to convince Juno that age had noting to do with them. Love—the way they created it, made it, held it, nurtured it—didn’t age and didn’t age them. It was the ultimate elixir, and Juno was nearly intoxicated with it. His hands grappled with Landis’s shirt, pulling his body flush against his own.

“I keep falling asleep in my clothes.” Juno said into his husband’s ear. “Why don’t you undress me?”

###

Juno and Landis slept stretched over one another. Arms latticed together like they were trying to meld back together in their unconscious state and keep the impending separation from even the realm of possibility. What would—hell, could—anyone do if he was sutured at the hip to Landis as he reported to the other landscapers not much before dawn. Juno would love to kneel in the damp, malleable earth with his husband and mold mulch around baby sprouts and loose roots. The rings of dirt on their fingers and palms would be more sacred than a wedding band. Even in disguising it, they could wash each other’s hands—one caressing over the other—and watch their joint work swirl down the drain. At least Juno wouldn’t have to spend his day alone.

A knock startled Juno, nearly causing him to dislocate Landis’s shoulder. For once, Juno was ungrateful to not have been wearing his work clothes.

“Be right there!” He called, scrambling for his robe. He’d left it just outside the shower, wrinkled and still damp from two sets of feet stomping all over it.

“Mister Fern?”

“Are they talking to me?” Landis grumbled, rolling over.

“Don’t be so arrogant, I had the name first.” Juno whispered, tying the robe closed. He didn’t even check the mirror for any red marks on the curve of his neck or behind his ear. If he stood in the opening, the door didn’t reveal his bed. “Hello?” Juno didn’t even know what time it was.

“My wife sent me over.” The man in the hallway was older than Juno, in his own robe, and smiling just as anxiously as Juno felt.

“I’m sorry I don’t know your wife.” Juno cocked his head to the side, blocking the wandering eye of the other tenant. “Terribly sorry if she knows me.”

“I asked the front desk for your name.”

“You asked the front desk for me? I can’t possibly be that famous.” Juno repeated the man for Landis’s benefit. He could posit his theory for the disturbance the moment Juno closed the door over.

“This slipped under our newspaper this morning—I think it was kicked under on your way out the door.” Henry held out a note on the hotel stationary.

He expected to see Landis’s handwriting delicately fitted onto the top third of the paper, refusing to stretch over more than it had to. Instead, it was from a typewriter. It was a note celebrating another year at the hotel. Now, sixteen years in the same room.

The number shook Juno as he stood in his doorway, the man looking at him for some kind of explanation or calming words.

He spoke instead. “Sixteen, huh? Wow. You definitely settled down, didn’t you? Got a roof over your head.”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.” Juno nodded, finding a smile somewhere in his quivering lips. “Settled down just fine. Faster than I expected, too.”

“Hope there’s someone worth sharing it with, even if it’s rented.” The older man said with a short nod to his own door. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, Mister Fern. Have a lovely stay… At home.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Juno folded the paper over, his fingers sounding rough over the cardstock. “For returning my mail, too. Good night.”

Juno closed the door over and read the note again. Sixteen years in the hotel, in the same room, with the same man. It was like a strange sort of birthday card. The anniversary telling him just how many years, those that came before, could be discarded. Those that were lived but lifeless.

Juno had no idea the time, no idea the hours he had left with Landis in their—his—bed. He struggled to ration how much time he should stay away in order to compile memories of Landis as he slept awkwardly twisted and bent while on his stomach, reaching for Juno’s still-moving body. There was so much to find new, even after sixteen years of evenings just like this one.

The thing that was always the same though, thankfully, was Landis’s inability to snore.

His soft, airy breathing, slow and even—nearly an audible pattern. Like a set clock of Juno’s very own kind. The only kind of clock that wasn’t counting down, or keeping any sort of time, just keeping rhythm and routine. Juno decided he only wanted to know that time, and laid against the other pillow, facing his husband.

“Good night, Mister Landis Fern.”

“Good night, My Juniper Catherine.”

“I miss you.” Juno said, closing his eyes. “Wake me when you go.”

[lamalefix]

Hey the anon who asked for angst here! I want what you did wirh Eddie in your story with Buck now. Like stopping functioning and things like that... But  i'm a sucker for happy endings! Maybe even bittersweet and uncertain. So to answer you, yes yes yes. I know what I'm asking fpr. I want you to hurt my feelings. do your worst!! and thank you!!

Hey there angsty anon! (now that's your name) 

You asked for this, so... here we go, this is going to be a multichapter thing, but somehow i was inspired? So please read it carefully.

thank you for your words, I hope you find this of your taste

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV),Evan "Buck" Buckley Tags: Medical Procedures, Blood, Major Character InjuryDeveloping Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Episode: s04e13 Suspicion

Can’t have you disappear [1/3] (also on ao3)

When deployed, soldiers need to complete a range of physically demanding tasks. And they train for those tasks. It occurs that you have to move under fire, carry equipment, transfer ammunition and… well, the worst of all evacuate casualties. A casualty drag is excruciatingly challenging and involves dragging a fellow soldier from a hazardous environment to a safe location as quick as possible.

That’s what comes to Buck’s mind after a few seconds. He’s on the ground. Asphalt tastes weird in his mouth, copper-like, strong and salty.

He blinks and takes in, drinks in, the body, the pair of eyes that look lost, not so far away.

There’s the voice of someone barking orders in the radio, the same person that’s holding him down. And when Buck blinks again, he clearly sees that person, that body, not so far away.

Eddie. That’s Eddie. That’s Eddie in the middle of the road, a pool of blood under his face. Hand outstretching slightly, fingers trembling. Eyes fixed on something. On him maybe? Or maybe lost.

Asphalt doesn’t have that weird, coppery and salty taste. But… blood has.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

Do something.

He blinks again ad remembers his preparation as a Navy SEALS before the other one as a firefighter. Close down, bottle up, no emotion. Nothing.

He needs to move. Do something.

When he first started casualty drags simulation during training, he dragged dummies all covered in gears that could even weigh 132 kg total, crawling as fast as he could.

And at some point, he moves.

.

He doesn’t even notice when he does, with an impossible ache, urgency, he just moves. It’s like muscle memory, it’s like some other part of him kicks in and takes his place. It’s like the gear rolls backwards and clicks in that very spot, the right one and he reacts as he knew, as he was before. A Evan Buckley that was so long forgotten in his new almost-happy life over here. The Evan Buckley who at some point decided that being a Navy Seal was a good idea, that maybe was even good at suppressing emotions and being like a robot.

It’s fun that at some point you need to do what you resent the most, uh?

But, well.

He needs to do something.

That’s how he grovels and takes Eddie, dragging him while crawling back between the ambulance and the firetruck. Muscle memory, soldier training, casualty evacuation.

Fast.

He needs to be fast. Faster maybe. The fastest he can.

That captain, whose name he doesn’t remember, barks something and he growls a guttural, raw sounds that escapes his throat and sounds like an echo from another distant memory. But that gear runs backwards again, and clicks back in.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

Do something.

And so, he focuses on the wound.

Not on the blood that soaks Eddie’s uniform and spatters on his own white shirt, that wedges in the bed of his fingernails, that moistens his palms.

He needs to focus on the wound.

He tears Eddie’s uniform shirt, and assesses the breathing, uneven, labored, almost strangled, there’s a sound like a hiss.

Sucking chest wounds happen when an injury causes a hole to open in the chest, usually are caused by stabbing, gunshots or other injuries that penetrate the chest.

It’s about the size of a coin, the blood looks like boiling, at every hissing breath, as it’s being sucked back in the chest at every inhale and sputtered out at every exhale. And the blood doesn’t even look like blood anymore, around the wound, it’s more like foam, bright red, maybe pinkish.

When he moved, when he dragged Eddie in a safer place, between the truck and the ambulance, Eddie made a weird sound, like a protest, that ended up with coughing blood.

But he needs to move, he needs to move, he needs to do something.

And it’s became a silent mantra.

No emotion, get your shit together.

He would stop, a part of him would stop and talk, because he talks a lot, a whole lot, and that’s maybe what he does best, but now there’s Eddie bleeding out, so he has to focus and do something.

So he repeats the drill. Sucking chest wounds care. He knows how it works. He just needs to act.

Sterilize your hands. No time for soap and water, but he has a sanitizer gel in his pocket (thanks covid-19?), he doesn’t have time to put on gloves, he couldn’t even find ‘em if he wanted now. He has to focus.

Maybe he mutters something, a silent prayer, Eddie is someone who prays so he should do that for him, or maybe he just says sorry, sorry, sorry when he points his hand hard over the wound. You’d usually ask someone else to keep a hand over the wound while preparing a dressing, maybe even the patient, but Eddie lies there, still, not even moving his chest to breath, eyes open.

That’s when Buck moves his hand to cup his cheek. That’s when he finds his voice back.

“Eddie? Eddie, stay with me? Please, please, please. Stay with me” it’s all he manages to say. “We need to get you back home to Chris, y’know?”.

And that’s when Eddie coughs again, and blinks, and his eyes roll back for a moment, a weird staggering sound that comes from his mouth.

“Hey, hey, no. Okay, no weird sounds. Just stay awake for me” he murmurs, and moves to get something from Eddie’s medic bag. Because God, he has that bag with him! There should be a fucking Halo Chest Seal, there better be one.

But he needs to focus, he needs to.

The best way to do this is to spill the contents of the bag on the ground, maybe not the right choice, but the only one if you are working with only a hand, while the other is still applying pressure on the wound.

The gear rolls back in place. And he repeats the drill from where he left off.

Find a chest seal or a sterile, medical tape or plastic to seal up the wound.

“Eddie breathe, please. Breathe out” he asks, and Eddie, ever the good soldier, breathes out, a broken, painful breath.

Someone is barking orders around them, but Buck has to move. Buck has to do something.

Do something. Faster. Faster. The fastest you can. Even faster than that.

That’s his mantra. He doesn’t have that much time. Eddie doesn’t have that much time.

The Halo Chest Seal is one of the very first chest seals made commercially. It’s no-frills, and works very simply. It’s essentially a sterile piece of plastic with an adhesive backing.

He cleans the wound, wiping off the blood with a gauze he found in the bag before spilling its content on the ground, so that the adhesive can stick and he murmurs something that sounds to his hears like a prayer, but then again is maybe something he is asking Eddie. Stay awake. Stay with me.

When he applies the right pressure Eddie groans softly.

Then he needs to move him on one side, he needs  to be fast. Faster. Because Eddie lost a lot of blood, and even if he just coughed up blood only once, once too many.

He tears the remnants of the shirt off, and uses another gauze to wipe again the blood and the dirt, from the entry hole on his back, and this time Eddie groans louder.

And maybe in his head he plays a weird conversation with him, maybe a reassuring one. I know it hurts. But you are safe now. We are going to save you.

The captain of 133, Matha? Metha? Whatever barks something again and that makes the other gear, the one on which he usually moves slip in the place and take over.

But Eddie does a thing, a odd sound with his mouth. Shortness of breath, eyes lost and glassy. The seal is trapping air that’s escaping from the lungs. No. Not the right time to develop a pneumothorax. Not while there’s a fucking shooter on a roof. Not while their aid isn’t here yet.

A needle, he needs a needle. A fourteen, or maybe a sixteen gauge needle, an eight centimeter needle is more successful than a five centimeter one, but increase a risk of injury to underlying structures. He maneuvers him back supine, and when Eddie does that sound again, Buck just moves faster.

Do something.

Do something.

Faster.

Faster.

The preferred insertion site is the second intercostal space, in the mid-clavicular line, not even a inch above his wound, so he will have to insert the needle anywhere in that same hemithorax to decompress the developing pneumothorax. He just uses his antiseptic gel to prepare the area. And he should really find lidocaine to provide anesthesia, but there’s no time, Eddie has no time. And even if it will hurt like hell, periosteum and parietal pleura are highly pain-sensitive, he can’t waste time.

He pierces the skin over the rib below the target interspace, a couple of inches below his wound, and then directs the needle cephalad over the rib until the pleura does that little pop, that’s hard to hear when your heart beats like Buck’s now, but there’s the sudden decrease in resistance.

It’s when Eddie breathes better and doesn’t do that ominous, strangled sound again, that he inserts the chest tube. And while he does that, there’s the whistle of the ambulance siren that fills the air.

.

He shouldn’t hop on the ambulance, but that’s what he does, when the paramedics start to move Eddie. They are all under held targets, but they need to move, and bring Eddie to the nearest hospital.

His legs tremble when he sits near Eddie, his hand in his, his fingers trembling.

He outstretched his hand as if to come to Buck, to comfort him somehow, as he always does, with his touchy-feely show of affection. But what communicates the most, of Eddie, are his eyes. Expressive, soft, caring. Every single thing Eddie tells, comes before in his eyes, and seeing that the only thing he could do at that point was to look, glance at Buck maybe, it was his own personal way to comfort him.

And out of muscle memory, now, Buck 4.0 kicks in, and just lowers his gaze. Emotions showering over him, intense like a hurricane, but he can't, he can't break. No emotion, not now. Maybe it's time for Buck 5.0. The only thing he can do is focus on that hand, clammy and still, fingers cold and his. And he sturts humming voiceless prayers, an invocation to whoever is God and Holy to not take Eddie away.

Not from him, not for himself. He wouldn’t ask anything like that, not of Eddie, because he is very serious with Ana, but for Chris. 

That’s how prayers work, right? 

Something that’s not for you, asking for something that’s for someone else. And what’s more important than a child’s sake? 

They saved a kid today, they earned this. Right?

[impala-dreamer]

Between Scenes

SPN FanFic

~Jensen and Y/N's make out scene really gets him going and it's really hard to stop...~

Dean x Andi / Jensen x Reader, Rich

1,874 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Masturbation. Oral Sex.

A/N: Written for @welcome-to-my-little-world, who requested Masturbation with Jensen for kinktober over on Patreon. Hope you all enjoy!

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Dean. Don’t leave.”

Andi’s eyes draw him back and Dean is helpless. There’s something in the way she says his name, something in her breathless plea that holds him captive. He stops in his tracks, boots thudding against the hard ground.

“Please.”

Her voice barely carries across the field, but he hears it. He feels it in his soul. He can’t leave.

Dean drops his bag and spins, dark green eyes trained on her lips. He rushes forward, closing the space between them in a few long strides, reaching with both hands to grab her cheeks and pull her to him.

They kiss beneath the full moon, clouds sweeping high overhead, cool October breeze chilling their skin. He holds her close, putting everything he has into his kiss, giving her everything. There’s never been another woman for him, nor would there be, but the fear of letting go rips him apart inside.

He pulls back for a breath, thumbs caressing her jaw as his hands slide down her throat and around, sensually locking around the nape of her neck. She looks up with utter trust and love, apples of her cheeks lifting as she smiles.

“Dean,” she gasps in disbelief, having waited forever to be in his arms. “I...I love-”

“Don’t,” he sighs, shaking his head gently before diving back in, every cell in his body screaming for her. He can feel his blood rushing, brain cells firing, skin tingling, and it’s all because of her. “Don’t say it.” He licks into her mouth, humming at the sweetness.

She presses a hand against his chest. “But I do,” she says simply, honest eyes wide and taking him in.

Dean closes his eyes and presses his forehead to hers, arms wrapping tight around her. “I know, Andi,” he whispers, hoping the autumn wind will steal his words so they don’t come back to hurt him. “Me too.”

It happens too fast.

Dean presses her into the hood of the Impala, moon shining down upon the metal, reflecting back his own lust filled gaze as she leans back and spreads her legs. He lifts her up to sit on the edge and gets lost in her kiss again, shifting his broad hips between her thighs. He moans as her tongue traces the thick muscles of his throat, teeth scraping gently while her fingers tug at his jeans.

“Want you Dean,” she huffs, working his belt as best she can.

He jerks his hips forward and drops a hand to cup her breast. “Want you too, baby,” he growls, sucking at her bottom lip. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met.”

The belt gives way, leather slipping from the metal clasp and Dean hisses as she slides her hand downward.

“Then take me, Dean,” she says with a smile, lying back against the hood and reaching up for him. “I’m yours.”

His head swims with right and wrong, promises and consequences, but the passion wins over. He covers her completely and rolls his hips into her, moaning at the blissful sigh she releases.

“And, cut! I think we got it!” Rich yells from across the set, barely looking up from the monitor as he halts Jensen and Y/N’s love scene. “Looks great, guys. Good work!”

Y/N squirms a bit beneath Jensen and looks up with a smile. “So… that was fun.” She laughs awkwardly and Jensen joins her.

“Yeah,” he smirks, leaning on his forearms on the hood, still locked around her head, pelvis still pressed against hers. He looks down and his smirk softens to a gentle smile and the urge to kiss her again overtakes him.

Y/N turns her eyes away before he can make a move and tries to stretch her back. “Um…Jensen?”

“Yeah?” he whispers, caught up in how warm her soft body feels beneath him.

“You wanna get off?”

He startles, cock twitching at the invitation. He’s already half hard from their scene and the blood is flowing freely. His cheeks glow pink as he leans his lips a millimeter closer to hers. “What?”

Y/N laughs and shoves at his shoulders. “Get off me!”

“Oh!” Jensen rolls and sets her free, trying to play it off as a little joke, but the hard line in his jeans has no poker face. “Sorry,” he grins with a shrug and Y/N shakes her head in jest.

“I’m gonna go get some food,” she says over her shoulder, walking away with a secret smile.

Jensen lays back against the Impala for a brief moment, trying to calm his body, but as soon as his eyes close, she’s there; soft and sweet and beautiful. His dick pushes against his zipper and he hops up before anyone can see.

“Fuck.” He groans as he leaves the set, cock still hard and aching. It’s been a few days since he’s yanked one out and that scene with Y/N flipped some kind of switch inside of him. He can tell he’s not going to be able to think this one away.

‘Please…’

‘Fuck, it really sounded like she meant it,’ he thinks, rushing behind the faux walls into the empty walk way. ‘She’s a fucking great actress.’ His jeans rub almost painfully against his erection; mind filled with the taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands on him.

He stops and bites his lip as he mentally calculates the distance to his trailer. “I’m not gonna make it,” he murmurs and then doubles back until he finds the door he’s looking for.

Dean’s room isn’t being used this week, but it’s still set up. The lights are off and it’s eerily dark, but there’s a door that shuts and a bed with memory foam.

Jensen makes sure the door is closed and perches on the edge of the bed. The mattress moulds around his ass and he lays back, groaning in relief as he finally unzips his jeans.

‘Want you, Dean... so bad…’

He fists his cock and slowly rubs up and down, shoulders shaking as he imagines her legs wrapped around him again. She was so fucking soft, so much give, yet firm when he pressed into her.

‘Dean...I love you…’

Her voice swam in his head, all the things she said and all the things he could imagine now. It was like honey flowing through his brain and trickling down into his bloodstream.

‘Fuck me, Dean. Hard…’

He pumped his fist faster; jaw clenching to hold back his moans. God, but her lips were so sweet, her kiss so hungry and inviting.

‘My hero...Need you, Dean...Need you so bad…’

“Fuck!”

The door creaks open, but he doesn’t notice. His mind is flooded with memories of her smell, her touch, the heat of her tongue as it pushed against his.

“Oh, god, Y/N…”

He feels the swell, the pressure build.

“Fuck.”

‘Please, Dean...Come in my tight little pussy...Need you to cum all over me.’

He holds his breath and rubs the tip of his cock, jerking quickly, hips lifting off of the bed.

“Fuck…”

This time the curse isn’t his and Jensen’s eyes pop open as his shoots up from the bed.

Y/N’s in the doorway, a hand held up to her lips as she watches in shock.

Jensen scrambles to cover up, yanking the hem of his flannel down, but she’s already seen too much. “What the fuck!”

She balks, pivoting on each foot, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard something and…” She stops and bites her lip. “Do you want some help?”

Her question is soft and alluring and Jensen’s body tenses.

“What?”

She takes a step, careful to close the door behind her. “I asked,” she said, slowly coming towards the bed, “if I could help you.”

He swallows hard, eyes glued to her lips as she speaks, over enunciating each word so that the plump pillows jut out deliciously. “I…”

Y/N reaches the bed and stops between his bowed legs, looking down with a lustful gaze. “I just figured since I put you in this predicament…” Slowly she kneels down, hands dropping to his denim covered knees to brace her descent. “...it’s only fair that I help you out of it.”

Jensen’s heart races and his dick pulses. “I can’t...ask you to do that,” he breathes, heavy exhale dropping his voice an entire octave.

“You’re not asking,” she says with a coy smile as she slides her hands firmly up his thick thighs. “I’m offering.”

He stares for the longest moment, watching as she inches closer. His stomach is tight and his brain is mush; there’s nothing he can do but give in. “Please.”

She smiles as her lips press to the tip of his cock, fingers gently pushing the layers of cotton up to reveal his soft belly. The hair on his tummy is sparse and pale, deepening to auburn as it reaches his thick shaft. Y/N presses her left hand into the down and circles the base of his cock with her thumb and index fingers, pulsing in time with his racing pulse.

Jensen’s head falls back as she licks the hard vein and swirls her tongue over his head. “Fuck.” His voice is harsh and raspy, he’s already so gone it won’t take much.

She can feel him twitching and tightens the ring around him, wanting to keep him from cumming as long as possible. They don’t have much time, but she wants to enjoy every second.

Jensen’s soon lost to the rhythm of her mouth as it slides up and down, so tight, so wet, so hot. He grabs at the blanket, fingers contracting as she edges him, taking him so deep he isn’t sure how she’s breathing.

“God damnit, Y/N… your mouth… fuck!”

He bucks his hips up into her and she gags around him, swallowing and pulsing her tongue against him. She hums as she works, moaning at the heavenly weight of his cock pushing down her throat, and finally loosens her fingers from around the base.

“Fuck!” Jensen grits his teeth as he cums, holding his breath as he spills onto her tongue.

She swallows every drop and eases away, lovingly petting his cock as it softens. She rocks back on her heels and smiles. “Thank you.”

Jensen pops up on his elbows and looks at her in shock, his head still fuzzy from the lack of blood flow. “Thank you?” he laughs. “Thank you! Jesus.”

He sways a bit as he sits up and grimaces as he tucks his sensitive flesh away. “That was… wow.”

Y/N stands and takes a tiny bow. “You’re welcome.” There’s a proud grin in her eyes and she extends a hand to help him up. “So anyway,” she says casually. “There was a sound issue on the last take, so Rich wants us back on set.”

Jensen’s knees are still weak but he makes it up. “Wait, what? When?”

She laughs at the goofy look on his face and shrugs. “I don’t know, like ten minutes ago.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, but worth it.”

She winks and he about dies all over again.

“Definitely worth it.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch   @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83​ @spnbaby-67​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @spnficgirl​ @supernaturaldean67​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @thehardcoveraddict​ @tmiships4life​ @wegoddessofhell​ @winchesterprincessbride​

[wolvesofinnistrad]

On AO3

          When Hen shoves the tickets in Eddie’s hands last minute he doesn’t get to ask much beyond “What are these?”

         “Baseball tickets. Got them for Karen and Denny and I but, well, shit came up.”

         Eddie looks at the tickets then back to Hen. “These are really good seats…”

         The look Hen gives him says more than her words. “I know.”

         “Sure you won’t be able to make it?”

         “Definitely not. I don’t want them to go to waste though, thought you could take Christopher.”

         “Tha-”

         “And Buck.”

         That makes Eddie pause. He’s forgiven Buck for all the drama, and they are back to being friends, but a day out with him seems a little more daunting than it would have last month.

         “No buts Eddie. That boy needs a little fun and relief after all he’s been through. All three of you do.”

         Eddie starts to say something but decides against it, nodding and smiling.

         “Thanks Hen.”

         “Don’t mention it. Have fun.”

         “We Will!”

         He waits until later to talk to Buck, avoiding it like the coward he’s apparently turned into. Finally, knowing he needs to do this before Buck makes plans or Hen finds out he’s a chicken he swallows his pride, sighs and heads over to Buck.

         “Hey Buck.”

         Buck looks up at the sound of his voice, a smile instantly passing over his face, albeit still a bit apprehensive.

         “H-hey Eddie.”

         He’s packing up, shift over and Eddie’s glad he caught him honestly.

         “So, uh, Hen had some baseball tickets and, well, they can’t make it anymore so she gave them to me.”

         “That’s great!” Buck pats him on the arm, though it’s clear by his expression he isn’t sure what this has to do with him.

         “Well, uh, I thought you could come with us. Me and Christopher?”

         It’s then Eddie realizes how different the smile Buck gave him before is, because this time it seems to engulf his entire face, lighting up his eyes in a way that makes Eddie feel like he’s staring at the sun.

         “You want me to come with you guys?”

         His voice is so hopeful and happy that Eddie can’t bear to say Hen all but forced him to do it. And in that moment as he nods and Buck grins and shakes his head up and down like a golden retriever Eddie forgets why he was so worried about this.

         It’s just Buck. Buck his best friend.

         Buck nearly jumps on him giving him a hug.  Eddie winces, but tries not to flinch away like the last time, he doesn’t need Buck to notice his sore body.

         Luckily, Buck’s too distracted with the idea of going to the game with the Diaz family to notice because he bounds out of the station with more pep in his step than Eddie’s seen in months.

         Christopher is, of course, overjoyed.

         Not so much about the tickets themselves, he doesn’t care too much either way about the game.  

         But a day with Buck?

         Christopher doesn’t stop talking about it the entire day.

         Or the next, or any of them really until its the day of the game.

         When Buck arrives he runs over, picking Christopher up and swinging him around for a big hug.

         “I missed you buddy!”

         “I missed you too Bucky!”

         Something pulls in Eddie’s chest when he sees it, its something he’s been noticing for a while, and after the tsunami even more, but then with everything that had happened with Buck after he’d kind of forgotten the way his stomach kind of swooped as he watched Buck so effortlessly show affection for his son, so genuinely enthused to be around him.

         Eddie didn’t bother looking anything up about the tickets, so he doesn’t notice anything different about the mess of fans swarming into the stadium along with them.  At least not at first.

         It’s only when the fifth rainbow flag passes by him that it starts to click, just the tiniest bit.  His eyes scan the crowd and there’s the usual fans milling about, talking and laughing or running off to the bathroom or their seats, but there’s also a ton of families.

         Families that look a lot like his family right now.

         2 men are swinging their daughter, he assumes at least, between them, they both have on Dodgers jerseys with a rainbow color scheme.  Another two men kiss briefly before one runs off to the concession stand.  2 women and their three children are waiting in line to buy funnel cake.  Another 2 and their son are carrying beers while their son swings a memorial foam finger around.

         His throat feels dry as he stares back at Buck and Christopher who are walking back towards him.  Christopher is riding on Buck’s shoulders, a little Dodger’s hat on his head that has a rainbow on the side.

         “Where’d you get that buddy?” Eddie asks, just to have something to say because his mind is kind of reeling from how this must look to everyone else.

         “Bucky bought it for me!  Isn’t the rainbow pretty!”  Christopher swings the hat around wildly, giggling like mad.

         Buck’s looking up to him, hands braced on either side of him to make sure he doesn’t fall and Eddie sees it, how clearly from the outside they look like every other couple here with their kid.  He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling he gets, so he tries not to think of it.

         Fumbling with his wallet he grabs a couple bills.  “How much was the hat?”

         Buck shakes his head, pushing the wallet away, his hand resting over Eddie’s for just a moment and sending a jolt up the older man’s arm.

         “Don’t worry about it, it’s my gift to Chris for not seeing him for awhile.  Sorry about that again buddy.”

         “It’s okay Buck.  I missed you.”

         “I missed you too Chris.  SO much.”

         Eddie has to turn away because his stomach feels like it’s full of butterflies and he really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with him today.  He tells himself its just the weirdness of the entire situation.

         That’s all it is.

         It has to be.

         “So uh, let’s get to our seats, yeah?”

         Eddie leads them down to their seats, which he still can’t believe are this good.  He’s going to really have to thank Hen after this.

         They pass quite a few more gay and lesbian couples, and others that he thinks might be straight ones before seeing little flags in different colors on them that he doesn’t quite recognize all of them.

         They take a seat, Christopher in between them and Eddie smiles, taking a breath of the fresh air, looking up at the sky and then back to Chris.  To Buck.  His boys.

         He doesn’t know where the thought comes from but it makes him smile, and when Buck turns towards him, he smiles too.

         If Buck has noticed anything odd about the huge amount of LGBT couples and their kids he hasn’t said anything, and Eddie’s at least glad for that.  Of course, Hen bought these tickets so it wouldn’t be on Eddie anyway he reassures himself.

         But then again, Eddie questions why he feels like he would even need to reassure himself if there’s nothing abnormal about any of this.  It’s just him and his best friend taking his son to a baseball game.

         The fact it must be, like, Pride night or something doesn’t mean anything.

         He’s certain of it.

         They laugh and chat, explaining some things to Christopher, when Eddie’s thoughts get a bit too uncomfortable he excuses himself to go grab them some drinks and food.

         As he’s walking towards the concession stand, which is pretty crowded with lines snaking down the interior hallway, one of the merch booths catches his eye.

         He stops for a moment, not sure why since he doesn’t really want to buy any of this overpriced stuff.  He feels pulled towards a board with a bunch of enamel pins on it and he realizes this is where all those people with the flags must have gotten them.

         He’s not sure why he keeps looking, but up close he can tell it’s not exactly a flag, or rather it is, but instead of a flagpole the flag is hanging from a baseball bat.  He sees the rainbow one which he recognizes, but there are so many others.  A blue, pink and white one that he remembers seeing someone wearing earlier, a mostly black and gray and white one, a couple weird ones that look like a desertscape and a police flag, but they have strange animal symbols and a heart on them.

         Then he notices underneath they say what they are and he goes back and rereads them.  He’s not really sure what it means under the Bear and Leather ones, or really half of them if he’s honest, but as he keeps scanning his eyes stop one and he feels his stomach clench.

         He’s seen it before, he can’t quite remember where, but he knows he has. The little pink, purple and blue lines seem so straight, even if he mentally laughs at the way that sounds.  His fingers reach out, wanting to touch it, feel it beneath his fingertips but he stops at the last moment, not sure why he should do that.

         Bisexual.

         That’ s what the little sign under the flag says, he stares at it, maybe for a bit too long.

         “Bisexual.”

         He hears the words, and for a moment he thinks he’s said them himself before there’s a hand pointing past him.

         ���Sorry man, but yeah, I want a bi flag for my boyfriend, and then a gay one for me.  Thanks.”  The voice comes from a shorter guy beside him.  His skin is deep and dark, he gives the guy a bright smile as he passes him his card back and forth before taking the pins with him.

         Eddie follows him with his eyes, watching him walk over to a veritable tower of muscle.  The second guy, his boyfriend he guesses, picks him up and spins them both around after he’s been given the pin.  Eddie looks away when they start kissing, not sure why he’s stared so long.  When he passes by them on the way to the concessions he sees they’re putting the flag pins on their jerseys and he shakes his head.

         Get it together Diaz, he thinks.

         Once he has the food he takes it back, both relieved and weirdly disappointed he doesn’t see the two guys from before anywhere around.  Eddie shakes it off, walking back to his seats, seeing Chris yelling along with Buck, albeit a moment or two after, taking his cues from the man.

         He laughs, grinning as he slides into his seat and passes them their food.  Christopher immediately starts eating his mini donuts out of the little hard plastic baseball cap they’re sold in.  It was stupidly expensive, but he figured Chris would be excited to keep it as a memento.

         When he looks over to Buck his eyes are on the game, taking his hot dog and putting it to his mouth.  Eddie chuckles as he watches Buck shove far too much of into his mouth before finally biting.  He’s surprise the man doesn’t choke.

         And then his eyes shift sideways towards a guy sitting a seat down from Buck who’s staring at Buck like he wants to devour Him.

         Eddie narrows his eyes at the guy, giving him a royal stink face and once the guy notices he puts his hands up, flushing and turning away in embarrassment.

         A little surge of pride or satisfaction flows through Eddie and he’s not sure why.  He studiously ignores that seeing that guy so openly staring at Buck felt a little like jealousy.

         But that’s stupid.

         So stupid.

         He just didn’t want Buck to feel weird or uncomfortable.

         Not that Buck had even noticed or probably would have, his eyes seem to only go from the game to Christopher, although as he’s staring at Buck, and he can admit he is staring now, the man turns to him and gives him a quizzical look.

         “D’I got sumfing on my face?” Buck says with a too full mouth and Eddie cracks up.

         “Yeah Buck a bit of mustard.”

         Buck wipes at his mouth with his wrist but doesn’t get it.

         “Nope.”

         Again Buck wipes, and once more and neither time does he manage to eradicate the stray topping.          Eddie sighs, taking pity on his idiot best friend and reaches over, swiping his finger over Buck’s chin, his thumb catching for just a moment’ on Buck’s bottom lip and tugging at it.

         It’s only when he meets Buck’s eyes, or rather notices that Buck won’t meet his, cheeks subtly pinking that he realizes that was kind of weird.

         Do friends wipe the other’s mouths?

         Is that a thing bros do?

         God he hopes so.  He really, really hopes that’s a totally normal thing that guys do.

         After that Eddie busies himself with his own food, with Christopher who needs to go to the restroom after a while, and later with grabbing some peanuts from a vendor that’s yelling what he thinks might be a bit more suggestive slogans than is entirely necessary.

         Buck of course has laughed at every one of them which makes Christopher and then Eddie laugh like a domino effect.

         In fact Eddie’s almost forgot about the weirdness of earlier, getting out of his head and just enjoying the game, enjoying this day with what are honestly two of his favorite people.

         And that’s when he hears Christopher squeal between them and he looks down to see Chris frantically pointing up at the big screen.

         “What?”

         “We’re on TV!”

         That makes Buck and Eddie both look up, noticing at the same time what’s currently on the hugest screen in the stadium.

         It’s a camera zoomed in on Eddie and Buck and Christopher, and there’s a big rainbow colored heart overlayed on top of the image that surrounds all three of them.

         Eddie, quite frankly, wants to murder Hen in that moment.

         He turns to Buck and sees him blushing furiously, and he’s at least thankful someone is as embarrassed as he is.

         And then the chanting starts up.

         “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!”  It feels like it’s coming from everywhere all at once, he flicks his head back to the screen and it’s still on them, waiting.

         Oh God it’s waiting for them to kiss.

         For him and Buck,

         To kiss.

         On live TV in front of thousands and thousands of people.

         “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Christopher chants now between them, joining in with the rest of the stadium.  With seemingly the entire world it feels like.

         His eyes turn to Buck and he expects to see that same embarrassment, maybe even anger, but instead Buck just smiles, laughing.

         Then Buck shrugs and grabs Eddie by the front of his jersey, dragging him into a passionate kiss.

         Eddie’s entire world stops, sound rushing out, eyes closed, and it feels like the only thing that exists in the world is Buck’s lips pressed against his, the hand that’s snaked up to cup his cheek.

         Then the sound comes back in like the tides, a roaring crowd clapping and still all he feels is Buck.

         Buck Buck Buck.

         He kisses back, maybe a bit more eagerly than he intends to because this is the best thing he’s felt in years.

         God he forgot how good it felt to kiss someone.

         To kiss someone you really cared about.

         And it’s right as that thought passes through his head that Buck let’s him go, Eddie collapsing into a puddle of goo in his seat.

         Faintly he hears more whoops and catcalls, out of the corner of his eye he sees someone clapping Buck on the shoulder from behind.  Eddie’s mind is having trouble processing hat just happened, he feels like he’s drowning in endorphins though, his stomach bottomed out like he just went on a roller coaster.

         When he can finally move his head he turns to Chris, needing to check on him, to make sure that he isn’t freaking out, but he’s just, sitting there laughing and smiling.

         “Hey daddy!  We were on TV!”

         “Yeah…  Yeah we were kiddo…”

         Eddie feels breathless, he looks over at Buck and notices he’s staring at the field, or trying to anyway, his eyes slide towards him but as soon as he notices Eddie is watching him he casts them back out to the field.

         There’s a blush high on Buck’s cheeks.

         Eddie can’t believe that just happened.

         In fact, by the end of the game, after the fireworks have gone off, to Christopher and Buck’s utter delight, he almost thinks that maybe it was all some kind of dream or trick of his imagination.

         That is until he feels someone tapping him on the shoulder as they’re waiting for some of the crowd to die down before chancing taking Christopher out of the stands.

         “Hey, I thought you should have this.  It turned out really well.”

         The woman is smiling serenely, her hair is graying and she’s got a camera around her neck and another in her other hand.  IN the hand held out to Eddie there’s a photo, one of those instant ones, but a really good quality one he can tell just by glancing at it.

         “Me?” He says, a little confused.

         “Yes, you and your partner and son just looked so…  Adorable, I couldn’t resist,  I hope that’s alright.”

         He takes the proffered photo, and there it is in brilliant color.  Buck kissing Eddie, their lips locked together, a look of utter bliss on both of their faces.  Just beneath them is Chris with his head bent back screaming or laughing, clearly overjoyed.  And in the far back is the big picture on the screen, partially obscured, but just enough to see the opposite angle of them that everyone else saw.

         Eddie’s breath leaves him for a moment and before he can say anything a second woman is at the other’s side.

         She’s about the same age, but her hair is done up differently, or was before the heat of the day had messed with it.

         “We have to go honey or we’ll be stuck in even worse traffic.

         “Alright I’m coming, I just wanted these wonderful boy to have that photo.”

         They leave and all Eddie can do is shout “Thank you!” to them after they’re already halfway up the stairs.

         The woman stops and gives him a little wave before leaving with her partner.

         “Well that…  was a wild game.”

         “Yeah, it really was.”  Buck is smirking now, and since when did Buck’s smirk make Eddie’s mind stop working.

         Probably when he learned what it felt like to be kissed within an inch of his life by Evan Buckley.

         “You have a good game buddy?”  Buck is conversing with Christopher as the rest of the stands empty out into the hallways and lobbies.

         “Best day EVER!!!”  Christopher yells, laughing and smiling.

         Buck and Eddie share a glance, Buck biting his lip, Eddies eyes drawn to them before he breaks away.

         “Well let’s, uh, get going, yeah?”

         “Yeah, yeah.”

         They have to wait in a crazy line just to get out of the stands, and as they’re finally breaking into the main area he spots the same vendor from before, or just another selling the same things, he can’t be certain.

         His eyes catch on the pins again and his mind is chanting at him not to do this, that it’s stupid, that he can’t take this back if he does it. But his heart is just aching to touch the one from before.  

         “Can I have one of these?”

         “Which one you want?”

         Eddie turns, sees Buck coming towards him carrying a dozing Christopher who’s worn out by now.

         “The, uh, the bisexual one?”  Eddie’s certain his voice raises two octaves as he says it, but he doesn’t back down.  His eyes meet Buck’s and there’s recognition there, but no reproach, no disgust.

         Buck stands besides him, their eyes locked on each other, and as the man’s reaching for the pin Buck says “can you make that two Bisexual pins?”

         Eddie feels a grin splitting his lips.

         Buck smiles at him, and he realizes it’s one he’s never seen before.  It’s shy, private.

         Just for him.

         And really, the fact he knows Buck’s different smiles maybe should have clued him into some things before this.

         Buck puts the pin on Eddie’s shirt, and Eddie puts the pin he bought on Buck’s baseball cap.  He’s reminded of the two men that he saw before doing a similar ritual and he can’t help but smile.

         When they walk out of the baseball stadium they look like any other family there.

         Right down to their interlocked hands as they head to the car.

[persephonesfill]

miss you on my lips

a/n: okay I literally have no idea what this is. i started it in january of 20 fucking 19, and i’m finishing it 15 months later. shit happened. this is super self-indulgent and nsfk so if you’re under 18 please do not click on this fic. 

summary: When Steve leaves Stark Tower on a solo mission, Bucky and Tony find a way to pass the time until their Captain comes home.

ship(s): steve rogers/tony stark, steve rogers/james bucky barnes, james bucky barnes/tony stark, steve rogers/james bucky barnes/tony stark

rating: explicit

warning(s): light angst, heavy smut 

word count: 7,488

—————

Bucky seldom slept on the nights Steve was missing from their bed. Both he and Tony had their ways of coping. Tony, ever the mother hen, would spend every waking moment in his workshop. He either worked on gear for himself or whoever was missing from their weird haphazard family.

"I can't help it, Buck," he had said, eyeing Bucky with those ridiculous doe eyes of his when Bucky had tried to convince him to get some sleep. "Keeping them safe keeps me going."

It had taken all of Bucky's strength not to sigh and bury his face in his hands. How he of all people had ended up with not one but two reckless boyfriends was beyond him. 

Keeping the sigh but omitting the facepalm, Bucky had just pulled the smaller man into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, tucking it under his chin. "But who's keeping you all safe and healthy, huh? As much as I love DUM-E, he nearly gives you food poisoning once a week."

The aforementioned robot let out an affronted whir.

"DUM-E, language! What would Steve say?"

DUM-E had whirred again, this one long and low. It seemed like Bucky and Tony weren't the only ones missing Steve.

"Steve would say eat something and go to bed, Bambi," Bucky mumbled into his dark curling hair. This close, Bucky could smell motor oil and metal. It shouldn't have been so appealing, but it was so Tony. The strands of hair tickled his nose. Tony would need a haircut soon, although Bucky liked it like this; all warm brown waves and softness. He preferred this look over the gelled swoop he would don when he had to put on what Bucky and Steve had dubbed Tony's Media Mask™️.

"Seeing as Steve doesn't call me ‘Bambi’, I have a hard time believing you, Buckaroo."

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "Yes, he does. We both do. Those eyes of yours are dangerous, Bambi. All wide and innocent."

Tony twisted around from where Bucky had cornered him against his work-station, turned said dangerous eyes on him, and Bucky had melted. He had it bad, didn't he? One look and Tony had him wrapped around his finger.

Rolling his eyes, although Bucky could see him holding back a smile, Tony had just pecked Bucky on the lips. Tony had sent him on his merry way out of his workshop with a cheeky, "I'm anything but innocent, Barnes."

And that's how Bucky found himself pulling a Steve by demolishing punching bag after punching bag in the communal gym. He let the tension and worry from the previous week flow out of his body and into the rough canvas of the punching bag. Sometimes he did feel a bit silly. It wasn't like Steve was missing or on the run or God-forbid, dead. He was just on a solo mission, something they all had gone on too many times to count, and they had all returned home fine.

Bucky remembered mid-punch that this was Steve he was worried about, who always seemed to pick a fight with someone twice as big as him in the 40s. Decades in the ice hadn't changed that about him. Bucky frowned. He wasn't sure whether to be worried or proud. Super soldier serum or not, Bucky had the right to worry about his boyfriend.

Bucky ended up going through three punching bags by the time he was done.

Someone let out a long low whistle that echoed in the near-empty gym.

"Tony's going to have his hands full," Natalia, no Natasha, said, emerging from the sidelines into the light of the gymnasium. He hated himself for still calling her by the wrong name. Natalia was a reminder of both their bloody pasts. Pasts they'd both been trying their hardest to atone for. He understood her need for a new name, a new identity. During field missions, Bucky himself refused to be called "Winter Soldier." He found he was a fan of "White Wolf" these days.

Bucky looked her over. She was dressed in casual attire that she had lifted off the rest of them. The AC/DC shirt was clearly Tony's and judging by the way the grey hoodie she wore flooded her torso, that had to be Steve's. It looked like he and Tony weren't the only ones who missed him.  Bucky wasn't surprised. Natasha wasn't vocal about it, but she cared about the team as much as they cared about her.

"Something plaguing your mind, Barnes?" she said, leaning against the wall looking to be without a care in the world. "Missing a certain super soldier?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and began to unwind the wrist wraps from his hands. "Tony will be fine. It'll give him something to do. You know he likes to keep busy," he said, ignoring her questions.

Bucky tossed the wraps into a trash can on his way out of the gym, Natasha not far behind him. "Any reason why you're keen on being my shadow?" he asked.

"Oh, no reason," she said, sidling up to him, "just waiting for you to thank me."

Arching a brow, he said, "For what? As far as I know, you haven't done anything for me recently."

"Except bring Steve home early."

Bucky froze. "What?"

"I may or may not have cashed in a few favors with Fury and got him to send someone to take over Steve's mission. You're welcome, by the way."

He blinked. "Why would you—"

Rolling her eyes, Natasha said, "Your and Tony's pining was affecting the morale."

"We weren't pining—"

"You were pining. Full-on longing sighs and gazing off into the distance, the works," Natasha's eyes glittered with mischief that would have been out of place had he not known her as well as he did. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Barnes."

"...Thanks, Nat."

"No problem," Natasha said.

The two of them settled into a comfortable silence while heading towards the elevator at the end of the hall. At the press of a button, the elevator appeared with a soft ding, announcing its arrival. They boarded the elevator, and it wasn't long before Natasha was exiting the elevator on her own personal floor.

"Hey, Barnes, keep it down when you tell Tony, will you? Some of us actually want to get some sleep tonight," she said. Her lips curled upward in a subtle grin.

Fighting back a flush, Bucky said pointedly, "Good night, Nat." They weren't that loud.

Her lilting laugh followed him all the way up to the penthouse.

Bucky sighed as he took in the vacant penthouse suite. Tony was probably still tinkering in his workshop.

"FRIDAY?" He called as he headed into the kitchenette for a much-needed glass of water. "Is Tony still in his workshop?"

"Boss is currently arguing with DUM-E in his workshop, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky chuckled. "What did DUM-E do?"

"DUM-E got worried when the boss fell asleep at his workbench and figured the best way to wake him up would be to spray him with the fire extinguisher." Bucky could have sworn he had detected some amusement in FRIDAY's voice. He filled a glass with tap water and took a long, grateful swallow, sating his thirst.

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes."

Bucky's eyes darted to the staircase from which Tony had emerged. Not that he had doubted FRIDAY's words when she said DUM-E had tried to wake Tony up, but the sight that stood before him nearly made him spit out his water. Bucky could barely see his boyfriend's face beneath the mountain of foam that cloaked his body.

Two brown eyes blinked at him through the foam. "What?" Tony said. "Is there something on my face?"

At that, Bucky had to laugh. A full-bellied laugh that had him doubling over. "Aw, Bambi, what happened?" he said between fits of laughter.

Stomping his foot, Tony said, "I told you not to call me that! I'm not a deer." A dollop of foam slid from his shoulder. It landed on the ground with an audible splat that sent Bucky into another bout of laughter.

"Oh, yuck it up. The next time you come home looking ridiculous, I have full permission to laugh my ass off at you."

Tony placed his hands on his hips in what was no doubt supposed to be an authoritative gesture. Seeing as his boyfriend stood at 5'9" and currently looked like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, Bucky had a hard time keeping a straight face. "Duly noted," Bucky grinned.

Tony pointed a finger at him. "I'm holding you to that!"

"You have my word. Scout's honor."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm going to shower, and when I get back, I expect you to be groveling on your knees."

Bucky licked his lips. "Oh, sweetheart, I will gladly get on my knees for you." Despite his well-earned reputation as a playboy, Bucky just knew the genius was cherry red underneath all that foam. Good.

"You, my friend," Tony began, once again pointing an accusing finger at him, "are a dangerous man who's gonna drive me to an early grave. I'm going to shower," he repeated.

"I—"

"Alone!"

Despite Tony's claims later on, he did not pout, he glowered. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I know you, honey. That's all I needed," and with that Tony, as dignified as he could, anyway, strutted to their bedroom. Their door locked with a distinct click.

Bucky smirked. It would take much more than a locked door to keep him out, but he'd figure he'd let his boyfriend have his free time.

As soon as Tony stepped out of the shower, he would do what he had promised and gladly get on his knees. Or maybe Tony would surprise him. For now, Bucky would have to entertain himself some other way. 

—————

Bucky sat on the couch, in a clean plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, having ditched the sweat-soaked pair earlier. With his hair pulled up into a messy bun, and his feet propped up on their coffee table, he was the epitome of comfort. One arm draped over the sofa, the other holding the tv remote, Bucky flipped through the channels, looking for nothing in particular. His mind was elsewhere. Mainly occupied with thoughts of Tony, naked, in the shower, his body lathered in soapy bubbles and hot water sluicing down his firm back—

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jerking him out of his fantasy. A bit miffed that his fantasy had been interrupted, Bucky answered the call, practically growling out a "What?" These days he wasn't too concerned with propriety, and anyone who had this number was someone he trusted completely and wouldn't be bothered by the occasional curt greeting.

"Hello to you too, jerk."

It was unbelievable how quickly Bucky perked up when he heard that familiar voice. "Stevie?"

"The one and only."

"Are you on your way back already?"

Steve's voice grew sulky. "Aw, who told you?"

"Nat let it slip today while I was...training."

"You mean she ambushed you while you were destroying punching bags in the gym."

"How did—"

"You get aggressive when you're over-protective."

"I wouldn't be over-protective if you actually had a sense of self-preservation," Bucky retorted, his face going red. So he may have had a few mother hen tendencies. To be fair, Steve had the self-preservation skills of a sloth.

"You jump from a plane without a parachute once, and suddenly everyone thinks you don't care about your life."

Before Bucky could call bullshit on Steve—he had seen Steve leap from a plane without a parachute countless times both during the war and in the present—the words died in his mouth.

Tony, fucking Tony, had re-appeared fresh and clean from the shower, dressed in a tight black tank top that showed off the understated strength of his arms and dark grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair, still wet from the shower, fell in messy waves as if he had recently run his hands through it.

"Buck? You still there?"

Tony put a finger to his lips as if to shush him.

Bucky wasn't sure what he was playing at, but judging by the smirk gracing Tony's features, he'd get a nice reward if he played along. Game on, then.

Bucky swallowed before saying, "Yeah, I'm here. Got distracted by the tv."

Tony's smirk turned into a full-blown grin, and the asshole strutted to where Bucky sat on the couch. How was it possible for someone to look that attractive in a tank top and sweatpants?

"Am I boring you, Barnes?" Steve asked with a teasing note in his voice.

"Of course not, Rogers," he replied. At the same time, his eyes greedily took in the sight of Tony's approaching form and found himself with a lapful of a tempting genius (not that Bucky was complaining). "What time do you think you'll make it back?"

"Hold on." There was a brief pause. "Around 2 am."

And of course, Tony decided that would be the perfect time to grind his hips down against Bucky. A small hiss escaped Bucky's mouth at the sudden but fleeting pleasure of friction against his groin.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve said, the playfulness from earlier leaving his tone only to be replaced with worry.

Tony grinned wickedly and repeated the action, his lean arms winding around Bucky's neck.

"Yeah, Stevie, I'm fine. Just stubbed my toe," he said, the lie coming quickly to him.

"It didn't sound like you stubbed your toe."

"Really," Bucky replied. "I'm fine. Just missing you," he said, his voice growing quieter at the end.

"Miss you, too, Buck," Steve replied, sounding forlorn even through the phone. "How's Bambi?"

At the mention of the moniker, Tony narrowed his eyes.

"Being a brat. Like usual."

"I'm not a brat," Tony muttered and leaned in to nuzzle at Bucky's neck.

Bucky closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He savored the feeling of Tony's mouth, soft and burning against his own skin.

"Is he there with you?"

Bucky had a hard time responding as Tony had decided that was the perfect time for his hands to wander. The genius' talented, nimble hands crept under Bucky's shirt, tracing lines along the muscled planes of his stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Tony pulled back from Bucky's neck and shook his head, his dark eyes wide and pleading.

"No," Bucky responded, playing along. His free hand settled on Tony's hip and squeezed. He smelled like Steve's body wash; pine and ocean brine. "He's shut up in his workshop."

Bucky could hear the fond exasperation in Steve's voice when he replied. "Of course, he is. Has he been sleeping? Eating?"

"Oh, I'm about to eat something," Tony said, earning a pinch on his ass from Bucky. The little yelp that escaped from Tony's mouth made Bucky grin.

Fear (and if he was being honest, a little bit of excitement) lanced through him, leaving him on edge; he had annoyed Tony, and Tony was going to retaliate. Bucky loved when Tony retaliated. Unbidden, his mind flashed to when he had been offered a scouting mission in Ukraine while in the middle of giving Tony a blowjob. Bucky had been ecstatic at the time, with it being one of the first missions SHIELD had cleared him for after his lengthy recovery post-HYDRA. In his excitement, though, he had left Tony in the dust. Luckily, he had a sweet and understanding boyfriend who had cuffed him to the bed when he got back and sucked Bucky off to his heart's content. That had been a good day.

"If you count motor-oil smoothies as food, then yes, he's been eating," Bucky said, eyeing Tony with a heated gaze as he slid off from his lap with all the grace of a panther and onto his knees.

The mere sight of Tony on his knees, looking up at Bucky from beneath his long, dark lashes, set his blood alight. The only way it could have been better was if Steve were right beside him.

Steve's sigh echoed in Bucky's ear. "As soon as I get home, I'm handcuffing him to the bed."

Had he been a more conscientious man, Bucky would have been ashamed at how much the thought of Tony tied up excited him. Instead, he was just horny; his cock had gone from semi-hard to full hardness in a matter of seconds, and his sweatpants erred on the side of just too tight. That familiar hot coil of arousal pooled in his groin.

As if he had read his mind, Tony's hands reached up and tugged at the waistband of Bucky's sweatpants.

"Something tells me that he'd like that, Stevie," Bucky said, his voice sounding a bit breathless to his own ears. He lifted his hips up just enough so Tony could work his pants down past his hips and to his thighs. Bucky damn near sighed in relief as his cock escaped the confines of his pants. "No boxers?" Tony mouthed, raising a brow.

Bucky shrugged. He liked to be comfortable, sue him.

"I didn't mean it like that, Buck," Steve said, although Bucky could hear the hint of interest in his voice.

"But Tony'd look so nice," Bucky replied, looking down at Tony. "All spread out like a centerfold." Tony's eyes were black as pitch as one of his hands encircled Bucky's cock. His grip was on the edge of too loose, making Bucky pulse with need in Tony's hands. "Oh fuck," he groaned. Pre-come beaded at the slit of his cock.

"Bucky…" Steve said, his voice a pitch or two lower. "Where's Tony right now? For real?"

Tony didn't turn his puppy dog eyes onto him like Bucky thought he would. Whatever game Steve wanted to play intrigued Tony more than the one they were already playing. He just stared at him, the picture of sweet innocence, his eyes wide and shining.

"On his knees," Bucky said. His eyes fluttered shut as Tony slowly, almost lazily, began to stroke his cock. "Bein' a fuckin' tease," he said, a bit of Brooklyn slipping into his words. His accent always made an appearance when he was horny. It drove Tony wild.

Bucky heard Steve's breath hitch and a rustling movement. "...Put me on speaker," Steve said, his voice louder than before.

Bucky's fingers fumbled with his phone in his excitement, but he managed. "Okay," he said. "You're on speaker."

"Tony? Baby, can you hear me?"

Tony visibly perked up at the sound of Steve's voice. "Loud and clear, Captain."

Steve sucked in a breath, and Bucky had to stifle a chuckle. He knew just how much Steve liked it when one of them pulled rank on him in the bedroom. Not that Bucky was any better. One "sarge" from Tony or Steve had him dropping his pants then and there. "Good," Steve said. Something dark and delightfully dangerous drifted down Bucky's spine at the commanding tone in his voice; he loved when Steve used his Cap voice in bed. Or on the helicarrier. Or in the kitchen. Or—

"I want you to do me a favor," Steve continued, startling Bucky out of his revelry.

"Hmm," Tony said, his thumb swiping over the head of Bucky's cock, collecting some of the pre-come that had gathered there. A trill of pleasure ran down Bucky's spine. "Depends on what it is. I'm a little preoccupied."

"Preoccupied?"

"Building robots, giving blowjobs, the usual."

Steve chuckled. "Then, lucky for you, our interests align."

"Color me intrigued," Tony replied. "What have you got in mind, Captain?"

"You're playin' with Bucky, aren't you, baby?" Some of Brooklyn had slipped back into Steve as well.

"Yes," Tony said, his voice savoring the word. "He was being mean. So I decided to be mean back."

"Wasn't bein' mean," Bucky grumbled, but there was no heat in his words. "Just thought you looked cute is all. You shoulda seen him, Stevie. Head to toe covered in foam."

"DUM-E?"

"DUM-E," Bucky said in affirmation.

"It wasn't cute," Tony said, huffing. "I looked like I had a severe case of rabies."

"So, Bucky was bein' mean," Steve said.

"Don't take his side," Bucky interjected.

"I think I will, Buck."

Bucky couldn't decide whether or not he liked the dark note Steve's voice had taken on.  

"Tell me what you've already done to Bucky, sweetheart," Steve said. "And I'll go from there."

"I ground on his lap," Tony said, his voice going low. "Got him all hot and hard the way he likes. Then I slid his pants down, Captain."

"No underwear, right?"

"None," Tony said.

"Fuckin' naughty, Buck."

"Don't pretend like you don't love it," Bucky drawled, unashamed. "Easy access, ain't it?"

"Keep goin', Tony."

"You should see him, Steve," Tony said. "He's so hard and ready for me, he's practically leaking."

Maybe Bucky should have been embarrassed, but he found it hard to be bashful when it was the truth. His boyfriends were hot; of course his body was going to react the way it did. And something...something about the wet, slick sound of Tony's hand pumping his cock just wound him up even more.

"Sounds like you got a head start. Here's what I want you to do for me. Are you listenin', baby?"

"Yes, sir."

It was the sir that got Bucky, his flesh hand wrapping around Tony's and forcing him to speed up his pace. A steady tangle of lust had built up inside of him, and fuck, he was ready to let it go.

"I want you to get FRIDAY to stream this to my phone."

Oh, fuck yes. Phone sex was always fun, but Steve watching them and ordering them around from the helicarrier where anyone could hear or see? It turned him on more than it probably should have.

Clint had always called the three of them exhibitionists after one too many unfortunate (for him anyway) times he had walked in on them macking on each other in public.

"Done," Tony said. "FRIDAY, if you please?"

"Already on it, boss," FRIDAY replied, and was that...was that embarrassment in her voice? Could she even feel embarrassment?

"Perfect," Steve said, bringing Bucky's mind away from the complications of the emotions of AI, and back to the present. "You two look fuckin' gorgeous."

"We'd look better with you here," Bucky said.

"Soon," Steve said. "Now, Tony, I want you to let go of Bucky's cock."

Bucky nearly let out a whine. "Stevie, I—"

"Aw, Buck, you look good when you're frustrated. Your cock's so fuckin' red."

"Because I need to fuckin' come."

"You'll come when I let you."

Tony, listening to Steve's orders (for once), let go of Bucky's cock although he looked wroth to do it.

Tony's eyes had glazed over, Steve's commands washing over him and sinking him into that special place that only Steve and Bucky could send him to.

"Kiss him," Steve said. His tone left no room for argument. "Shut him up, Tony."

Tony rose gracefully from his knees and reclaimed his proper place on Bucky's lap.

"You heard the man." Bucky swallowed, throat tight all of a sudden. "You gonna shut me up, doll?"

A wicked smile crossed Tony's face. "If you're quiet by the time I'm done with you, I'm obviously doing something wrong."

And with that, Tony leaned in. Bucky met him halfway, dropping his phone in the process, not that it mattered. Thanks to FRIDAY, Steve had a crystal clear view of them.

Bucky loved kissing Tony. It was one of his favorite things to do, right up there with bugging Sam, sparring with Natasha, and kissing Steve.

Tony kissed like he did everything else; without a care in the world. As if it came as naturally to him as breathing or blinking. He knew exactly when to spur on the kiss, pressing his lips incessantly against Bucky's, his hands reaching up to tug Bucky's hair from its bun. The tips of his hair brushed against his shoulders. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but he wasn't quite ready to let go of the way Tony's fingers carded through the silky strands.

Bucky broke the kiss briefly just to tug insistently at Tony's tank top. Tony complied, lifting his arms up. As soon as the tank was over his head and off, Bucky threw it behind him, not caring where it landed. They'd find it later.

Bucky's cock was harder than ever, all hot and slick with pre-come where it rested in between him and Tony's abs.

He wanted Tony to suck him down. He wanted to turn Tony over onto his knees and eat him out until he begged for mercy. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.

Bucky slipped his tongue into Tony's mouth and sought out Tony's. They met with a hot slide of flesh against flesh. Tony tasted clean and minty, from his time in the shower. There was something behind the toothpaste as well, something that reminded him uniquely of Tony. Moaning into his mouth, Tony's clever fingers tugged at Bucky's hair until he growled and nipped Tony's lip in response. His hands slid up Tony's thighs, riding up until he was cupping Tony's ass in his hands. He squeezed and kneaded at Tony's ass exactly the way the genius liked it, rough, yet teasing, until Tony was practically whining.

"Enough playin' around," Steve's voice came from overhead. FRIDAY had probably wired it over once she had realized that there was no chance Bucky was going to pick his phone back up again. "Sweetheart, you know what to do."

Tony pulled away from Bucky's lips, a thin string of saliva connecting them. Bucky wanted to close the gap between them and kiss Tony until he was breathless some more, but Steve apparently had other plans. Other plans that Tony was aware of.

Tony kissed Bucky's nose, the corner of his mouth, working his way down until he was at Bucky's neck. Usually, Bucky and Steve were the ones to mark up Tony's neck, but he wasn't opposed to a little bit of role reversal. Especially when Tony would nip at his neck and soothe the mark by running his tongue over it. His heart drummed in his chest so loud, Bucky swore he could hear it, as Tony made his way down, down, down, until he was leaving marks at Bucky's collarbones.

"It's a shame these are going to be gone by morning," Tony murmured, his hands leaving Bucky's hair to pull at the edges of his tank top. Following his lead, Bucky let go of Tony's ass and lifted his arms above his head, his tank top quickly following.

"You'll just have to leave some more in the mornin'," Bucky said, his voice hoarse. Tony kissed his way down Bucky's chest, pausing to take one of his nipples into his mouth.

Tony was talented with his tongue, there was no doubt about that, as he worked Bucky over just as well as any machine down in his workshop. While his mouth worshipped one nipple, Tony lavished the other with attention with his (fucking wonderful) hands; he pinched and rolled Bucky's nipple, sending unfamiliar, yet welcome, sparks of pleasure down his chest and straight to his groin.

Tony made his way to the crux in between Bucky's thighs. The sight of the great, indomitable Tony Stark on his knees, lips red and kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide, and his dark, curling hair, made even more of a mess, did something to Bucky inside. Only he and Steve got to see Tony like this. Tony had chosen them, had granted them the gift of seeing him in such a vulnerable state. Equal parts love and lust swelled inside of him to the point of bursting. He hoped that this would be a sight that he would see until the end of his days. If there was an afterlife, for people like the likes of them, he wanted it to be exactly like this.

Bucky watched with bated breath as Tony pressed kisses to the muscles of his thighs until his mouth was hovering over his cock. Given the look of determination and longing in Tony's eyes, he half-expected him to give up their little game and take Bucky down to the base of his cock, but that wasn't the case. His genius was waiting for something. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Take him into your mouth," Steve said.

"Please, Tony," Bucky said, not even trying to hide the whine in his voice. Dignity was overrated when you were so close to coming.

A light pink tongue darted out and licked at the head of Bucky's cock, slowly, as if Tony were savoring the taste.

"All the way," Steve said, his voice a low growl at this point. He sounded just as wound up as Bucky.

Tony chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over Bucky's cock. Bucky shivered. His cock was flushed to the extreme, and damn near twitching. A steady stream of pre-come leaked from his slit, a droplet tracing a phantom trail all the way down to his balls.

"Since you asked so nicely," Tony teased and took the head of Bucky's cock into his mouth.

A groan escaped the lips of both Bucky and Steve, and Bucky just knew that the other man was probably stroking his own cock in some alcove on the helicarrier. Tony licked at the trail of pre-come, massaging Bucky's cock with his tongue from the head all the way to the base.

"That's it, Tony," Steve said. "Fuck, you look so good with a cock in that smart mouth of yours. Why don't you go ahead and touch yourself for us, hm?"

Tony reached down and worked his sweatpants down with one hand, the other too busy gripping Bucky's thigh as he bobbed his head. Bucky threw his head back against the couch, basking in the pleasure. His senses were under assault; Steve's wrecked voice, the tight, hot, wetness of Tony's mouth, the smell of sex and sweat, and Steve's body wash, all had him ready to burst in record time.

Tony moaned when his hand had settled into a nice rhythm, the vibrations traveling straight to Bucky's groin. His flesh hand settled on the base of Tony's neck and pushed him down until his nose was flush with Bucky's stomach.

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, his fingers knotting into Tony's hair.

"Go ahead and fuck his mouth, Buck," Steve said, all quick and breathless. "He can take it."

Tony moaned once more, and with that Bucky let go, bucking his hips upward into Tony's mouth. He nearly came apart when he hit Tony's throat because instead of gagging, Tony took him in stride and swallowed around him. So Bucky did it again. And again. And again. Because Tony took it so fucking well as if his purpose in life was to suck Bucky's cock like his life depended on it.

Bucky decided to chance it and look down at Tony. Tony was stroking his own dick slowly, intent on savoring the moment; he didn't have an out of this world libido like the likes of Bucky and Steve, who were good for three rounds at least in one night. God, Tony was...Tony was a fucking wreck; his pink lips stretched around the base of Bucky's dick, as spit dribbled from his mouth. His eyes shone like the pavement after a storm, all wet with unshed tears. It was the look of utter bliss in his black eyes that had Bucky coming with a curse on the tip of his tongue. Tony's lips stayed wrapped around him, swallowing his load with the kind of ease that only came with practice. Bucky pulled out of Tony's mouth, spent but still hard enough to cut diamonds. That first orgasm was enough to sate the burn of arousal in his mind. Now...now he was ready for the main course.

In one quick motion, Bucky leaned forward and seized Tony's face, pulling him into a searing kiss. Tony's gasp of surprise morphed into a moan once Bucky's tongue invaded his mouth. Fuck, he could taste himself on Tony's tongue. It shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did.

"Pants. Off. Now," he growled once the need for air won out against his arousal. "Or I'm rippin' 'em off."

"You sound a little worked up," Steve said. The amusement in his voice was audible.

"Oh, trust me, Rogers, as soon as you get back, you're gettin' the same treatment."

"Shakin' in my boots, Buck."

"Fuck you."

"When I get back," Steve shot back."Why don't you and Tony show me what I'm missin'? You heard him, sweetheart. Pants off."  

"You've been all sorts of bossy today, Captain," Tony said but made quick work of his sweatpants, pushing them down the remainder of his legs and kicking them off.

"I don't hear you complainin'," Steve said. "As a matter of fact, I think you love it, Tones."

"What can I say?" Tony said, stalking closer to Bucky, limbs all loose and languid despite having been kneeling for a considerable amount of time. Sometimes Bucky was amazed at just how much Tony could take. "I'm a simple man with simple tastes."

Tony seated himself on Bucky's lap for what had to be the umpteenth time that night. Tony's skin burned against his. His hands seized Tony like he was going to vanish into thin air if he didn't have a hold on him. "I see a handsome super soldier, I take him for a ride." Tony ground down against Bucky's lap, their cocks bumping together, making both of them gasp.

The friction was dizzying, addictive, as Tony did it again and again until both of their cocks were smeared with pre-come. The slickness made it all the better. Bucky could have come just like that, spilling all over Tony's thighs. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of coming inside Tony instead.

"Lube," Bucky breathed before his need to rut against Tony distracted him.

"No need," Tony said.

His confusion must have shown because Tony took his hand and guided it down, down, down to the cleft of Tony's ass. When his fingers brushed over something hard, it left both him and Steve swearing; Tony had worked a plug into himself.

Growling, Bucky pressed on the plug, working it deeper into Tony until he cried out, his hands flying up to clutch at Bucky like his life depended on it.

"You fuckin' minx," he said. "I mean it, one of these days I'm gonna cuff you to the bed, doll, and I'm going to show you just how bossy Stevie and I can be."

"Later," Tony said, throwing him an earnest look that showed Bucky he meant it. "Right now, I just want you to fuck me. Come on, handsome, let's put on a good show for Steve."

"Come on, Buck," Steve jumped in. "I'm so close."

Saying nothing, Bucky instead worked the plug out of Tony, only to replace it with two of his fingers. Tony yelped at the sudden intrusion.

Bucky cursed; Tony was so already so hot and wet around his fingers. He didn't think he'd be able to last that long in Tony's ass. All the more reason to have a round two. He worked his fingers into Tony's entrance, withdrawing every time he came close to Tony's prostate. He savored every little whimper, every whine that fluttered forth from Tony's lips like it was the sweetest song he had ever heard.

"Not so fun on your end, is it?" he smirked.

"B-bastard!" Right at that moment, Bucky drove his fingers into Tony's hole and curled them into a come-hither motion that had Tony squealing.

"What was that, doll? Couldn't hear it over your whinin'."

"Bucky, please."

"What was that you said to Stevie earlier?" Bucky said, ignoring Tony's pleas. "I was bein' mean?"

"You're such an asshole," Tony said without any heat.

"Am I still bein' mean, Bambi?" Bucky said, stilling his fingers.

"Yes! Just fuck me already!"

Tired of teasing (for now at least), Bucky pulled his fingers out of Tony and wasted no time sinking his cock into the depths of Tony, condom be damned. It's not like they truly needed one in the first place with the serum eradicating any and all diseases for him and Steve. Tony had been strictly monogamous, ever since his relationship with Pepper. Gone were the days of the billionaire playboy version of Tony Stark. He could still fuck like one, though.

Tony was still tight around Bucky despite having the plug and Bucky's fingers up his ass. Bucky went slow for his sake, easing into him, inch by inch.

"Fucking hell," Tony said. "You're so fucking big, Sarge, I can hardly take it."

"You can," Bucky growled. "That hasn't stopped you before, baby." It took all of Bucky's willpower not to come the second he had entered Tony. He knew he wouldn't last long, given how long it had been since the last time they had fucked paired with the thorough teasing and blowjob he had received from Tony earlier. "Fuck, I missed seeing you like this. Tell me you got a good angle, Stevie."

"A fuckin' superb angle," Steve said, sounding as wild as Bucky felt. "You're splittin' him open, Buck. Now go ahead and fuck him. You know he can take it."

Bucky didn't mind following orders as long as Steve was the one giving them. Tony lifted his hips in compliance until just the tip of Bucky's cock was still inside of him. When Tony sunk back down, throwing his hips back, Bucky rocked into him, aiming for his prostate.

Tony's moan sounded like it was punched out of him by the force of Bucky's thrust.  

"Again," Steve ordered.

"Fuck, Steve," Tony whimpered. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"Not tryin' to kill you, sweetheart," Steve said. "I'm tryin' to make you feel alive. And Bucky's helpin' me, aren't you, Buck?"

"Damn right," Bucky said. He bucked his hips into Tony's at the end of his sentence. "Tryin' to light a fire inside you, doll."

"Is that so?" Tony's breath was warm against Bucky's ear, making the hairs on his neck stand up.

It was as if every nerve in Bucky's body had been set aflame. He was so hot. Sweat clung to his temples, slicking his skin.

Bucky's hands sought out Tony's ass as he began to thrust into him, keeping a steady pace. "Yes," he hissed when Tony started to rock his hips in time with Bucky. "You always make us feel good. Wanna make you feel good, too."

They had slipped into a steady rhythm, Bucky's hips working in tandem with Tony's like they were made for it. Bucky savored the little gasps and moans he could fuck out of Tony with each thrust of his hips. He even made it a little game for himself, switching the angle of his thrusts, slowing down or speeding up his pace, and seeing what other sounds he could get him to make. He especially loved the sound Tony made when Bucky's palm connected with the flesh of Tony's ass with a loud, satisfying smack. Tony dropped his head into the crook of Bucky's neck, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along the length of Bucky's throat.  He refreshed the previous hickeys he had left earlier, and no doubt added a few new ones.

Bucky did it again, this time on Tony's thigh, the slap sounding loud and perfect to Bucky's ears.

"I'm gonna come," Steve ground out. "Fuck, I'm gonna come all over my fuckin' hands."

"Wish I was there," Tony keened, looking up from Bucky's neck. "I'd lick it off your fingers one by one."

"I know you would. You'd do fuckin' anything for me, sweetheart." The way Steve said it, Bucky knew it wasn't a question. Tony would do anything for Steve. And Steve would do anything for him.

"God, Cap, I want to come with you," Tony said, riding Bucky in earnest now. Bucky tilted his hips ever so slightly, and he was sliding deeper into Tony than he had ever been. Tony was full-on shouting now as his ass slapped against Bucky's thighs with each thrust. If the rest of the tower didn't know what they were doing before, they sure as hell knew now.

One hand leaving Tony's hips, he steered Tony's mouth toward his, slotting their mouths together in a sloppy, bruising kiss, if one could even call it that. With his other hand, he took Tony's leaking cock into his hands, jerking him with practiced ease, greedily swallowing each of Tony's moans. Tony came with a muffled shout, spilling wetly over Bucky's hands and thighs. Amid his ecstasy, Tony pulled at Bucky's hair, and that was it for him. He thrust upwards into Tony, relishing in the tight clenching heat of him, as electricity zipped through his veins. He spilled into Tony, nearly whimpering at the vice-like grip on his spent cock. His blood, his very soul, had been set alight.

Tony was the one who broke their feverish kiss; instead, he settled for light, loving pecks all over Bucky's face. A wave of exhaustion slammed into Bucky like a battering ram. His body was all loose and languid; he knew if he were to try to stand, he'd risk crumpling to his knees like a puppet. He held onto Tony and tried to catch his breath. His hair clung to the nape of his neck, damp with sweat.

"I love you," Bucky said. He pressed a sloppy kiss to Tony's temple.

"Can't talk," Tony mumbled. "I'm dead. You and Steve killed me." He hummed in content when Bucky started to card his fingers through his hair.

"I'm only 50 percent responsible," Steve chimed in. "I'm not even there."

"I know," Tony pouted. Bucky wanted to kiss it away. He wanted Steve to help him. "I wish I could just teleport you here. Actually—" Tony began to stir.

Bucky pulled the genius close to his chest, ignoring the mess of come and sweat that was swiftly starting to dry on their skin. They would just have to shower later, and Bucky never turned down a chance at a joint shower with one of his favorite men. "Oh no, you don't, boy wonder."

"I'm with Buck," Steve said. "I'll get there the old fashioned way."

"The old-fashioned way is boring. And slow. I need you here, yesterday, Cap. I need both my boys with me."

Something in Steve's voice softened. "I'll see if they can speed up the flight a bit."

"Thank you, Stevie," Bucky said. "It's been hell without you. Even just hearin' your voice has us going crazy."

"I've been thinkin', Bucky," Steve said. "We deserve a vacation. All three of us."

Tony hummed. "A vacation sounds nice. Somewhere warm. With a beach."

"Somewhere with a lot of culture, too," Bucky added. "Art galleries for Steve."

"And good food for you, Buck," Steve finished.

"I hear Barcelona is nice this time of year," Tony said.

"We can hash out the details when I get home," Steve said. "...And I missed you both, too. Why is it always so hard?"

"That's what she said," Tony said under his breath. Bucky flicked him on his ear, earning himself a patented Tony Stark Death Stare™.

"Quit being a dork," Bucky chided.

"Make me, Sarge."

"Stevie, I don't care if you fuckin' break the sound barrier speeding home. Hurry up and come home before I tie Tony up for real."

Steve's answering chuckle washed over him like a wave. "I'll try and make it for round two," he said.

"We'll be waiting," Tony said, and with that, the call was over all too soon. Immediately, Bucky was overcome with longing.

"I miss him, too," Tony said.

"At least he's comin' home early. That's all we can ask for, right?"

Tony shrugged. "If you had let me look into teleportation like I wanted to—"

"Absolutely not."

"You guys are no fun," Tony replied. "Leave it to me to fall in love with two crotchety old men."

"Crotchety, eh?" Bucky asked, rolling his hips, with fluid ease. Round two was looking more and more appealing.

Tony's breath hitched. "Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna shower—"

"Together?"

"Of course," Tony said, not missing a beat. "Get each other all soapy and wet, and hopefully by the time we get out, Steve will be here. Then both of you can show me how young and virile you are."

"Then we plan our vacation?"

"Nap then, vacation planning."

"You're on, doll."

[0idril0]

Seizure

I’ve been dealing with a lot at home (divorce, moving, depression, etc), so it’s been hard to write, I’m hoping I’m about to be able to get back to normal soon. Thanks @whumpywhumper and @voidwhump and @captivity-whump beta reading this 💗(I’ve needed a lot of help y’all, seriously)

Tagging @comfy-whumpee @whumpitywhumpwhump @kungpao-giffy @doityourselfbombs @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumptywhumpdump @imagination1reality0 @walkingchemicalfire @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @genesissane and I’m sorry if I forgot you 😭

Continuation of this piece

<>

The woman’s magic put his teeth on edge, and Clint growled his displeasure, Evan glaring at him from where he hovered over the witch.

He couldn’t help it. Nico’s fear was pouring through the bond, making him feel like he was dangling off a cliff.

The smell of palo santo had his nose twitching as the witch wafted it through the air, wand glowing as she started to pour magic into Nico. An unearthly hum vibrated through Clint’s skull and he felt his wolf rise closer to the surface. He fought a growl, teeth and claws elongating.

Clint twitched as Brian’s hands came down on his shoulders, kneeding at his tense muscles. “Dude, relax, its not that—“

Nico jerked as the humming got louder, a loud popping noise echoing through the room as his legs jolted against the lounger. Brian’s arm was around his neck before he realized he had started to propel himself at the witch.

“Fucking let go!” His claws dug into the sirens arm, gouging at the tender skin. Brian hissed, and Evan stood, eyes burning at he extended a hand and threw magic at his wolf.

But Selene didn’t react to his anger, pale eyes glowing with magic that she forced through his mates body, he could taste it in the bond and he wanted it gone.

As suddenly as Nico had arched he collapsed, shaking as he landed on the lounger.

Swaying Selene’s hands started to shake where she held them over Nico.Evan grunted as her weight collided with him but he managed a choked “I gotcha...” before lowering her to the floor, Kristy clambering forward with a pillow.

Clint didn’t fucking care, ripping away from Brian as his choke hold eased. His knees hit the floor in his haste, pajama bottoms sliding on carpet as he checked on his mate. “Nico, Baby?”

Nico was shivering, the violent motion verging on convulsions. Cupping his face Clint hissed in dismay at the heat rolling off of him. “Fucking hell, Brian where’s that thermometer?!”

Brian glared at him, hand cupped around the furrow his claws had dug into the mans skin.

Clint felt a glimmer of guilt for the injury but that was swept away as Nico bucked and gasped. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Brian please.”

Brian dropped the glare, eyes becoming impossibly wide when Nico jolted, mouth gaping as he struggled to breath through the tremors. He dug into the cough cushions, rocking the sectional and throwing pillows around in his haste to procure it. “Umm- its um- here!”

Brian threw the thermometer from where he was standing, the plastic device thunked into Clint’s hand by the grace of enhanced reflexes.

Clint felt his snarl return as he turned back to Nico, irritated growl buzzing in his chest.

Kristy saved him from being the source of another injury to the siren, throwing a heavy pillow with wicked accuracy. “What were you gonna do if he didn’t catch it and it hit him, idiot.”

“Scream in terror probably.” Brian chuckled nervously, cupping his arm again as he side stepped behind the couch.

Clint ignored the exchange, cupping Nico’s neck as he pressed the thermometer to his burning forehead. He flinched at the press of cold plastic, trying to turn into Clint’s palm. The high pitched beep was ominous. “This can’t be right Evan.”

Evan straightened from where he had pushed the pillow under Selene’s head. “What’s it say?”

“105.4? That can’t fuckin be right, can it?” Clint begged Evan, panic coloring his voice.

Evan frowned, concern etching his face. “I hope not, try it again, make sure.”

Clint moved to check it again and froze, suddenly dizzy and disoriented as he stared at the vet. He felt Nico’s shaking grow worse, and his vision blurred, doubling as he tried to peel his gaze away from the vet to search out his mate.

Nico’s eyes had rolled, whites visible under his ulcerated lids, neck arching as his arms pushed out. Clint couldn’t find his tongue, yipping in distress as Nico jerked violently, bloody foam dribbling down his chin.

What was happening?

Panting and confused Clint let out another desperate whine, clutching at Nico’s bony shoulders. Evan- Evan help—

Evan was pushing his hands away, knocking him off balance as he grabbed Nico’s shoulder and hip, rolling him into his side as he dodged Nico’s limbs with ease. Clint hadn’t seen him move from the floor, his muscles rigid as he fought against the paralysis that had overtaken him.

Nico kept convulsing.

Hands grabbed his own shoulders as he listed to the side, swaying dangerously.

He could see Evan’s mouth move as he maneuvered Nico, holding his head so he didn’t choke. But he couldn’t understand him, the words blending together in a jumbled glob of nothing.

It took an eternity for Evans voice to become clear again, his vision following in stuttering increments. “—the tub in the master bath is big enough, and it’s big enough to maneuver.”

Nico was rolled towards Clint, slack face blue tinged as his slow harsh breath rocked him.

“Ev-Evan.. wha-what happened? Wha’did she do?” His voice was shaking. His voice never shook. What the fuck was that.

Evan turned his attention to him and frowned, eyes flicking between him and Selene’s prone form. “I don’t know what happened with you, maybe a rebound effect of Nico having a seizure.”

Clint’s heart stopped, a wounded noise punched from his gut, Brian made a reassuring noise behind him, thumbs rubbing into the knots in his shoulders. “Seizure?”

Evan nodded grimly, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “His temperature is dangerously high now, even with everything we’ve been doing to try to keep it down. I don’t know if it was the stress, or the magic but whatever it was it brought it up more and he seized. I don’t think it was intentional- she wouldn’t be on the floor if it was, and the pop was his hip setting- the bruising isn’t as bad and it feels more stable...”

Evan shook his head, trailing off as he peeled back a few of the bandages. “Thing is we need to cool him down.”

Clint felt his hands shaking as he reached forward to Nico, Brian releasing him when it was obvious he could keep himself upright.

“Nnn...” Nico shifted under Clint’s hands, eyes shifting beneath his lids. He couldn’t- he couldn’t identity how he felt as he started to pull Nico into his arms.

Clint groaned as a terrifying amalgamation of terror and desperate confusion assaulted him, breath catching in his throat.

“Aaahhhh!” Nico’s skeletal frame shot upwards, shoulder striking Clint in the gut in his haste. Lightening blue eyes flew open as Clint caught him a ragged scream piercing his heart.

Fuck.

“Go fill the tub. Now!”

<>

Nico screamed, desperation overriding everything telling him to be quiet. His throat was torn, blood flowing freely into his mouth, down his chin, he screamed again, gurgling and desperate. “‘Leas’ nnnmorennmore....” There was blood and tears and snot and he couldn’t do it anymore.

Hands clutched at his shoulders and pushed down on his mangled body, making sure he couldn’t get away. He wanted to get away!

“‘Leasss...’lease..., nnng...nngmmore....”

The magic had been cold, so fucking cold and he was already so so cold, his bones ached with it and he wanted to get away, maybe he could crawl in the forge with Abram and he’d finally finally be warm, he could die warm and he’d finally be free. Where was Abram!?

“Shhh Darlin it’s the fever, you’re burnin up Baby, gotta get you cooled down okay, just stay with me, it’s okay.”

Clint Clint it was Clint, couldn’t be him, couldn’t be. He wouldn’t cool him down more, Clint would keep him warm, he’d done it at the bon fire, cuddled him when the fire hadn’t been enough. Nico moaned, fear making him shake even worse, they could use Clint to do anything to him, please just let him die just let him die he couldn’t anymore.

Painpainpain, someone was crushing his chest and his shoulders and his head throbbed as he froze, his throbbing hip moving again.

“Tubs filling Clint, come on—“

The sound of rushing water and Nico flailed, keening silently, his throat unable to make the sounds of terror known anymore. He coughed on blood, retching as copper coated his tongue. He didn’t want to drown again, he couldn’t, there would be ice and it would cut his throat as they held him down and forced him to breath in and he would die but they’d just bring him back and he’d be forced to hurt again.

His eyes opened, searching for escape and the world swam in front of him, walls spinning and moving as he watched demons staring at him from corners. “‘leasenoooo....mmmm...”

“I got you Darlin, I got you, just gotta get something...”

Another set of hands touched him, rubbing at his hair, the hands were small and he felt a flicker of magic touch him before he gasped and tried to push away. “Sorry Nico, I’m sorry, I won’t use it on you...” Kristy’s voice murmured at him, cold hands supporting him as Clint’s voice moved away.

“‘Lease...’leasennn....” please don’t drown me, please don’t, I’ll be good.....

“I know Nico... Brian give me those scissors, gotta get these...”

The voice became muffled as Nico struggled to breath past his fear, the feel of metal on his skin irritating wounds and he sobbed again, eyes fluttering.

“Fuckin hell, at least his back looks a little better, if not the rest of him.”

“Brian shut up...”

Someone picked him up again and the world greyed around the edges, pushing him down, down down again. Please don’t....

The slosh of water had Nico holding his breath, barely able to hold it before he coughed and tried again. “Okay Darlin, it’s gonna feel cold but it’s not, I promise...”

Ice coated his toes and Nico screamed, eyes flying open as he scrambled at the person holding him, numb fingers pulling at hair, arms clutching at the thick neck as he pushed his face against skin.

“Fuck, Darlin, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll go in with you okay? I’ll hold you the whole time, and you’ll be just fine, I promise...”

Nico sobbed, pressing his face harder into the neck of the person holding him.He’d do anything, anything, just don’t drown him. Voices whispered around him, sloshing water, and sniffling and cold and he didn’t have the energy to fight against the person shifting him around. They didn’t peel his face away, but pulled him closer,his flank pushing against skin. “Okay, okay Sugar...”

The voice shushed him for a moment, moving slowly until water coated his feet and lapped at his calves. He mewled into the persons neck, and they shushed him again, not making a move to remove his face from safety. “Easy Baby.... I’m right here with you...”

Water lapped at his hips and Nico sucked into a rattling gasp as the cold water hit his cock, letting out a wet sob when it soaked him, his balls trying to retract from the cold. “I know Baby, nothin more uncomfortable than that huh, I’ve got you, it’s okay....”

The water pulled him down, some of the pain in his hip lessening as he started to sink down. He wasn’t fighting anymore, shivering and sniffling into the neck of the person holding him.

“Brian, grab his legs, kinda straighten them-“

Hands grabbed at his calves and Nico twitched, not wanting them to touch him, to pull his legs until he was under, drowning, bubbles of air surrounding him until he was empty and water started to fill him.

He couldn’t breathe. They pulled him from his hiding spot as he sobbed, their clutching hands prying his hands away from strands of hair until he was pulled against someone’s chest. “Fuck, it’s okay Darlin, breathe, breathe slow...” he was hyperventilating, chest throbbing as water lapped at his nipples, submerging his collar bones.

Then it stopped, the cold swallowing his chest, his arms, his legs. But muscular thighs bracketed him, accompanying arms holding his head above the water. He clutched weakly at the arm wrapped around his chest, and the arm squeezed gently, hand rubbing at his flank. Another hand came up and traced his face, thumbing at his tear encrusted cheek before cupping his head and holding his head to the chest. Out of the water.

His breathing slowed the longer he was in the water and not forced under, panic starting to recede.

“That’s it Darlin, I wont let you go, I’ve got you.... you’re doing so good... so good...”

Nico let himself relax as the praise continued. He was so so tired.....if he could just sleep....

Maybe...

...

Wet cloth soothed over his forehead and hair, making him jolt, eyes opening from where they’d closed. “It’s okay Darlin’...”

Was he in a tub?

Nico twitched, and water sloshed on his chin and mouth making his heart throb with a flicker of panic. When he started to move, wanting out of the water, arms tightened around him. “Shhhh, shhhh Sugar, gotta make your fever go down...”

“‘Lint...?” Nico slurred, half lidded eyes roving.

“Right here Baby...” the chest he rested against vibrated with the rumble of Clint’s voice. Nico tilted his head back as best he could, eyes catching on Clint’s stubbled jaw. “Hnnn...”

Clint pressed a kiss against his forehead and Nico let his head fall forward again. Clint’s legs were bracketing his hips, wet pajama pants plastered to the muscles beneath. “He feels a little cooler...”

Clint was talking to... someone? Who? “Nnhh??” Nico turned to the room, trying to see who was there...

His eyes landed on the slightly blurry form of Brian sitting on the toilet, hands clasped in front of him.

Nico couldn’t make himself move again, letting his hands float in the water around him. It didn’t feel as cold anymore, it was even starting to feel warm, especially where he was pressed against Clint.

Was Abram making it warmer? He couldn’t see him, he wanted his friend. “Abram...?”

The desire to find his friend had him twisting in Clint’s arms, pain briefly making him gasp on a broken moan.

Clint jumped, tightening his arms around Nico.”Whoa Baby, hey now, easy...”

Nico collapsed against Clint, breathing rapidly into his sweat slicked shoulder.

“‘Bram?!” his voice didn’t even echo, he wouldn’t hear him. Tears coursed down his face as he stared at the door, silently begging the man to come. But the bathroom was empty other than Brian and Clint. But...Abram made things hot, he’d made his bath hot when he’d been sick. Abram wouldn’t leave him alone this time would he?

“Nico, who’re you talking about?” Panting weakly Nico moaned, pushing away from Clint, he needed to get to the forge to check on Abram. “Forge...’ttach’ck.... ‘Bmm..”

“Nico, Nico, Doll, who’s Abram??” Clint cupped his cheek, forcing his head back so he was looking into the wolf’s green eyes.

Clint’s face blurred as exhaustion and tears pulled at him, Clint didn’t know Abram....he’d never introduced them, Abram didn’t want anyone to know about him. He wasn’t supposed to tell. He’d failed yet again, he’d failed his friend.

He just wanted his friend.

“Mmsorry...mmsorry....” his energy was waning as he mumbled his apologies, blinking slowly up at Clint.

“Okay Darlin’... I’ll find him, just gotta get you feeling better okay? Then I’ll find your friend... I’m sure he wants to see you too, right?”

Nico hoped so, he hoped Abram would still want to see him. He struggled to as his voice work, spikes of pain freezing his vocal chords. “F-fam-family... s’d family...”

“Oh Fuck, Clint I know who he’s talking about-“

Nico flinched at the sound of Brian’s voice, whining in fear.

“Sorry...” Brian sounded contrite but it didn’t stop him from talking even though Nico had slumped into Clint, eyes unfocused on the werewolf’s face. “Clint, I went to Nico’s shop once when he wasn’t there, I just wanted to drop in and maybe hang out since I hadn’t seen him for a while, I think it might have been after he was taken. Anyways—“ He could see the sirens flailing hands in his peripheral vision, the sirens restless energy seeking escape. “—there was someone there, working the forge, I interrupt him when I entered the shop, and he introduced himself as Abram.”

“Fuck...” Clint’s whisper didn’t registered with Nico, who’d let his eyes close as Brian talked. The water lapped against his back as Clint shifted, a soft cloth dabbing at his neck and shoulders. “Hear that Baby, we know where to find him, I’ll get him here I promise....”

Nico didn’t hear him, sinking down further into the warmth that surrounded him.

<>

“I’ll get him here I promise Darlin’, the only thing you’ve asked for isn’t it, you want family...”

Clint rubbed his cheek against Nico’s wet hair, stubble catching on the strands. He let go of the soap covered wash cloth, letting it disappear into the water as Nico went still against him, jaw slack.

“Brian grab me that thermometer huh?” He pitched his voice to a whisper, keeping as still as possible. They’d been in the tub for almost an hour at this point, Evan and Kristy having left almost half an hour in. Hopefully it was enough time to do something.

Brian scooted closer, bypassing Clint to check Nico’s temperature himself. Clint grimaced at the sight of gauze wrapped around his forearm, guilt surging through him. He hadn’t had a chance to apologize properly yet.

By tight wind of his shoulders as he waited for the beep, Brian hadn’t forgotten it either.

“101.3 Thank god.”

Relief surged through him and Clint squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched around a sob. He grabbed Brian’s wrist as he went to move away, squeezing it gently.

“I’m so s-sorry...” Clint’s voice broke around the lump in his throat, tears spilling down his cheeks for the first time since they’d gotten Nico to the pack house. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just—“

Clint abruptly couldn’t get in enough air to finish his apology, chest heaving against the terrible weight that seemed to latch onto him every time he looked at Nico’s exposed wounds. He’d been trying, desperately, since they’d found Nico to just keep breathing. To keep dealing with everything and hold it together, but he couldn’t fucking breathe anymore.

“I’m sorry—“ His lungs clung to his chest wall, air trapped as he gasped into Nico’s hair. His arm had tightened around his mate, and Nico twitched against the strength of his grip, but he couldn’t seem to make his hand loosen.

He was shaking, making the water splash up against Nico’s chin. The water left rivers of pink on his face, highlighting pale skin. It made him realize how dark the water around Nico was, left over dirt and blood staining the water a brownish red.

They’d done so much already, and Nico was still so sick....

Clint sobbed again, helplessly staring up at Brian. “I ddont know w-what to do anymore...”

Brian flipped his grip, plucking the thermometer away as he grabbed Clint’s wrist in turn. “Clint, it’s okay man, it’s okay.”

Brian’s eyes pierced through what was left of Clint’s strength, and he keened, higher and more animalistic than a human throat could manage. It wasn’t okay, it wasn’t. He struggled to breathe as Brian watched, his tears burned on his cheeks, and he curled forward to hide in Nico’s hair.

Brian released his wrist, and Clint sobbed, feeling like he was falling apart without the siren’s hold on him.

“N—nno— I-I’m so sorry—“ Clint’s keening sob were muffled around the lump in his throat, and Brian shushed him, lanky arm wrapping around Clint’s broad shoulders, his gentle hand dipping into the bloody water to pry Clint’s fingers away from Nico’s side before he could leave new bruises. “I d-didn’t mean t-to hurt yooou, ’m just so scared for-for him.”

“I know you didn’t, I know, we’ll deal with it later, okay? I promise I’m not mad, I’m worried about you guys. But we’re not going anywhere man, we’re not going to let anything happen to Nico, not again.”

Brian’s reassurance started to patch some of the cracks in his armor, and he was able to take a deeper breath, exhaustion rolling over him. He’d been awake for almost 20 stressful hours, and he could feel every second in his bones.

“C’mon, Evan and Kristy should be done getting Selene settled. He can dress these wounds again, and you can get some sleep-ah!” Brian cut off his protest, hugging him a little tighter. “No butts you ass, you’re exhausted and my arm paid the price. You’re going to sleep, you don’t have to leave him, sleep on the floor or something. Just sleep.”

Sniffling, the fight he had left fled, and he tried to gather Nico into his arms. He was shaking, and Nico made a hoarse noise at being jostled. “Fuck Baby, I’m sorry—“

“Clint, let me take him? You were swaying on your feet on the way in here, I can carry him at least to the couch.”

Clint instinctively let out a small growl, but cut himself off, taking a deep snuffle of Nico’s damp hair. “M’kay.... be careful...please...”

Brian hummed, his deceptively slender arms lifting Nico out of the water with ease. Nico barely reacted, a small shiver rocking through him as his skin was exposed to the air again. “I got you bud, I got you.”

[hoseoksactualass]

can u do a imagine w yoongi where he just got off of stage and you really wanna suck him off but he doesn’t want you too bc he is sweaty as hell down there but ur like idc and he finally gives in and you get to suck him?? 💕💗💕

Hi b~ i srsly don't know wtf i just wrote for you, but i hope it's at least smthn along the lines of giving yoongi good head while he’s sweaty, spent, and hard

You could smell fatigue, disgustingly enough.

"You'll catch a cold," you say. The sound of Yoongi's post-concert panting was louder than the lounge's AC.

"You sound like my mom."

"At least change your shirt."

"Come here, will you?," he slumps down the couch. It had a gaping hole on the foam. Backstage wasn't pretty. But at least you had a lifetime's worth of passes.

His thighs shift apart slightly, begging you to make them your seat. You smile.

"Your skin burns," you comment when you rest your hands on his shoulders. The cloth was damp, and the heat was rushing out of it as the AC grumbled.

"It's getting to me," he took your hand and pressed it to his lips. All the rhymes a while ago kissed onto your knuckles. You felt his exhaustion.

"The cold?"

"Yeah... and you."

"I'm getting to you?"

"Always," he smirks, his hands finding your waist, slowly stopping at your hips. You couldn't tell whether he was doing it teasingly or just because he was fucked out. It was usually the latter. "Let's get to the hotel. Quick."

"Wait," you utter. Your eyes lock with his. He's waiting. It's hard not to kiss him. "I wanna take care of you. Now."

He scoffs. It would have been offensive if you hadn't felt his bulge under your crotch.

"What, with all 6 of them plus backstage crew outside? We have 5 minutes tops," he raises a brow, his lips pushing out. He knew how to make you feel stupid.

"You always last shorter than that," but maybe you did a better job at that. You tilted your head at him, hands already finding their way to his belt.

"Do not," he remarked. His eyes ogled at how you were undoing his pants to how your face looked when focused.

"You do. I can feel how hard you are." He groaned, throwing his head back. He grabbed your wrist, making your head perk up.

Staring at the ceiling. "I'm sweaty and disgusting," he sighed. “You shouldn’t.”

"Do you want me to stop?"

"..."

"Hm?"

"N-No..."

"Then shut up. You're good at that."

How bratty you were being made him want to yank at your hair and fuck himself into your mouth. You pulled all his undergarments down, making him hit cold air.

You wrap your hand around the base, your mouth meeting the veiny skin of his shaft. He stays silent, but his chest falls harder. You want to make him make a sound. You want to make it hard for him not to.

The tip of your tongue kitten-licked where his shaft met the head, the ring your hand formed slowly pumping.

"Five minutes, baby," he warned, his voice strained, breathy.

"Mhm," you respond, enclosing your lips around the head. Red. Your tongue pressed flat.

"Oh, yeah," he craned his neck so he could look at you from where his head was resting.

"Oh, fuck - yeah - ," he groaned, his eyes shutting when you make his tip hit the back of your throat. Can't take your eyes off him. The hot air around his inner thighs engulfed you. He reeked of fuck material, stronger than how the lounge had a stench of old mall and mannequins.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth - ," he rolled his head back. You wanted to pull his shirt up, watch his chest flush red. You hollow your cheeks when you suck him. And you suck him. Hard.

"Fuuucking hell - You're - such a slut - god - ," he panted, his stubby hands gripping the edges of the foam. It had an ugly color. Your face had an ugly color. Like his arousal was bruising you. It had taken a lot of his tenacity to perk his head up and watch you suck him off. It was almost pornographic. His hand found the back of your head, softly grabbing a fist of your hair.

"Shit - do you - are you enjoying this?," he smirked, his lips parted slightly. You nod, the swift bobbing of your head only making him turn into putty under you.

"Fuck - you're so filthy - ," he almost chuckled. But it was hard to when your prime goal was to make him cum loads, and it was working, because you knew he liked it when you jerked him off at the same time. He looked at you again. You whimpered.

"Oh? You like it when I call you names?," he cocked a brow again, his breathing shallow now. You nod again. You wanted to fucking sob. He was so hot like this, all tired and messy and half-nude, but from the bottom.

"Mff - shit - you're so good - ," he threw his head back. His breaths came out in short-lived pants. You knew it was overtaking him. You keep sucking and pumping, and his whole dick is smeared in your saliva and his pathetic pre-cum; you could see how hard he was trying not to buck his hips, and as the seconds drew nearer - "Fuck - there - such a fucking cockslut - ," you went harder, because you can't get enough, and you can't ever get enough of him using you to cum -

"Baby - fuck - I'm gonna - ah - ," he tenses up, his grip on your hair shamelessly painful.

"Cum in me," you quickly remark, before pumping him in a cruel pace. You don't hear him moan like this a lot.

"Nggh - holy shhhiit - I - ," his chest looked brutal. He looked sweatier than before. You could taste how close he was when you wrap your lips around him one last time, and you watch how a growl whips out of his throat when you could finally taste him. He's a mess, his cheeks are pink, and his eyes are fluttering.

"Fuck," he breathes out, the heat of the air rapidly rushing back down his windpipe when he's gasping for air. You spit his cum into a bunch of wipes and toss into a bin full of Jungkook's runny nose tissues. Perfect.

You lift your wrist, looking at your watch.

"5 minutes," you smirk.

"You're a brat."

"Thank you."