#his eyes and mouth are the only ones i can easily draw. everything else makes me suffer. ray cmere im gonna shake you

[puck-luck]

a lesson in control | trevor zegras

warnings: daddy kink. HEAVY daddy kink. m!dom, f!sub dynamics. kneeling, throat training, face-fucking, degradation and praise, use of the word slut (twice? three times?), masturbation, VIDEOING oneself masturbating, sexting but it's one sided, locker room traditions in hockey being slightly misogynistic ("boys will be boys" hey what?), dirty talk, references to squirting, overstim, orgasm denial, face slapping ONE TIME, crawling, exhibitionism, spanking. THERE ARE PROBABLY MORE THINGS THAT I MISSED. SRY. i think i got everything else tho

summary: after breaking one of daddy's rules, tz reminds you who you belong to.

wc: 3862

“Do you think this is fucking funny?” Trevor snaps, crashing through the front door and throwing his gym bag to the side. “Sending me that shit while I’m at the gym with the team?”

He’s not exactly giving you the reaction you expected. You’d sent him that video during his workout on purpose, knowing that it would rile Trevor up and result in the fucking that you have been wanting since he left the house this morning. The thought of him all sweaty and lifting heavy weights, muscles bulging, had you all riled up. It’s only fair that he experienced the same thing– even if it meant you broke one of Trevor’s rules.

There are only three. 

If you misbehave or act bratty, Trevor gets to decide your punishment.

Don’t touch yourself without Trevor’s permission.

When you’re in a scene, you have to call Trevor ‘Daddy.’

So you might’ve broken two of Trevor’s three rules. 

The video had been worth it, though. Seeing his girlfriend spread out on the bed, two fingers buried in her cunt and whimpering for her Daddy? Forget it. You know that Trevor will go back and look at it during roadies, imagining that it’s your hand around his cock instead of his own. He may even memorize it so that he can close his eyes and pretend his hand is your pussy, wet and slick just for him. 

Which, to be fair, it always is. 

Unable to hold back a smirk, you blink up at Trevor from your spot on the couch. “Sorry, Daddy,” you apologize sweetly.

Trevor hasn’t stopped moving since he entered the apartment, so he’s easily able to reach out and wrap his fingers around your neck, squeezing slightly. “You’re sorry,” he repeats sarcastically, voice dripping with doubt. “You’re going to be by the time we’re done.”

His first kiss is harsh and angry. Trevor bites over your bottom lip before he forces his tongue into your mouth, filling the space and effectively gagging you before you can make much noise. Trevor draws you up from the couch and walks as he kisses you, eventually pushing you up against the wall of the living room. 

The thing you like most about the living room is that the wall has a beautiful section of windows that reveal the view. 

The glass also feels incredibly cold against your body, a welcome contrast against Trevor’s impatient hands. He’s tugging your leggings down already, pushing them to the middle of your thighs before he draws your sweatshirt up and removes it completely, leaving your top half entirely bare. Your nipples harden when exposed to the air– which makes them an easy first target for Trevor. 

“Keep stripping,” he commands lowly before grasping your tits in his palms. “I want you naked.”

Eager to comply, you nod. “Yes, Daddy,” you say breathlessly. 

He manages to keep a hold on your breasts as you move around, shedding your leggings and panties as quickly as you can. Trevor pinches your nipples hard. “You’ve been bad,” Trevor tells you. “What happens when you’re bad?”

“You punish me,” you reply. 

“That’s right,” Trevor says, a proud smile tugging at his lips. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s clear that he’s plotting something already and enjoying the visual in his mind. “Bad girls get punished. Who gets to decide the punishment, sweetheart?”

“You do,” you say. There’s a slight pause before you can muster up his title in a tone that reflects what he called you– sweetly adding, “Daddy.”

“Smart girl,” Trevor praises before planting a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He reluctantly takes his hands from your chest and brings them to his sides. He takes a step back. His eyes turn almost mournful, pitying you. “Smart, but bad. Daddy has to teach you a lesson, huh?”

You nod, keeping your hands at your own sides even though you itch to cover yourself up. You’re fully exposed and Trevor is completely clothed. Humiliation creeps up your neck like a blush. That feeling has yet to go away, even though Trevor has been domming you all throughout your relationship.

Trevor smirks again, his face contorting. It’s fascinating how Trevor can jump from emotion to emotion. He settles into his role seamlessly every single time, using his tone and inflections and expressions to manipulate you and remind you why he’s the one in charge. He tilts his chin up, quirking his eyebrows. “On your knees.”

You drop down, the hardwood floor digging into your knees uncomfortably. “How long?” you ask. Normally, Trevor gives you a timeframe. It keeps you grounded. 

The smirk on Trevor’s face grows. “As long as I want.” He holds a finger to his lips, a reminder that you aren’t supposed to talk to him when you’re on your knees. You’re something pretty for him to look at when you’re on your knees. It’s one of the ways that Trevor asserts his dominance over you. His evaluating gaze always makes you shiver.

Today, though, Trevor leaves the room. You can hear the shower start, then you hear Trevor step inside. Occasionally, you catch snippets of his hums and the song he’s singing. Since you can’t hear him all the time, you can’t estimate how long you’ve been kneeling. Your knees have been aching from the second you dropped down, so there’s no gradual pain to use as a timer either. 

Just to spite you, Trevor makes sure his shower runs long, too. He’s sure to tell you that when he returns.

“Sorry, baby,” Trevor says, ruffling his damp hair before collapsing on the couch and spreading his knees wide. Your eyes fall to his bulge, half-hard and covered by, but clearly unrestrained within, his Boston University sweatpants. He bounces one of his knees, the fabric covering his groin shifting with the movement. “Lost track of time in the shower. You know something about touching yourself, don’t you? It can be very distracting.”

Your eyes are wide when they snap to his face. Trevor looks smug. He throws his arms over the back of the couch and cocks his head at you, as if he’s catching you in the act of checking him out… as if you’d be embarrassed by something like that. Humiliation might raise the hairs on the back of your neck, but you never feel ashamed or sheepish when Trevor catches you looking at him. He’s sexy.

“You were very pretty in that video, baby,” Trevor says at a normal volume, as if you’re having a nonchalant conversation.”Really. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

This is the reaction you were looking for when he came in– the slow, methodical domination that Trevor normally defaults to instead of the angry, reactive domination that appeared when he stormed through the front door. You want to shift to relieve your knees slightly, but Trevor will only add something else to your punishment if you do. You merely blink at him, a breath leaving you through your parted lips.

Trevor brings a hand to his mouth and rubs over his lips, sighing. “But… well, you know what happens when one of the boys gets a text from his girlfriend during a workout.”

You do. That was part of the motivation. Trevor doesn’t like to share, but he likes to brag. There’s a very delicate balance there and you knew what you had to do to make Trevor angry. If one of Trevor’s teammates sees that another teammates’ partner texted them, then the original teammate is allowed to look at that text.

“So imagine my surprise when I open my phone and McTavish sees my baby coming all over her fingers, asking for her Daddy.” Trevor sneers when he says Mason’s name, even though you know he’s glad it wasn’t another teammate, one that doesn’t already know about your sex life. 

A question arises in the back of your throat. It’s a heavy lump, hard to swallow, yet… you’re not allowed to speak like this.

Trevor becomes even more smug as he watches you remember that fact. It’s not really an official rule, but Trevor prefers it, and you want to be good for him. He’s pleased when you snap your lips shut and blink at him. “Don’t worry, little one. He couldn’t hear you. I had my headphones in. Good thing, too– I wouldn’t want anyone to hear how pretty you sound when you need Daddy.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but not because of the lump that rose up only moments ago. That disappeared when Trevor answered your question without even trying, like he can read your mind. No, your breath catches because he answered your question in the sexiest way possible.

God, you love when Trevor becomes Daddy.

Trevor tilts his head down, his gaze dark and prodding. It washes over you like an actual touch from your boyfriend. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself without asking me,” Trevor says. His voice becomes more and more like a simper as he continues to speak. “But you couldn’t wait for me, huh? Couldn’t even take the time to ask before you got all wet and needed to be full? What had you so worked up?” 

Sweat, arm veins, a natural musk, endorphins…

“Did you have a dream about my cock? I know you’d said you were sleepy before I went to the gym and that you’d try to take a nap while I’m gone.” Trevor nods to himself. “That must have been it. You woke up all empty after being so full. Poor girl just needs her Daddy.”

Hearing Trevor talk in the third person has you clenching down on nothing, suddenly feeling very empty. That’s not what actually had you worked up, but now… maybe Trevor’s right. It would drive you crazy to be so empty after experiencing Trevor’s cock. To have his length stuffed inside of you, filling you out, and then nothing? Oh, you’d die.

“Let me give you my cock, then,” Trevor says. He spreads his legs just an inch wider and beckons you with a curled finger. “C’mere, baby.”

Your knees feel ready to creak as you move to stand. You get one knee up before Trevor starts to shake his head and you freeze.

He holds his palm up flat, stopping you before you can stand. Trevor snickers. “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so,” he corrects, chuckling. “Do bad girls get to walk to Daddy? Stay on your knees.”

You blink up at him, cheeks growing warm at the thought of crawling to him. It’s so demeaning, but God it’s hot. You’d be kneeling right between his thighs at the end and you know what comes from that position.

Something Trevor started when you were just starting this dom/sub thing was throat training. Trevor knew you liked to have his hand around your neck, causing you to go short of breath. He applied the same logic and asked if you’d like to hold his cock in your mouth for a long time. You’d tried it, and it was fine, and it sparked a second idea. Trevor wanted your throat to hold him perfectly, for your mouth to be ready for him to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Now, he can fuck your face whenever he wants.

He can take whatever he wants.

You lower yourself down again, back onto two knees. Then, you lean forward, one hand a bit further than the other. You shift the opposite knee forward in a hesitant step, eyes rapt on Trevor. 

“That’s my girl,” Trevor coos, his stare raking over your figure. “Come get Daddy’s cock. I’ll fill you up.”

Another step, then a third. You’re moving to Trevor like he’s reeling you in, the tension taut as fishing line between your bodies. 

Trevor’s quick to drag himself out of his sweatpants. Your mouth is already open, accepting  whatever he gives you with a slack jaw. He fills you until his tip bumps the back of your esophagus, then he withdraws. 

You breathe through your nose and gag at all the right times, feeling the precum from Trevor’s cock mix with your saliva and drip down your throat with each swallow.

Trevor uses you for what he needs. He draws your head up and down on his cock, his hips occasionally twitching and thrusting like they have a mind of their own. “You know what’s– shit– you know what’s funny, baby?” Trevor asks, clearly affected by your touch and itching to regain control.

You hum around his cock, eyes drifting to his face. They’re shining with tears from all of your gagging around his base and Trevor curses again.

“Fuck, so pretty,” he says, taking the hand still thrown over the back of the couch and using his fingers to wipe away the tracks on your cheeks. “You’re so good at taking my cock, sweetheart. Making me feel so good.”

The hand on the back of your head grips your hair and rips you from his cock. 

You’re nearly eye to eye with Trevor, whose mirthful smile means trouble. 

“I’m going to come in your pussy.” Trevor’s voice is a near whisper. “And you won’t come at all.”

“What?” You demand with a jolt, caught off guard by his statement and forgetting your manners. 

Trevor’s hand strikes your cheek, branding your skin with the heated echo of his touch.

You’re stunned silent, jaw dropped and mouth open. 

Trevor caresses the hollow pocket of surprise on your face with his thumb. Trevor smiles down at you. “Daddy wants you to be quiet when you’re on your knees, baby, don’t you remember?”

You stare blankly at him. 

He continues to pet over your face, admiring your glossy eyes and rosy cheeks. His eyes even roam to your hair, a flicker of pride passing through his expression. He fixes a piece of hair, then taps your head. He quotes the short list of rules by which you abide. “Don’t touch yourself without my permission.”

You breathe in, preparing for him to continue. He taps your cheek and waits for you to nod. You do, after a moment. 

Trevor guides your head back down, towards his cock. “Then what?” He asks.

You open your mouth a little wider, spit pooling at the thought of licking up the precum that leaked from his cock while you were recovering from his slap. 

Trevor laughs, bringing your head to his tip and making the length jump between your lips. “If you misbehave or act bratty, Daddy gets to decide your punishment.” He brings your mouth down a little further, cock sliding against the flat of your tongue. 

The taste makes you feel like you’ve gone cross-eyed, relaxing into his touch. Sliding back into the throat training routine you’d created over the months, your head grows a little fuzzier and your body feels a little lighter.

Trevor pulls away again.

You don’t snap at him, but your eyes fall into sharp focus on his face. 

“Who am I, baby?” Trevor asks, winking at you. His mouth forms a proud curve.

“Daddy,” you reply, voice ruined from disuse. 

Trevor likes that. You can see how his jaw subtly twitches, tensing up. “Are you gonna let Daddy fuck your pussy right here?” He asks, then his eyes go over your shoulder. “For anyone to see?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe out, sounding rough and awed at the same time. “Please, Daddy. Fuck me against the window.”

The smile that encompasses Trevor is purely rueful pride. How easily he can ruin you. “Because you want the world to see that you’re Daddy’s,” Trevor assumes, feeding you the words like they’re fact. 

You sear them into your memory. He’s right. Who else can do something like this to you? To you, what Trevor says is gospel.

“That’s why you sent that video,” he continues. He’s all-knowing. Smug, even. “You needed Daddy to remind you that you’re his little slut, right?”

All this nodding has you feeling like a bobblehead.

Trevor helps you stand, touching your hips and backing you towards the window. At the last second, he spins you around and presses your front against the glass.

“For everyone to see?” Trevor checks again, his voice soft for a second. God, he’s perfect. He’s the right amount of concerned, without leaving much room for argument. He’s still in charge here. He’s still punishing you.

You don’t even get to come, but you don’t care. You just want to feel him leaking from your cunt. Instead of kneeling again, you’ll stay like this if he wants you to, presented like an art exhibit for him to study.

You moan in relief as soon as his tip breaches your hole, bare and throbbing as he inches forward. He allows himself to thrust shallowly, stimulating his tip and denying you the full pleasure of his cock. 

Even still, you’re a mess.

Then he brings his hand down on your ass cheek, much harder than he’d slapped your face. Instinctively, you clench around him and your head droops. The glass window cools the skin of your forehead.

You’re not silent by any means. It’s like you’re unable to silence yourself– a broken dam. With each shallow thrust and each slap to your behind, Trevor makes you feel so good that you feel like you’re crumbling into dust.

“You gonna take my whole cock like you wanted to?” Trevor probes, kicking your legs a bit wider and pressing you into the glass. Your nipples are squished against the surface, restricting your movements. Trevor crowds against you, body warm and solid behind you. “Like you tried to pretend in that little video? When you whimpered and cried because your little fingers weren’t a match for my cock?”

“Daddy,” you whimper, a mirror image of yourself just hours earlier. You’re humming out the same soft pleas that spur Trevor on, that convince him to chase his pleasure.

“That’s right, baby,” Trevor praises. “Daddy’s cock, making you feel good, just like you wanted?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…”

Trevor spanks you again, the burning sensation of impact marking your body. “Why do you ever act up, sweetheart? I could’ve been fucking you like this all nice and making you come if you’d just asked me for permission,” Trevor simpers, teasing you. He speaks like it’s a big, heavy burden on him, this choice to deny your orgasm. He wants to give you an orgasm– a mind shattering, leg-numbing, shaking and squirting orgasm– but you just had to be bad. 

“Of course I’d make you ask again,” Trevor continues, his half-thrusts pointed. “You’d have to show me again how good you can be. You know I like to see my good girl.”

A strangled noise falls from your lips, landing on the floor like a bowling ball. Trevor knocks the wind out of you sometimes with his words.

“I want to show you what it would be like,” Trevor says. “Ask me, baby. I want to hear your sweet voice beg Daddy to come.”

Finding your voice and losing control of it like a helium balloon, you’re able to gasp out exactly what Trevor asks, thinking maybe, maybe if you’re good enough now, he’ll let you come now, too. “It’s so good, Daddy, I always need your cock,” you say between moans. “I never stop thinking about it. So good, please, Daddy. I need to come, I need to show you how good I feel, please let me come.”

Trevor moans and nudges his nose against the top of your spine as you speak. His seed flows from his body and fills yours in the midst of your testimony, the low and fucked-out grunts from Trevor making you that much more desperate and teary to come. His cum settles inside of you, warm and as good as godly nectar, in your mind. 

“I’d come, just like that,” Trevor tells you, speaking slowly. His voice is gravely like it is when he first wakes up. He presses kiss after kiss to your spine, working lower and slightly withdrawing from your heat. “And then I’d tell you that you can come…”

Just when you think he’s going to shift back into you, his length sheathed inside of you so much that your pussy brushes against his pelvis, and fuck you until you do exactly that–

Trevor’s softening penis leaves your pussy. He shifts his hips even further back, then touches your sides to spin you back around. He faces you and brings his hands up to cradle your face. With a devilish, con-man-like smile, Trevor stands his ground. “This is mine,” he reminds you. His blunt fingertips collect some of the cum that has started to slide down your thighs, unable to escape gravity. Trevor lifts his fingers to your mouth, the wet slick brushing against your lips. He makes no move to push past your teeth and press down on your tongue. He’s just dangling a carrot in front of your face, further reinforcing his control over you. 

“Yours,” you agree.

A grin plays over Trevor’s face. “Good. You just broke the rules to get Daddy’s attention. You needed Daddy to take care of you.”

You helplessly nod, preening under his touch.

“You’ve got my attention now, baby,” Trevor assures you. “And to prove it to you, we’re going to do one last thing. I’m going to sit on the couch and look at you, pretty girl. You’re going to kneel right here and let the cum drip out of you until you’re empty.”

You blink at him, feeling lightheaded. That’s before he paints his cum over your lips and ponders, “Kneeling in a puddle of my cum, you really are a slut.” 

A gush of his seed seems to leave you at the demeaning nickname. You clench again to keep it inside– what Daddy wants, Daddy gets. It can pool beneath you as your knees dig into the floorboards and bruise.

“Daddy’s little cumslut,” Trevor says with a chuckle. He shakes his head and backs away from you, returning to the couch and manspreading. He pushes his sweats all the way down to mid-calf, revealing his thick thighs and pretty cock entirely. “I should put that on a shirt and have you record that video again for me.” He wraps his hand around his soft cock, fisting it like he’s going to start pumping over the skin at any moment. “With your hard nipples poking through the fabric and those pretty words of yours, begging for your Daddy to satisfy you the way that you need.”

You drop to your knees and clasp your hands behind your back, hovering only slightly above the floor and only parting your lips to breathe. After all, you’re on your knees again, so you have to listen to Daddy speak.

“Or on FaceTime for our next roadie,” Trevor decides, evidenced by the way his cheeks dimple. “Yeah, baby, we’ll see how desperate you can get before I let you come. This time, you’re going to be so good that I make you come until the sheets are completely soaked.”

[aria0fgold]

doodle experiment #1 in an attempt to redeem myself for drawing Ray so horrendously but I'm not colouring this cuz I wanted to just get this thing outta my system as fast as possible (not fast enough though considering that... it took me hours still).

Though I'm counting this as a success anyway cuz it's my first time drawing my OCs a liiiil bit full body, I'm still not satisfied with his goddamn HAIR! WHY IS YOUR HAIR SO DIFFICULT??? IT'S SO SHORT?!??!

[rqnarok]

you cannot tell me that old man!logan doesn’t have a daddy kink…

cws/tags: sexual content. oldman!logan. mild daddy kink. subspaces. dd/lg undertones. crying. dom!logan.

Old man Logan would be so into daddy kink; the name rolls off his tongue easily—“So good for Daddy, sweetheart.” 

He just can’t help it when you accidentally call him by that name while you were reaching your high. He is the one who continuously brings it up; never letting go of it. Because he fucking loves it.

“Yeah’ that’s it, kid. There ya’ go.” Logan murmurs endless praises as you try to sink down on his large girth. Calloused hands are rubbing circles on the skin on your tummy, guiding you down and down, “Fuck. Ya’ feel me here, kiddo?” 

You only respond to his question in a whimper, closing your eyes and biting your lips as you try to take more of him. The sight of his pretty baby fucked out on his lap is the most adorable thing he has ever witnessed, “Wanna be good for dada, huh?” His mouth trails soft kisses on your warm cheeks and temple.

“Can you speak, baby?” To let him know you’re alright, you lightly bob your head as you place your hands on his shoulders to support your body and raise yourself so only his tip remains—before dropping down again—way deep this time, you’re sure you got all of him inside you and you gained some confidence.

Logan lets out a strangled grunt in surprise, “Hey, take it easy, little bug. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He draws his palms on your back to cling you closer to his chest.

Slowly but surely, you rest your heavy head on his neck and rub your own head there to feel his untrimmed greying beard. You’ve earned your motivation again.

“I can do it, Daddy.” You plea to him, “Can’ do it. ‘M a big girl.” 

He tilts his head to lovingly scold you, “Don’t hurt yourself, little one.” Logan’s tired sugary smile only remains until you’ve managed to lift yourself upwards—your velvet walls wrap so deliciously tight around him and making him shut his eyes and inhale sharply, “F-fuck.”

“‘M a big girl!” You repeat as you bounce irregularly—feeling like you’ve overtaken him and everything else.

Well…not for long. 

Because after around five more times going up and down on him, you could feel yourself getting exhausted. Your eyes barely open up as you squeak a high-pitched whine—making grabby hands at him to get his attention. 

To get Daddy’s attention. 

“Ah- n-need help, Daddy.” You choke out, opening your eyes slightly to see that he’s already looking - observing you.

“Hm?” Logan hums as he brings his fingers to pinch at your soft cheeks, “Thought you’re a big girl now, baby?” His thumb rests just outside of your spit-licked mouth. Earning more humming approvals from the older man when you willingly open your lips and sucks it inside. 

“Wha’dya need Daddy’s help for if you’re a big girl?” He paraphrased his question again—his palm roaming below your breast before kneading each one of them. 

Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you’re feeling the stretch, “Daddy—” and the sting in your dripping pussy as an effect of your previous actions, “I-I thought I could do it…”

“What’d Daddy say?” Oh, you know you’re in trouble because he’s scolding you now. For not listening to him and to play-act in front of him. 

“‘M sorry!” You cannot help but cry out then wrap your arms around his neck, “Was just so excited, Daddy—need you so bad!” 

Logan coos your figure by threading his big hands through your hair, shushing you hiccuped sobs down, “Shh,”

After hearing your breath steadying, he ruts his hips up against yours. Circling and thrusting to your tight heat as you rest your entire body weight onto him. You tremble in his arms as you hear skin-meet-skin slapping sounds echoing through your shared bedroom. Fully giving yourself to fall in his embrace. 

“Ya’ see? Y’re just a little girl, baby. Daddy’s little girl.”  

You nod and make out a confirmation whimper. Before you register it, he starts to move you too. 

Yeah, you feel way much better like this.

Being Daddy’s little girl and letting him have all the control there is.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

NERD!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort.

Author's note: thinking about some nerd!anakin fic where he had heard the reader talk with her friends that she's not passing physics and since he has the biggest crush on her since second grade he later suggest to help her..if she'll help him with something else ;)

Nerd!Anakin who inside was a little dirty minded boy that wished nothing more to have a loving girlfriend to do with her all the cool, nice things he always wanted to do (and he meant more joyful activities than sex)

Nerd!Anakin who has a collection of technical manuals and scientific holobooks that he reads in his spare time. His nightstand is filled with them, and he gets excited when a new one comes out. He’ll stay up late, curled up on the couch, devouring a manual on hyperdrive mechanics or some obscure sci-fi novel, eyes glued to the hologram.

He also loves telling you all about the technical details of what he's learning. You may not always understand everything he’s talking about, but his excitement is so adorable that you just let him ramble on.

Nerd!Anakin who has a soft spot for droids, and he might even give them 'upgrades' just because he thinks they deserve a treat. “You’ve been working hard, buddy. How about a new power cell?”. He’ll talk to them while he works, explaining what he’s doing like they’re his assistants (his fav is R2D2 obviously)

Nerd!Anakin who gets ridiculously excited about the latest gadgets or tech upgrades. When something new comes out, he’s like a kid in a candy store. Whether it's a new holo-terminal, a high-speed pod engine - he’s always the first in line to get it. He’ll show it off to you, explaining every little detail with enthusiasm. “Look at this! It has a new feature that triples efficiency!” He gets that adorable spark in his eye, completely geeking out over the smallest improvements.

Nerd!Anakin who would love when you'd do your nails; he'd ask soon later (when you two are alone) if you could play with his hair to only feel you scratch very gently against his scalp

Nerd!Anakin who was a great whimpering mess whenever you touched him (poor guy had never felt woman's touch before);

a sharp gasp left his mouth as you touched the mushroomy tip of his member, his hips jerking towards you without thought. he was already embarrassingly close, and now your teasing was only driving him closer to the edge “please-“ he let out a pleading moan, the words barely leaving his dry mouth

"please what ani? Use your words like good boys do"

He tried to focus enough to form a coherent sentence but it was getting so hard when all his mind could focus on, was the way you made him feel “I’m close-“ he gasped out, his hips rocking frantically against your tightening fist “I’m so close baby, i need it” he let out a sobbing whimper

"can you hold it in a little?" you asked gently

he groaned at the question before nodding almost desperately “for you, anything” his glasses sliding down his nose

You only hummed, all proud of your actions. How easily you could tear him apart by your single touch. Using her free hand to move his glasses so they were a bit more comfortable on him. You increased your movements, making sure to

he could feel the heat in his abdomen tighten as your hand moved faster. he was struggling to keep himself together, not much to your surprise "oh-oh god-“ he let out a loud gasp and a groan as your thumb moved over his tip again, that little touch sending electricity up his spine “oh-fuck…” one hand digging into the couch for some kind of grip “I can’t hold it—please please please” tears of desperation and overwhelming began to prick at the corner of his eyes

Nerd!Anakin who when was nervous, draw circles and designs on the back of your hand to relax himself

Nerd!Anakin who did your own minifigure from Legos

Nerd!Anakin who always had perfectly ironed shirts

Nerd!Anakin who in general was perfectionist in everything he'd do. If he had a mess in his room, he couldn't focus normally. If just one thing was moved inches apart, it drove him wild

Nerd!Anakin who made cupcakes with his mother for you

Nerd!Anakin who's a true mommy's boy

Nerd!Anakin who teared up after you gave him his first blowjob. He felt so overstimulated when his thick member was hugged around your warm throat, your tongue working on his shaft..it was way too much for the first time, he'd gasp and ask you to slow down because if you wouldn't, you'd already have his cum dripping down your throat

Nerd!Anakin who gave you flowers - sometimes real one and sometimes he'd do them from origamy

Nerd!Anakin who has a little sketchbook where he draws schematics for future projects—droid designs, custom technology accessories, etc. He’s always thinking of new ways to improve things, and his sketches are filled with intricate details and notes.

Sometimes, he’ll show you a design he’s particularly proud of, grinning ear to ear as he explains how it works. “What do you think? Pretty sleek, huh?”

Nerd!Anakin who was a true worshipper of your body. Would press such gentle kisses all over your body as if you were a ceramic doll he was scared to break

Nerd!Anakin who's glasses got foggy everytime he made love to you, his curls sticking to his forehead and his pinky, swollen lips quivering to hold back his own orgasm

Nerd!Anakin who adored math and physics (but not as much as he adored you). And of course, he loved to help you with those subjects

Nerd!Anakin ho invited you to weekly movie marathon. With all the snacks ready and a fluffy blanket

Nerd!Anakin who adored to cuddle with you. It was something so precious for him, and whenever he had a chance, he'd just wrap his arms around your waist from behind and nuzzle to your soft neck

Nerd!Anakin who liked to play with your hair like brushing them out of your face, twirling the strand around his finger and watch intensively, as if it was the most important/gorgeous/captivating sight he had seen, how it hugged his finger so perfectly

Nerd!Anakin who had his 'sexual education' with you;

Anakin hesitantly reached out, his hand trembling as he lifted it towards your chest. He hesitates for a moment once more, not sure if he's ready to do that. He just felt so sinful watching you naked..but oh so good.. so, before the thoughts would envelope his entire mind, he gently cupped one of your round, full breasts. He instantly marveled at, not only the softeneness but the weight, the way it filled his palm, how it was so beautiful, seeing your raspberry ripple hidden thanks to his large hand made him feel so fuzzy all inside

As he squeezed the soft globe tentatively, feeling its weight sprawl all over his senses, he couldn't help but let out a low moan, his body responding to the newfound pleasure. Guilty feelings fade away, leaving him all needy for more of you. His fingertips graze over your nipple to harden it, eliciting a soft gasp from both of you. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with wonder. "I-how i-" he stuttered shyly "-what should I do now?"

"whatever you want..you can kiss it, play with it, anything you want Annie"

Anakin's eyes widen at your words. To have the whole access to your body felt more pleasurable than anything in his life. He leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the underside of your breast. You gazed down at how his glasses pressed against your skin, making your breath hitched. He then brought his hand up to gently squeeze and caress the soft mound at your left breast, almost nuzzling to the right one. He looked back up at you, seeking approval, as if not sure if he could go any further

"go on, they're all yours" you encouraged

Anakin smiles shyly at your encouragement, feeling emboldened. He starts to kiss and lick at your breasts, alternating between the two. He gently nibbles on your nipples, sucking on them and releasing them with soft popping sounds. "Ahh... they're so soft... and t-tasty..." he mumbled the last part more quietly, as if embarrassed that he actually thought about your breasts in that way

he accidentally uses a bit too much pressure with his teeth, causing you to hiss in pain. He immediately freezes, his eyes filled with worry. "I'm so sorry... did I hurt you?" His voice soft, laced with adorable concern.

"no--its okay..just try to use a little less teeth..and relax"

Anakin nods, his expression turning gentle again. He leans back in, this time more careful, his touch feather-light. He alternates between sucking and licking, paying close attention to the way you react to his touch. "Like this?" He asks softly, his voice muffled against your skin.

"just like that" you tugged on his curls

After the moaned sentence left your mouth, Anakin felt a surge of pride. He continues his gentle ministrations, his own body growing harder with each passing moment. He looks up at you,l with his eyes hooded. "Can I... can I kiss you lower now?"

Nerd!Anakin who was scared to eat you out at first, cause it'd be his very much first pussy. But when he did, he had no idea how to do it. He used his teeth a little too much, his tongue a bit too forceful but in time he got better

Nerd!Anakin who loves space documentaries. He'll make you sit with him on the couch to watch them, enthusiastically pointing out facts you didn’t even know he knew. He’s the type to lean over and say things like, “Did you know that this system’s star is actually binary? And it formed 4.6 billion years ago?”

Nerd!Anakin who uses cheesy, nerdy pick-up lines that leave you both laughing. He’s the kind of guy who would say, “Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you’re Cu-Te.” He says it with so much confidence that you can’t help but find it endearing.

When you tease him about it, he’ll get all flustered, scratching the back of his head with that sheepish grin. “I thought it was clever..and you'd like it, maybe give me a small kiss or something.."

Nerd!Anakin who is fiercely protective of his tech projects. If someone tries to mess with them or touch his tools without asking, he’ll get all defensive. “Hey, be careful with that! I’ve been working on this for weeks.”

But when it’s you? He lets you mess with his projects all you want, even if it makes him a bit nervous. He’ll give you a dorky smile and say, “Just don’t break it, okay?” But secretly, he loves sharing his passions with you.

Nerd!Anakin who, as smart as he is with machines, is absolutely terrible in the kitchen. He’ll try to make you dinner as a sweet surprise, but something always goes wrong—he burns the food, the recipe doesn’t turn out, or the kitchen ends up looking like a disaster zone.

He’ll stand there, looking embarrassed but hopeful, holding a burnt dish with a lopsided grin. “Uh, it’s a little... crispy..”

Nerd!Anakin who leaves you small, nerdy notes;

On a sticky note on your fridge

"You’re the binary star to my existence. Without you, my orbit is off. Also, I reprogrammed the toaster. You're welcome.”

In your notebook or planner

“If I could rewrite the laws of physics, I'd bend space-time just to spend an extra 5 minutes with you.”

"The only code I can’t crack? How you make my heart race this fast.

Tucked inside your favorite book

“You're like the perfect algorithm: complex, beautiful, and always leaving me wanting to solve the equation that is you.”

On your desk after a long day

“You must have a gravity field around you, because I can't seem to stay away. P.S. Check under the desk, I might've added a small modification.”

Next to your coffee in the morning

"You must be a supernova, because you light up my entire galaxy."

Left on the keyboard of your laptop

“I may be fluent in over 6 million forms of communication, but none can express how much you mean to me. Except maybe binary: 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101.”

On a scrap of paper in your bag

“If life were an RPG, you’d be the rarest item—a perfect balance of stats, charisma, and intelligence. Also, +100 beauty.”

Tucked in between your sketchpad pages (if you're into art)

“You’re the canvas, I’m the artist... together, we create the perfect masterpiece. P.S. I’m still better at drawing starships though.”

Left in your lunchbox

“Did you know you increase productivity in starship repairs by 43% just by being near me? I’d call that a superpower.”

Taped to a little DIY gadget he made for you

“This little thing is just like you—ingenious and holds everything together. Also, try pressing the blue button for a surprise.”

Next to your favorite snack

“You’re like the perfect engineering schematic: flawless in design, and I can’t stop marveling at the details.”

In your locker

"I’d cross the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs just to see your smile."

“Did you know a day on Venus is longer than a year? Just like how waiting to see you again feels like”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet (I have not forgot about you now ;) )

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[bruisedboys]

since u asked for some finnick thoughts😁😁 how bout finnick and shy/clingy reader 😁😁

hello babe omg I am a sucker for shy/clingy!r because she’s me!!! here’s a lil something 4 the perpetually clingy girls

finnick odair x shy!fem!reader (r is shorter than finnick!)

You cling to Finnick’s arm as he guides you through the market. Your fingers are not unlike octopus tentacles, suctioned to him like you’re trying to disrupt his bloodstream. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’re making it a bit difficult to walk. He can’t figure out if he’s dazed from the harsh sun or the fact that you’re so, so close and you don’t seem to want to move.

“Where to next?” He asks you, his words coloured with aching fondness as he gently rubs your bicep.

You peer up at him. You’re shorter than him and Finnick finds a sick sort of pleasure in it, especially when you’re blinking up at him like you are now. You look impossibly cute pressed into his side like this, both your hands curled around his elbow, and the sun kissing your cheekbones.

“Vegetables?” You suggest.

Finnick can’t figure out how you can sound so sweet saying such a boring word, but you make it work somehow. “Okay,” he nods. “We need carrots, right? And tomatoes?”

You nod, puppy-like. “Mhm. And potatoes, I think? If you still wanted to have stew tonight.”

Finnick grins. You’re so cute it hurts. He can’t wait to get home and lather you in kisses. He’d do it now, but he’d worry you’d burst into flames in the middle of the morning market. You get embarrassed very easily.

“Okay,” he says. He bends to kiss your forehead. You’re warm and soft under his mouth. You preen into his kiss like a flower in the sun, and you’re flushed as he pulls away. “I still want it, if you do.”

You frown, but your eyes are sparkling with something akin to lovesickness. Finnick imagines his look quite the same, or worse, probably.

“That’s not how it works,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s your turn to pick tonight, Finnick.”

Finnick grins dazedly. He loves the way you say his name. It’s gives him heart palpitations. “Whatever you say, angel. You know I only like what you like.”

You roll your eyes and huff at him. You duck your head and mumble something that sounds suspiciously like, You’re impossible.

Finnick just chuckles and pulls you closer into his side as he starts moving towards the corner of the street, where the grocers set up their stalls. The market is busy this morning, but both you and Finnick haven’t paid much mind to anyone else, much too caught up in each other to register the rest of the world.

Still, Finnick knows you’re shy, so he keeps you under his arm the whole time, does all the talking at the stalls, pulls you to the side where the crowd is more sparse when he thinks you’re a bit overwhelmed. Sometimes he’ll let you talk to the sellers, and then he’ll buy you a sweet pastry (and add on a free kiss) because he’s proud of you.

At the vegetable stalls, Finnick buys a big stack of carrots (you love carrots) while you cling to his arm. You pick out four of the best potatoes together and Finnick thanks the woman at the stall, you sending her a soft smile.

When you’re done, Finnick’s arms laden with fruits and vegetables, you start to make your way out.

“Is that everything?” You’re asking. You’ve got your hand in his now and you’re swinging it between you. He thinks you’re pleased to be heading home. He is too, it means he’ll get you all to himself again.

Finnick puts on a thoughtful face. “Hmm.” He stops walking and waits for you to do the same. “One more thing, honey.”

Your brow creases. “Did we forget something?”

Finnick leans in close and kisses you chastely. He doesn’t linger too long, though he wants to. Despite the suddenness of his kiss, you tilt up against his mouth and squeeze his hand harder. His heart skips a beat.

“There,” he says, drawing away with a dizzy smile. “That’s everything, I think.”

You blink at him, clearly as dazed as he is. Probably worse. You wrinkle your nose at him.

“You’re impossible,” you mumble. He hears it much clearer than last time.

Finnick grins wolfishly. “That’s my girl.”

[assortedvillainvault]

Hello. Can I ask Lord Shen, NOS-4-A2, Horned King and Dr. Facilier with very smart but shy S/O?

Greetings Tumblr citizen, you most certainly can!! Love the variety here! Lowkey this was one of my favourites to write so I hope you like it!

Villains x SmartbutShy!S/O

Lord Shen

Oh? So you do talk.

You pointed out a discrepancy in the cannon’s design vs the quantity of gunpowder needed to shoot the given ammunition without careening backwards and killing the gunwolves – and all he could do was blink at you.

You spend all day hiding from the court, only to sneak in and tell him - to his face - that his weaponry was unfit for purpose, then propose a solution before he has time to open his beak??

...Are you engaged to anyone? Because if not he’s happy to remedy that-

As soon as your genius becomes apparent you go from barely present in Shen’s mind to a pillar of focus. He’s never met anyone so easily able to cut through the mess of mechanical and logistical issues of such vast quantities of metalwork – besides himself of course.

That you fall apart under any form of social pressure is...worrying however. China’s social hierarchy is a vicious thing, and such shyness is a weakness in even the most prosperous of courts – never mind his own.

He’s getting you a tutor. He cannot allow you to make an enemy within his walls when you are so closely intertwined. His word means much now that he’s killed most who would go against it, but he cannot protect you from everyone.

NOS4A2

Oh scrap and damn it all-!

It’s all he can do not to smash the unresponsive controls, and instead whizzes off into the rafters for a sulk to brood.

This ship was fried. It was charged enough to get somewhere, but if he couldn’t pinpoint a heading then he might as well be stranded on a stray asteroid instead of a merchant class vessel, for all the good it would do him.

He rolls his optics and pouts as a crewmember comes rushing in, unaware as he idly sizes them up from his vantage point. Not a droid. Stuck and he can’t even snack. Heinous.

He recognises you. The little one who didn’t talk much. It was a wonder the bigger crew members hadn’t accidentally sat on you for all you seemed able to disappear in to the background.

He all but jolts as you give the console a WHAM and everything comes online again – and gawps delightedly as your little fingers fly over the display, resetting coordinates and triangulating their position in 3D space, manually.

He wasn’t expecting such a solid grasp of intergalactic maps & positioning to come from someone who can barely string a sentence together! What a lovely surprise!!

You turn with an aborted shriek as he swoops down and clamps a hand over your mouth, grinning. The doors short circuit and slam shut with a bang, leaving him to loom over you as he idly tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hello dear~” he purrs, chuckling as your eyes go wide. “Fancy being helpful?”

Horned King

A kindred spirit?? Finally.

He abhors unnecessary social interaction, so to find someone else who operates on the same principle is a breath of fresh air in his long, stale existence.

He's spent so long with only beasts, thickwitted huntsmen and Creeper for company that to see someone so clearly intelligent was almost a shock. The quiet, assesing draw in your eyes was what made him stop and consider you as someone of interest.

...Y’know, once he actually managed to speak to you. Crippling shyness on your end, a lack of patience for the living on his…

He perceives everybody in his lands as something to be used, and you are, unfortunately, no different no matter how many soft feelings you insist on wringing out of his dessicated black heart. Such a spark as yours cannot be wasted. But you are not suited for the battlefield.

It seems you might have a knack for statecraft, if the frankly boggling rate at which you read is any indication. You have an ability to catch loopholes and find solutions that actually help him run his ramshackle forces, and keep the castle running smoothly.

It turns out you are invaluable - and prone to making little nooks of book towers and blankets in his library. Which is adorable.

But only when reading. Spoken word renders you so anxious you can miss important details and become a doormat. A pity. But not an insurmountable issue.

Until they rot, his ears and mouth work perfectly well. You can be his sweet little shadow, and he the face of things.

He'd have it no other way, honestly.

Dr. Facilier

Now darlin, why so shy?

He’s watched you scurry away from his table more times than he can count. He gets the feeling that you’d cross over three streets and the river if you could, to avoid catching his eye on the way to work.

And yet… you always pass by. Watching as he shuffles his cards.

He’s mid scam on some hapless tourist, fingers deftly spinning though tricks as he pulls them into a tidy little scheme, when he catches you watching intently from the side.

Your eyes twitch down to his left sleeve. If he’d have been less of a showman he’d have frozen.

You sneaky little card counter – he tries a couple different tricks, catching where your eyes narrow as he slips cards under the table, into pockets and swaps coins out with dazzle enough to bamboozle even the slickest citygoer.

Your eyes track every single one.

Damn. He has GOT to get you on side. Can’t have such a cute clever thing like you out where he can’t see you…

He ignores the fact that his shadow has been leering at you for weeks and already knows where you live. Give a man some leeway if he likes to hear a cute little thing squeak when they trip over ‘nothing’ once in a while.

And it’s even cuter when he steps from the shadows and smoothly slips you under his arm.

After all! He couldn’t help but notice you don’t seem to have many friends, cher. And he can absolutely help you with that…

[c0eu4]

I know this one is a little sad but

Do you think you could write one of the drivers finding their gfs self offing note? And one of the thoughts running through his mind thinking that she was introverted but she was always happy?

DR3 | What happened?

danielricciardo x fem!depress!reader

Summary : When Daniel found your suicide note.

Warning : suicide note, depression, fluff, hurt/comfort

A/n : Here, reader is depressed. It includes everything like lack of hygiene, no motivation... Please, do not read this if it can trigger you!

MASTERLIST requests are close

Daniel jumps on you and wraps his arms around you. He attacks your face with kisses, until it takes your breath away and makes you groan in displeasure.

''c'mon babe, get up!'' He told you as he continued his kisses and moved them down to your neck.

''Mhhh Dan! Move!'' You lazily push him away, rolling him onto the other side of the bed. He rolls onto his side, raising his head as he rests his head in his hand. He uses his other hand to clear your face of the few strands of hair hiding your face, tucking them behind your ears. But you push his hand away again and put the hood of your sweater on, then sink back into the blanket, pulling it up to your nose.

Daniel sighs. He noticed that you haven't been feeling well lately. You spend all your time in the bedroom and he has to force you out of bed every morning to take you somewhere. And sometimes he even has to remind you to do simple things like eating. Last meal, he feeds you, almost shoves food into your mouth because you were 'not hungry'.

But the most odd in that, it's that you're like that just with him. Whenever you're at the race with him, with people, you're someone else. You're talkative and the first to initiate the conversation. So he thought you just weren't in good mood because of the winter.

He ends up getting up, mainly because the position he's in is hurting his arm. He opens the curtains and pulls the duvet off of you, making you react.

''Daniel!'' You shouted at him and tried to grab back the duvet but only felt the sheet of the bed. You feel arms wrap around your waist and lift you up so easily. You don't say anything and let yourself do so, while Daniel carries you to force you to stand up.

''C'mon! We said we had to sort the whole house today.'' He rummages through your closet, pulling out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of shorts, then gives them to you.

''Get ready babe, I'm not gonna do this all alone.'' He kisses you tenderly and leaves the room to give you some privacy.

He noticed that too. You both don't do things anymore. He can understand that you need space, but at this point? How long ago was the last time he saw you naked? You don't even remember.

You change lazily, and join Daniel in the kitchen. In front of your usual place on the stool, you find a slightly burnt plate of pancakes, and you can't help but smile softly. He does his best. You know that he knows.

You force yourself to eat your pancakes while Daniel is already starting to sort through the few things lying around in the kitchen. He asks you from time to time if you keep this or that thing. Once your breakfast is finished, you clear your plate and help him sort the kitchen.

Time passes and you clean every room in the house from top to bottom. You decide to finish with the room that will probably take the longest to complete, your bedroom. Daniel digs under the bed, pulling out old boxes full of different things that you didn’t unpack when you moved in. You take care of sorting the wardrobe, folding and rearranging the clothes.

Daniel digs under your side of the bed and finds a small shoebox. He sits on the bed and opens the box, while watching out of the corner of his eye that you aren't watching him do so. He hates doing that, going through your stuff. But your health is starting to worry him so much that he feels the need to do it, to reassure himself.

Inside the box, there are a few papers. He recognizes a drawing that his niece drew for you, and a smile appears on his face. There is a pearl bracelet, the one that a Daniel fan gave you two years ago. He finds a jewelry bag, it's in this bag that he gave you the necklace you wear all the time. He quickly understands that in this box, there are things that you value very much. He recognizes your diary, you write in it every evening and he never thought to look at it. He takes it in his hands and a paper falls out of it. He puts the diary down and opens the paper that was folded in half. He looks at you again, and checks that you are still focused on your task of tidying the wardrobe. He returns his attention to the piece of paper he holds in his hands. This is a text that you wrote. He reads the beginning, and the first words take the smile off his face.

‹‹I want to die.››

Simple, fast and effective.

But it hurts. It hurts more because of the fact that you write it and doesn't talk to him about it.

He doesn't read any further, not wanting to intrude too much into your life and above all, not wanting to put pressure on you.

''Babe, wha-..what is that?'' You turn around with a little smile on your face and one of his hoodies in your hands. But your smile immediately fades away when you see the paper between his hands.

''It's nothing.'' You tell him coldly, snatching the paper from his hands and putting it back in the box then sliding it under the bed. Daniel places a hand on your waist and forces you to turn towards him, despite you trying not to let him. He forces you to sit on his lap and takes you in his arms.

''Don't.. please..'' He hugs you tightly, almost taking your breath away. You feel his breath faster than usual against you and he nuzzles into your neck, running one hand up and down your back.

You wrap your arms around him and rest your cheek against his hair. His scent soothes you, as usual, even if he smells slightly of sweat. But it strangely makes you feel good.

''May I ask you.. why?'' He asks you after long minutes of silence. He continues to hold you close to him, hoping he can get you to talk.

''I...I'm feeling so.. low.'' With each word you say, your voice trembles more. Tears well up in your eyes and you can't help but let them fall down your cheeks. Daniel sits a little further in the bed and this time, he presses your head against his chest while continuing to caress your back.

''It's like.. I don't know. I'm just.. I just feel like nobody understands me.'' You keep crying softly, holding back your sobs. ''Like, whatever I want to do is so hard.. just living is hard.'' Daniel lets you open up and talk to him. It's the first time he sees you like this, sobbing and shaking in his arms.

''I understand you.'' He caress your hair. ''I've been there too. And it was you who got me out of this black hole.'' he kisses your forehead as you look up at him with eyes full of hope.

''Me?..'' You repeat, more tears falling down your face.

''You gave me love, you gave me affection, you taught me to love myself and you gave me confidence in myself again.'' He smiles at you, his own eyes now wet. ''And I'm gonna do the same. I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna give you all the love I have in me, I'm gonna show you that you are enough and I'm gonna get you out of this black hole.''

His words make you cry even more and he hugs you tightly, stroking your hair and back to calm you down.

''Everything's gonna be fine. I'm here.. I'm here..'' He kisses your forehead again, determined to get you out of this hell.

[narcissistshandler]

Can you fo reader x JongGun🙏

Like after Daniel broke his arm, he comes to your apartment, you might worried, teasing him or being jealous, and everything happens after that...

𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘?

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn! reader x park jong gun

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 top!amab reader, bottom! gun, anal sex, masturbation (mentioned), jealous behavior, thoughts about hurting and drawing blood (in a romantic way), broken bones, and some sadism/masochism at the end

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 yeah, I didn't like the result of that (this has not been edited so please let me know if there is any mention/hint of the reader's gender)

He was already there when you arrived, even if you didn't notice his presence, one with the shadows of the room. It was as if he purposefully sought to hide and leave you with the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't alone, that there were eyes following you, and that there was something out of place - even if you didn't know for sure what.

And when you flicked the finger on the switch and the room filled with light, you couldn't help but jump when saw him sitting on your bed, with an unusual smile on his face, the eyes darker than usual, and wearing only one of your shirts. There was a tension there that you only felt when you stepped towards him and saw the spark of amusement in the curve of his lips, the excited insanity.

The air seemed to grow thicker, even though you merely tried to engage him in shallow conversation. Which you already had enough experience with to know it was difficult. Gun was reserved, in the best of words. He came and went as he pleased, had what he wanted and then disappeared without even an explanation.

What were you? You asked yourself every damn day. Your circle was smaller than it seemed, you heard his name quite often and it wasn't uncommon to bump into him, he also had the keys to your house, but that didn't make what you had something serious.

You tried not to think about it as Gun kissed you - ravaged your mouth as if he was furious with you, or at the very least, very excited. He was eager today - pulling your clothes off, biting your neck, fighting the fabric of your pants to get to your dick as quickly as possible. He was also talkative, 'I prepared myself for you while I waited', 'I thought about you while I did it', he said, knowing exactly how to tease you and leave you wanting him. 'I came on your bed, on your sheets, on your pillow', and you can almost smell him in your room after those words leave his mouth.

And his ass really was prepared for you, dripping with lube on your bed and his hard dick forming a tent under the shirt he had stolen from your closet.

You felt like a crazy person, like an addict who couldn't fight the source of the addiction. Gun only had to spread his legs for you, and like an eager puppy, you lined yourself up with a shaking hand on the relaxed hole and sank inside, where you belonged. What are we? The question came back to you. What does all this make us? Because you knew it had been months, maybe years, since Gun had slept with anyone else, neither did you.

You grabbed Gun's hands, somehow wanting to force him to answer the question that didn't even come out of your mouth and tried to hold his arms up. You wanted to know if he felt the same way. "Urgh," Gun groaned, and easily fought against your power. The sound full of pain and discomfort sounded alien in his mouth and it completely captured your attention. Only then did you notice that Gun wasn't moving one of his arms, which was swollen and turning red.

Your movements began to slow down, until they almost stopped. "Don't you dare!" He grunted, legs immediately wrapping around your waist and heels digging into your ass.

"You’re hurt, you need to go to the hospital," you argued, not being able to help but worry, but Gun wasn’t having any of it. Even with one of his arms broken, he moved as nimbly as usual and he easily reversed your positions so that he was now sitting on top of you, your cock not even leaving the heat of his hole. "You're fucking insane!" you moaned at the show of strength. Gun looked damn erotic on top of you, riding you, even with one of his arms limp at his side, wrapped in the long sleeve of your shirt.

"As if you didn't already know that," he replied, the smile wide on his kiss-swollen lips. "I came here to fuck, not get medical advice, so shut up and let me work."

But you just couldn't shut up. "What- ah, happened?" You asked through clenched teeth as you watched Gun's long, firm legs sink into the mattress with each rise and fall, his dick hidden under the shirt forming a wet spot on the fabric.

Gun responded to you without haste, releasing disjointed sentences and words as he mounted you, firmly and quickly, successfully taking the breath away from both of you. “Charles Choi,” he said, and then “fight” and a “brat” that he repeated a few times and that you didn’t think much of until you noticed who it referred to – Daniel.

"Daniel broke your arm?" You repeated his words, your fingers digging into Gun's thighs in a failed attempt to slow him down so you could make sure you heard him right.

Gun's smile seemed to get even bigger, and for the first time, you hated seeing him smiling.

"Why? Jealous?" And only Gun would think anyone would be jealous of someone taking blood and breaking someone else's bones. But then wasn't that what you were feeling? Not anger at Daniel for hurting Gun, but jealousy. Jealousy that you wasn't the one to hurt him, leave your mark behind on Gun's body and that Daniel was the one to get Gun all hot and excited.

That strange, possessive part of your mind stirred - you almost wanted to draw blood from Gun at that moment.

"You’re a slut," you accused, not at all denying Gun’s statement. He chuckled and swiveled his hips in a sensual circle, the good hand resting on your stomach. He was teasing you, you realized.

Then the notion hit you, you didn't need to resort to such methods to mark him as yours, after all, only you were capable of having him like this, naked, in your bed, with hot cheeks and fucking himself on your dick. You had already left your mark implanted deep into his body where you doubted anyone else would ever be able to be.

Your feet dug into the mattress, hips jumping off the bed to slam against Gun's ass. The sound he made was downright obscene, what looked like tears glistening in the corners of his black eyes, the psychotic smile still there. He was yours, it was the first time you noticed. He had chosen to come to you, because no one else knew this slutty side of him, because no one else could feed that side, only you.

Gun fell willingly against your chest, moaning and trying to move back against you, hungry, looking for more of your cock, more of the aggression and pain. Pain. One of your hands rested on his back, keeping him lying on top of you and the other wandered, found Gun's long fingers and then closed around his wrist, tightly and then, you pulled his broken arm.

The scream that came from Gun's throat would forever be etched in your memory; his cock twitched and spilled, further soiling the shirt he was wearing.

At that moment, you knew what you two were, complete lunatics who would always find in each other exactly what they needed. There were no longer any doubts.

[cogentsummoner]

another one!! “Come one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you.” with subby Toshinori? Overstimulate this man till he's crying please

29. “Come one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you.”

There are times when Toshinori's sensitivity due to inexperience and lack of a meaningful refractory period in his empowered form come back to bite him in the ass. Like right now, as he feels overwhelmed tears slide down his cheeks while broken, unintelligible noises left his open mouth.

Though, phrasing it like that makes it sound like he's not enjoying himself, and he very much is. Every kiss, caress, and touch are precious- sacred, even- to him, even as they leave him shaking like he's going to fall apart.

You'd pushed him down on his bed when he got home, the look in your eyes saying that you were in control tonight, and that control was something he gave you easily, knowing you'll treat him well. You always do.

So here he is, All Might, the Number One Hero and Symbol of Peace, reduced to a trembling, sobbing wreck beneath you. You've made him come more times tonight then he ever has before in his life, using your hands, mouth, toys and cunt. You've used every tool you have to unravel him completely.

More of his cum leaks out of you, dripping down his cock and balls, making even more of a mess of himself. You've made him come so many times, and there's always so much of it- it's more than a little embarrassing. You had the right idea, laying out towels underneath him when you got started.

Of course, all that cum only makes it easier for you to ride him, sliding smoothly up and down his thick cock.

"Sweet boy," you coo at him, and he has to hide his face at that. It was one of his favorite pet names you used for him, but it turned him to mush and made him bashful more than anything else. "Do you think you can come for me one more time?"

Immediately he shakes his head. No, no- he's far too sensitive, far too spent. "I can't, I can't," he chokes out, even as you keep slowly rolling your hips.

You hum, knowing him too well, and ask a better question, "Do you need to use your safeword?"

His face burns, and he can't meet your gaze. Toshinori shakes his head.

"You know you can, right?" you ask softly. You trace shapes into his skin, and he melts a little bit when he realizes it's a heart you're drawing.

Still not looking at you, he nods. Gathering his wits enough to talk, he says quietly, "I know I can... I don't need to."

Because the truth was this: he doesn't ever want you to stop. He wants to stay in this moment, with you, forever. Your hands on him, his cock in you- even as it overwhelms him, he still wants more. He wants and wants and wants- and you give, like it's just that easy, like it doesn't mean everything to him.

All Might isn't allowed to be selfish. He can't be, not with his power and his responsibilities. He's not allowed to want. But he's not All Might right now, not when he's with you. Hell, he's not even Yagi Toshinori when you're together like this.

He's just yours.

"Come one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you," you murmur at him, starting to move your hips again, and he's embarrassed how fast he gets hard again. You're just so warm and wet and tight- and you love him. You love him, and you want him, and-

His massive hands grip your hips as he thrusts up into you, feeling that final climax build; it wasn't going to take much at all.

A few more thrusts and he was spilling into you once again; he was left whimpering and shaking, going completely boneless underneath you as a sob tears out of him. Now, he was well and truly spent.

"That's it... that's it," you say softly, leaning up and wiping his tears away with such genuine tenderness that it makes new tears well up. "You did so well, love," you continue, and he shudders at the praise.

In a few minutes, you'll probably suggest a bath, something the two of you regularly do for aftercare, and he certainly needs one, given the mess you've made of him. But right now... right now, you stroke his cheek gently, and he leans into it, feeling safe, content... and happy. Warm. Loved. He's at peace.

smut prompts / accepting.

[fluentmoviequoter]

You Invite It

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: Despite your sunny and smiley personality, Luca and another man get angry with you during a night out with 20-David. When Luca comes to apologize, you shy away from him, and he has to tell you how he feels before you will accept his help.

Warnings: angst, arguments, alcohol consumption, drunk man gets pushy with reader (none of the SWAT men, of course!), fluff, comfort at the end

Word Count: 3.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“There she is!” Hondo cheers when you walk in.

You smile and do a dramatic spin before bowing. Every member of 20-David smiles in return, as their day is instantly brightened just by your presence.

You’ve known the team for a while but becoming friends with them was easy. They are some of the nicest people you have ever met, and your constant good mood draws them in day after day. Luca is actually the reason you met the team because you were drawn to him, and once you became friends with him, the rest of the team followed suit. Thanks to Luca, you now have some of the best friends you could have ever asked for.

“How are you?” Luca asks as he pulls you into a side hug.

“I’m good,” you answer. Luca’s eyes drop to look over you quickly, and your smile grows as you add, “I promise I am perfectly fine. Safe and sound, see?”

Luca nods and turns his attention back to Hondo, but he keeps an arm around you. While he doesn’t always succeed, Luca tries to hide the depth of his feelings for you. He’s felt a unique connection the moment you met, a persistent desire to be close to you. Most likely, Luca will not admit it to anyone, but he is in love with you and knows it. He constantly checks on you because his love and care cause him to worry about you. Your safety is important to him because Luca sees the cruelty and monsters in the world daily and wants you far away from that. So, he hasn’t told you how he feels.

“We’re going to Jumbo’s tonight,” Street says. “You wanna come?”

“Sure!” you answer. “But I’m not playing anymore games with you.”

“I did not cheat!” Street argues.

“Yes, you did,” you and Luca say together.

“Thank you,” you tell Luca as you lean against him. “See, Luca said you cheat, so it must be true.”

“You would say that,” Street huffs.

“What does that mean?” you inquire.

You take Luca’s hand because it’s easily accessible where his arm hangs over your shoulder. He sends Street a warning look as you link your fingers with his.

“Nothing,” Street answers after a moment. “Just that you like Luca more than me.”

“No argument there,” you retort with a wink. “Maybe you could even the field if you’d stop cheating at darts.”

“It is literally impossible to cheat at darts!”

You laugh, and Luca smiles as you turn against him. His arm wraps around you, and he wishes you would stay with him forever. But even though he is looking forward to spending time with you tonight, he hates that it’s at Jumbo’s. Going there for a drink with his team is one thing, but they aren’t the only ones who notice your sunny and welcoming personality. He doesn’t know if he can handle watching you get hit on for much longer.

Street mouths, “Just tell her,” while you’re tucked against Luca’s chest, yet he is too concerned with you rejecting him to take the chance.

✯✯✯✯✯

It starts before you even get inside. Someone in the parking lot calls out and asks for your number, but your smile doesn’t falter as you rush inside to see your friends. 20 Squad just wrapped up a big case, so you are excited to celebrate with them. Spending time with them is a reward, but knowing they accomplished something amazing makes everything more interesting.

Street yells your name when you enter, and you quickly make your way through the crowd to join them at the usual table. The seat next to Luca is open, and as the team expected, you slide into it without hesitation. After hugging him and saying hello to everyone else, you listen to them recount the details of the raids they completed for the case. Your hand slips into Luca’s when they mention his exemplary driving, and he smiles at your attention.

“Hey, I’m going to go get refills. Everyone want more?” you ask as you stand.

Hondo reaches for his wallet, and you lean forward to hit his shoulder. 

“My treat,” you add. “For keeping LA safe.”

“I’ll go with you,” Luca offers.

“I got it,” you promise. 

You bump your shoulder against Luca’s as you pass him, and he turns to watch you. His protectiveness comes from a good place, but situations like this, when you’re out in public and men have no issue coming up to you and doing what Luca wants to do, are different.

“Why don’t you just tell her?” Deacon asks Luca. “It’s clear to everybody that you have feelings for her, and we all know you want to settle down.”

“With her,” Hondo adds. “And she clearly likes you, too. What are you waiting for, my man?”

“I just… I can’t risk being wrong,” Luca explains.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you approach the bar, you step around a group of guys to wedge in. One of them looks up when you brush against him, and you apologize before asking the bartender for another round for your table.

“Hey,” the guy beside you says after you finish. “I just wanted to let you know that I wasn’t, like, upset or anything. I turned around because you’re beautiful.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you reply.

Even though you turn back toward the bar, hoping to cut the conversation short, the man takes your happy look as an invitation to continue.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he offers.

“No, thanks. I’m here with friends.”

“Surely they can spare you for a few minutes. I’m sure they have before.”

“I’m really not interested. Thanks for the compliment, but I’m good.”

The man’s jaw drops slightly as you accept the tray of drinks with a smile and balance it in your hands as you return to the table.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you turn toward the guy, with your best smile on, Luca’s jaw clenches. He always keeps an eye on you but hates witnessing moments like this. Luca turns back toward the table as you approach, and only mumbles a thank you when you pass him another drink.

“What did the quarterback up there want?” Street teases.

You roll your eyes, unseen by Luca, and answer, “To tell me I’m beautiful.”

Luca picks up his drink and downs it quickly, too quickly, before excusing himself to take a call. You watch him walk out and then return to your conversation with Street and Hondo.

“Sorry,” someone says as they bump into the back of your chair.

“No problem,” you reply. “What’d she say then?” you ask Street.

“Um, excuse me,” the guy behind you says.

You turn and look up at him, and Street looks over at Hondo, who shakes his head in amusement. None of you notice Luca walk back in and freeze at the sight of a man standing beside his chair and talking to you. As if Luca wasn’t in a bad enough mood after the first one, now there’s a man in his spot flirting with you. He is used to being upset by other men taking your attention, but the anger building in him is new.

“I said no,” you repeat, finally dropping your smile.

“That means leave,” Street adds seriously.

“Sorry,” the man says, though you know he doesn’t mean it. 

He knocks into the back of your chair again as he walks away, but you keep your attention on Street. You gesture for him to continue his story, and your smile reappears as he picks up where he left off. Unfortunately, all Luca sees is a man talking to you, and a smile on your face when he gets back. Luca drops into his chair without a word and gives his attention to the game on the TV over Deacon’s head.

“You alright?” Hondo asks.

“Fantastic,” Luca answers.

“Make a decision about that thing we were talking about?” Deacon asks.

The reminder that Luca has feelings for you that he hasn’t acted on does not help to improve his attitude or calm him down any. He wants to tell you, he does, but he’s scared. And right now, he is angry that you so openly accept the flirtations and advances of strangers but seem totally blind to how well he treats you.

“No,” Luca tells Deacon.

“Ten bucks that guy at the bar is buying you a drink,” Street says from your other side.

You groan and tip your head back.

“Getting tired of all the attention, pretty girl?” Hondo jokes.

“Yes!” you answer with a chuckle. “I think I’ve been flirted with and hassled enough tonight to never go out again.”

“Well maybe if you wouldn’t invite all the attention and learn to drop the smile and say no, it wouldn’t be an issue,” Luca snaps.

His eyes are still on the game, so he doesn’t see how quickly your smile falls at his comment. You look over at Street, but he, Hondo, and Deacon seem just as shocked at Luca’s outburst. Deacon tries to pick the conversation up again, but no one is quite as excited or willing to talk now. 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Street as you stand.

Luca sighs once you’re gone, simultaneously mad at himself for hurting your feelings and still upset with you because you can’t see his attachment to you. Street watches you go, and when Luca looks over, he can tell that he undoubtedly ruined the night. Luca assumes you’re heading to the bar for another drink and to let another man flirt with you, and he can’t take it.

“I’m calling it a night,” Luca says.

He stands and walks out of the bar without even looking for you, something he has never done before. Luca always takes you home, or at least offers to, after a night out. On the rare nights that you turn down his offer, he makes you promise to call him when you get home safe. So, when he leaves without a glance in your direction, the rest of his team knows that whatever caused him to snap is going to be a bigger problem than anticipated.

“Where’s Luca?” you ask when you return.

“He left,” Street answers quietly.

You look toward the door, but he’s already gone. Although you should probably be upset with him, you’re more concerned than anything. He’s acting out of character tonight, and that worries you.

“What did I do?” you ask as you sit.

“Nothing!” Street assures.

“He had a rough day,” Deacon adds. “And he’s not dealing with it very well.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hondo reiterates.

You nod, but it is clear to everyone at the table that the night is over. Whatever happened to Luca to make him snap, a long day, or maybe it's your fault, but he ruined everyone’s mood in an instant.

“Let me take you home,” Street offers as you stand.

“I- it’s fine, Street. I think I need to be alone right now,” you reply.

“Seriously, let one of us drive you,” Deacon implores.

“I’ll call a cab. It’s fine. Thank you, though.”

They nod and you hug each of them before stepping outside to wait for your ride. After watching the timer on your phone tick down, your vision grows blurry with unshed tears, and you turn the screen off and put it away. As you sit against a bench outside the bar, you nearly miss the man who ran into your chair earlier as he approaches.

“You wanna tell me no again without your boys to back you up?” he asks, slurring his words together.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply.

He stumbles as he steps toward you, and you can smell alcohol all over him. There’s no drink in his hand, so you know the strong scent is simply evidence that he is drunk. When he leans into your personal space, you stand and try to put some space between you.

“I said I wasn’t interested,” you remind him.

“Everyone is interested,” he argues as he raises a hand to your waist.

You try to push his arm away, but he tightens his grip and pulls you close as his other hand raises to your shoulder. 

“Get off of me,” you demand.

“You told me no and now I’m returning the favor!”

You raise your hands to his chest and push as hard as you can, but his hands remain on you as he tips back. As he falls and pulls you to the ground with him you regret turning down Street’s offer for a ride. You didn’t want to talk about Luca, but now you would have that awkward conversation in a heartbeat.

The man pulls one of his hands from your skin and pushes you onto the sidewalk. He begins mumbling as he pushes you, but you have coordination in your favor. As you maneuver away from him, you look down the road and hope to see your cab approaching.

“No,” the man says while he grabs your hair.

You turn quickly and try to push him off again, but you can’t get any leverage before he pushes you against the brick wall. Leaning over the bench, you can feel warm blood running down your face, but even as the ground spins beneath you, you feel his hands move against your sides. Turning quickly and resisting the urge to be sick, you slap your hand across his face. He stumbles just as your cab approaches the curb. You rush into the backseat and lean against the headrest. The driver asks something, but you focus on staying conscious rather than answering her. She passes you a box of tissues, and you press a few against your head and try to breathe.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luca has been home for over an hour but hasn’t sat down yet. As he paces across the living room again, the anger dissipates, and he has the clarity to realize what exactly he said and did. Luca needs to apologize, and soon. After pulling his phone from his pocket, he calls you but doesn’t get an answer. Luca sends a text, but it goes unread for nearly five minutes. Next, he calls Deacon, who hasn’t heard from you since he left the bar after Luca. Luca ends the call with Deacon and begins to panic. If they left soon after he did, no one has heard from you in nearly an hour. When the door opens, Luca turns quickly.

“Street,” he says before asking about you.

“She wouldn’t let me take her home,” Street answers. “Why?”

“Because she’s not answering my calls,” Luca says quickly.

“I hope you were calling to apologize.”

“I was, and I will let you give me the whole speech later, but I need to go check on her.”

Luca picks up his keys and rushes to his truck. He could drive to your house with his eyes closed but forces himself to pay attention as he worries that he ruined everything with you and now truly doesn’t have a chance to show you how you make him feel and how much he loves you.

You don’t open the door after too much knocking on Luca’s part, so he pulls his keys out and uses your spare key to get inside. If you’re not here, Luca will call the entire team back to Jumbo’s to help look for you. There’s no sign that you got home from the bar, but Luca decides to search the house anyway. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom are empty. When Luca is prepared to start an all-out, city-wide search for you, he remembers he didn’t check the bathroom. His hope is low, but when he sees the bloody towel lying on the sink, his heart drops to his stomach.

✯✯✯✯✯

When the light turns on, you groan and turn your face away from the brightness. Your thoughts aren’t clear, but you know the light is hurting your head. When you force your eyes open, someone is kneeling beside you.

Luca sees the blood on the towel and on your face before noticing how dazed and confused you seem. When you open your eyes, Luca recognizes the distracted, cloudy look in them and decides you are likely concussed. He wonders if you were tipsy by the time you got home and fell, but he needs to tend to your head wound before he asks how you ended up in this situation.

When Luca raises his hand toward you, you shrink away from him. You push yourself into the corner and make yourself as small as possible, terrified that the man from the bar somehow followed you home and came to do what he started.

Luca, however, freezes at your blatant display of fear. A bruise spans your shoulder, and a darkening splotch surrounds your wrist. Because you moved, those marks are now on clear display for Luca. They look suspiciously like handprints and Luca’s guilt about leaving you multiplies tenfold.

“Hey,” Luca says quietly. “It’s just me. Luca, Dom, whatever cute little name you feel like calling me today. I know you’re probably mad at me, but I need to help you. Can I come closer?”

You look up and stare at him for a moment before nodding. Slowly, you move back toward him and offer your injured wrist.

“I got you,” Luca murmurs as he twists to look at the gash across your hairline and forehead. “And I’m so, so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I was just jealous that all those guys were approaching you and saying those things when I have real feelings for you. When I’m in love with you.”

“Love?” you mumble against his arm.

“Hey, stay awake for me,” Luca requests.

He cleans the wound gently, then places a few butterfly closures over it before bandaging your forehead. After pressing ice to your wrist, Luca helps you up and into bed.

“Stay,” you request as you lay on your pillow.

“I’ll be close,” Luca promises.

He stays in the living room when he isn’t checking on you and ensures the guys know you are okay. None of them know what happened, but Luca promises to ask you when you wake up. If you're willing to talk to him.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up the following morning, you have a headache and a disjointed memory of a dream in which Luca showed up and helped you. You exit the bedroom after changing and stop suddenly when you see Luca in your kitchen.

“You really came,” you say aloud.

“I am so sorry,” Luca says again. “I don’t know if you remember what I said last night, but I didn’t mean what I said at the bar.”

“I remember pieces,” you admit as you tug on your fingers.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head and move closer to Luca. “After you left, I was really upset. So, when I left I called a cab because I didn’t want to have to talk to Street or Deacon about what happened…”

“About me?”

“Yeah. While I was waiting for the cab, that guy I told to leave me alone, the second one, I mean, came out. He was really drunk and started telling me that it was his turn to say no. He grabbed me, and I tried to fight back like you showed me, but I just couldn’t get the upper hand.”

“He grabbed you?”

Luca carefully takes your hand and frowns as he looks at the bruise on your wrist. You nod and move even closer.

“He pushed my head against the wall, and I slapped him, he tripped, and I just jumped into the cab without thinking. I- I would have called you once I was safe, but you clearly weren’t happy with me when you left.”

Luca closes his eyes as you continue.

“It hurt, Dom, what you said. I don’t try to invite it, you know. Whenever those guys make passes at me, I turn them down. So, when you basically said it was my fault that they don’t listen or respect me, I was really surprised, and it hurt my feelings.”

“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t even mean it. You don’t invite it, I know that. Trust me, I know that.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I know firsthand what it is like to be pulled in by you. I fell in love with you,” he admits. “And I didn’t have a bit of say in it. You walked into my life, and then I wanted you in it all the time. I care about you, so much, and seeing all those men close to you, where I want to be, made me angry or jealous. But taking it out on you was- should have never happened, and I’m truly sorry.”

Your brows furrow as Luca speaks, and when he finishes, you ask, “You- you didn’t know I turned them down, did you?”

“No.”

“I always do. Not just because I don’t like it, but because I have feelings for you.”

Luca’s eyes drop away from yours, and he feels worse upon hearing that your actions were at least in part done out of care for him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Stop,” you request. 

Your wrist is still in his grasp, so you raise your other hand to cup his jaw.

“You said you fell in love with me,” you mumble. “Which is great, because I love you.”

Before Luca can react, you close the distance between you and kiss him. Luca’s hands move to either side of your neck, mindful of your pain as he kisses you. The memory of the hurt he caused drifts further from your mind with each movement, and knowing that Luca loves you, too, brings your smile back for a whole new reason.

Luca’s phone rings, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. When your phone rings immediately after, you pull back and answer it.

You hide your smile as you listen to the person on the other end. “It’s for you,” you tell Luca as you pass him your phone. “Just remember I love you.”

“Hello?” he asks.

“Dominique Luca!” Street begins.

[solarmorrigan]

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

-

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he’s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.

[pearlessance]

Dig Two Graves - Idle Threats [vii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel relives the worst moment of his life and finally reads your journal.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, angst, canon typical violence, joel and reader fight the rat king, reader has an added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There’s a certain sort of amazement in your horror. Joel watches you take everything in—watches you sift through trashed rooms, taking what hasn’t already been picked over. Scalpels, expired vitamins, and gauze all wind up in your pockets or your backpack.

You only encounter two clickers on the main floor, and they likely wandered in through the bomb-sized hole that’s been blown through the side of the hospital. 

He thought you were quick with the bow of yours, but it’s nothing compared to how lethal you are with that sawback knife. Before you even make it to the second floor, there’s blood splattered on your cheek and a murderous glint in your eye. When you take down the second clicker and turn to see him with his rifle raised, you draw a new, crystal clear rule. “We don’t use bullets unless we absolutely have to. We don’t use guns unless we have to. The less noise we make here the better.”

“‘Course,” he says.

But you narrow your eyes at him, unrelenting. “I’m serious, Joel. I’ll tell you when I need help. If you fire that thing every infected in this place will be on us in a second.”

He almost hears the echo of his own voice in your words. It makes him smile. There’s a sign hanging above the stairwell. Joel nods to it and says, “You got that list of stuff you need for Maria? Can probably find most of it in the labor and delivery wing. Third floor.” 

You nod in agreement and find the scrap of paper you’ve kept safely stored these last few days. It’s crinkled but still legible, the smeared ink list covering both front and back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There are spores on the third floor. Joel helps you secure your mask, tightening it maybe a little too tightly, and can’t help but smile to himself as you look up at him through the clear glass over your eyes. You look so innocent, so sweet—and he might die today and so he says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?”

You shove his shoulder playfully and scoff at his compliments, but your cheeks turn a shade of crimson he’s never seen before and he knows it’s gotten to you. “Shut up.”

The two of you slink through the halls on the third floor, and at this point, Joel feels like you’ve gotten too lucky on this trip. There haven't been any bad moments, any close calls. And you find a quarter of your list in just one room behind the nurse's station that Joel has to break into with brute force. But it works, and he tries not to think about how everything on the list for Maria had been easily accessible. 

He’s still bitter about this whole trip, in truth. Joel’s glad to have this time with you, glad to have gotten to know the most hidden parts of you. It’s all made him understand you better, made him see who you really are beneath the bratty facade you wear.

You’re different out here. And not just because of the inherent danger that comes with being outside the walls. You’re different with Joel. And he knows it’s likely because your rigid exterior has kept everyone else in Jackson from getting too close to you. Everyone except Maria.

Joel wonders if she knows how lucky she is, how fortunate someone like you has decided to love Jackson as much as its creator. Because if it were him, if it were Ellie in your position, Joel would never let her lift another finger for Maria even if she begged on her knees. You’re worth more than this. Your life matters beyond what you can provide. 

And he vows to remind Maria of it the moment the two of you return. He promises to put an end to this parasitic relationship formed between the two of you.

“Hey,” you say. “Look.” You pull something from a drawer behind the nurse's station. It’s an old folded paper, yellowed around its edges.

It’s a map of the hospital. Joel stands beside you, so close he can feel the heat of your body through the sleeve of his flannel. He scans the map briefly, taps his middle and index finger against the lowest level labeled operations. “That’s where we can find the rest,” he says.

“How do you know?” 

He doesn’t. Not for certain. “Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were always stocked with supplies, oxygen tanks, stuff like that. There was a cart full of things for anesthesia. Could be someplace else but it’s likely there. Maybe secured in some closet or somethin’ down there.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. He watches your profile, savoring the sight, watches you gnaw on your bottom lip. He can tell you’re nervous. He is, too. 

Joel presses a kiss against your hairline. “We’re gonna make it back home,” he says. But he can’t promise it, even though he wants to. 

Something is weighing on you. Your eyes are far away, misty. He wants to prod for answers but knows better. “Yeah. We will. Let’s go.”

The north stairwell past the third flood is blocked by rubble and debris, likely caused by the explosion from the bombings.

You end up doubling back, winding through the hallways down to the lobby and to the opposite side of the hospital. The south side of the building is in better shape but must have been where the quarantine rooms for Casper began because the infected are everywhere. A dozen clickers roam the halls, some hidden between solid steel doors or plastic sheets to section off makeshift rooms.

Thankfully, the task of eradication proves relatively easy. Until the last three, anyway. 

Joel’s crouched low, knife in hand, stalking slowly behind a clicker with fresh blood on its mangy shirt when a test tube shatters beneath his boot. 

The infected turns its head and lets out an ear piercing screech, gathering the attention of the other three clickers left. They descend upon him, and Joel is readying himself to jam his knife through the head of whichever one’s closest—but then he hears your voice. 

“Hey! Hey, over here!” 

And all three of them change course. You’re like a magnet drawing in death. Joel feels everything slow in an instant. 

It’s like he’s right back in that capitol building, leaving Tess behind as if she meant nothing. And Joel had never told her otherwise because he’d been too afraid of caring and losing. But then came you, who obliterated all of his defenses and wriggled your way into his worm-eaten heart anyway. 

And yet somehow Joel ends up in the same predicament. 

He abandons his knife altogether in favor of his rifle. He looks through the scope, aims, and the shot echoes off the hospital walls.

You’ve got your knife in the neck of one clicker but it still thrashes in your grip. You just missed the spinal cord—the first time he’s seen you miss any of your strikes. 

It’s too close for him to shoot without potentially hitting you in the process.

The other isn’t, though, and Joel looses another bullet that pierces true. 

He slings his rifle back over his shoulder and he’s only two yards away from you when you stumble backward, losing your balance, the clicker’s strength overpowering yours. 

You’ve got both hands holding its mouth just out of range of your face, knife still stuck in its neck, and Joel’s ears begin to ring.

He doesn’t remember reaching you. He doesn’t remember ripping the clicker off of you and onto the floor. He doesn’t remember shoving the heel of his boot through its softened, decayed skull.

All Joel can recall is the sound of your fearful scream in his ears. 

But when he comes back and the color red bleeds from the edges of his vision, the evidence is there. The infected brain matter has splashed across the white tile and his boot is covered in blood and gore. 

Your chest is heaving when he turns to look at you. You’re still sitting on the floor, arms stretched out behind you as you try and fail to catch your breath.

His voice is calm, and steady as he asks, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Me? What about you, Joel? I said no fucking guns!”

He doesn’t know what to expect when you speak. But it certainly isn’t that. “I wouldn’t have had to use it if you didn’t try to get yourself killed,” he says, biting anger in his voice. Residual fear from the clicker, he tells himself. 

But it feels like a lie even in his own head. His fury has nothing to do with the clicker and everything to do with your brush with death, Joel knows.

“I told you if I needed help I would say so! I had it!”

Joel leans down and plucks your bloody knife from the dead clicker’s neck and hands it to you. “Did you? Cause it didn’t look like it from here.”

You push yourself to your feet furiously. “Yes, I did! And I don’t need you making decisions like that on a whim! It’s too goddamn dangerous out here. What happened to my run, my fucking rules? Hm? What about that?”

He’s never seen you this angry before. Even with Maria, you’d been more lax. It doesn’t bother him, though—because he’s just as furious. “A whim?” He scoffs. “You wanna talk about rash decisions? Alright—what about that stunt you pulled that got you into this mess in the first place? Yelling’ and hollerin’ like some banshee in the middle of a bunch of clickers and for what?”

“What was I supposed to do, Joel? Let them swarm you, kill you? Are you delusional? I—!”

He closes the space between you and takes your arm between his fingers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Whatever you’d meant to say, whatever insult you’d had full intentions of hurling at him, lodges itself and stays stuck in your throat. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again, you hear me?”

“What am I doing, then? Protecting you? Oh, sorry! I guess that’s my bad!” You raise your bloody hands in mock surrender. “Next time I should let them tear you apart, is that it?”

“Next time you don’t put yourself between me and a threat,” he says firmly. “I don’t care if it’s a clicker or the barrel of a gun. Your life fucking matters.”

You flinch as if he’d struck you in the face. It takes you a minute to come back from it, to gather yourself enough to respond. But the moment a crease forms between your brows Joel can sense a coming argument, and he cuts it down before giving you a chance to breathe life into it. 

“It matters,” he says again. “It might not to you, but it does to Ellie, to Tommy, to everyone in that town.” He doesn’t say Maria’s name, but he knows you mean something to her just as well. His voice cracks as he admits, “You matter to me.”

You search his face frantically, trying to find a lie when there isn’t one. He watches tears well that refuse to fall, watches your throat bob as you swallow down that fight in you. Your silence speaks volumes to him. 

Still, it’s not enough to settle the fear that’s curdled in his gut. “Promise me,” he says. “Promise me you’ll never do something stupid like that again.”

It takes a moment, but then you relent. “Okay. Okay, I promise.”

Joel releases his hold on your arm, and as his panic begins to subside, it’s replaced with urgency. He wants to get out of here, to make it back to Jackson. He wants to move all of your things into his two story colonial, wants to see you writing in that journal of yours on the porch while he sits beside you and strums his guitar. He wants to see you wearing nothing but his tshirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen while the moonlight streams in through the window. He wants to see you laughing with Ellie over a strawberry scone, wants the subtle sound of your breathing to lull him to sleep in the comfort of his bed. 

He wants to live.

As if you’d read his mind, you say, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, I’m ready to go home.”

The south side of the hospital, while in better shape than the north, was still affected by the bombings. The descent proves treacherous, and more than once Joel has to hand you his rifle while he lowers himself down a steep drop in the rubble. When it’s your turn to climb down, he takes his rifle in addition to your bow and quiver, and stretches his arms out to ensure your safe drop. 

It must look much more daunting for you, he thinks. You move slowly, carefully, wiggling the heels of your boots between the unwavering stones.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and gives a low grunt when you push yourself off the rubble slope and stumble into his waiting arms.

Once you’re on the lowest level of the hospital, you’re able to navigate through the building from the crumbled but still legible directories posted on the wall.

Your feet are silent as you round every corner carefully, an arrow knocked the whole time. Joel trails behind you, rifle poised against his shoulder, finger a hair's breadth away from the trigger.

The two of you clear the hallway that consists of only two runners—and it raises a bit of a red flag when you realize they’ve been infected fairly recently. You slaughter them both with your knife silently and send him a weary look over your shoulder. Joel knows, even though neither of you speak, that you’re thinking the same thing he is. 

What killed them?

But you discover nothing remaining in the hall. And the first operating room you investigate proves fruitful. Joel clicks on the flashlight tied to the strap of his backpack and closes the door behind him. “There,” he whispers, pointing to the cart behind the operating table. “An anesthesia cart.”

Unease creeps up his spine because this trip has been made easy. Too easy. But the cart has everything you need, and he’s not in a place to question the hand of God. Not anymore.

You place your bag on the floor between your feet and begin rifling through the cart’s contents. Joel watches you place viles, needles, surgical tubes, and a container of some sort of compressed gas all into your bag. Twice you have to readjust its contents to fit more into it. And when you’re finished, he switches you and lets you fill his just as full.

It doesn’t take long until everything on your list has been crossed off twice. You’re placing one last glass vile into his bag, trying to wiggle it into the pocket on the side. But you fail, and the vile slips through your fingers, shattering on the concrete floor. 

That’s the first time he hears it. 

A feral, angry sort of screech—deafening in the hospital’s silence. 

Joel’s eyes find yours, and he wonders if the terror on your face is reflected on his, too.

It’s a foreign sound. Not runners or clickers or bloaters—and Joel has absolutely no interest in making a new discovery. He tightens his hand around his rifle and nods towards the door. 

But the two of you don’t make it more than three feet before the wall standing between you and safety erupts into pieces, revealing the most monstrous thing Joel has seen in all his life.

It’s a massive, fleshy creature, and before the dust even settles he can see not one or two faces but four—bodies all held together by overgrown masses of cordyceps.

Joel can feel the icy fingers of death wrapping around his neck. He has only his rifle and your sure-fired arrows, both of which don’t have nearly enough ammunition for his liking. He knows, sure as rain, that he’s not getting out of this alive. 

But that doesn’t mean you have to die here. 

“Stay behind me,” he orders. “I’m going to clear a path—distract it, you go around and get out that door.”

He knows you’ll fight him on it but Joel doesn’t give you the chance. He aims for one of the heads and pulls the trigger. 

The creature wails and thrashes and charges forward blindly, teeth gnashing in the air. 

Joel fires again, but it barely registers. The first bullet seems to have made it somehow more lethal, movements harsh and angry. 

He realizes you’ve completely ignored his direction and instead have saddled up to his side, bow in hand with an arrow knocked. “You’ll have to shoot me, Joel,” you say over the clamor, and it makes his stomach turn. And then again, “If you want me to leave this place without you, you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

You’re not bluffing, he realizes when you loose your arrow and it buries itself deep within the creature’s mangled form. He needs you safe, he needs you out of here, far away from this place. Joel turns his rifle towards you, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He tries not to think about the way your eyes widen as he turns and aims for your thigh. 

But before he can pull the trigger the monstrous things charges towards the both of you. Joel surges to the left, pushing you out of harm's way and narrowly missing the onslaught himself. 

In a second you're back on your feet with another arrow whizzing through the air, piercing true. In that moment you remind him a little of Tess, and the thought crosses his mind that she would have adored you but he can’t linger in it long. Joel raises his gun and empties his magazine into the mass of infected.

He reloads and empties another. The creature slows but doesn’t stop and Joel begins to panic at the rapidly dwindling amount of ammunition. His heart is beating so fast that he worries it might burst. His palms are perspiring, sliding against the cold metal of his gun. 

“Joel!” Your voice cuts through the fog in his brain. “You think you can distract it for a minute?”

“I got it,” he says. He kicks the hospital bed in the center of the room and the mass of infected turns its gruesome head. He fires again and again and again, aiming for the several heads stuck between clumps of cordyceps.

He can’t see you but he can hear you fumbling with things on the anesthesia cart, can hear the soft click of a lighter through the cacophony. And then your sweet voice. 

“Hey, asshole!” An arrowhead drenched in blue flame flies through the air, landing true right in the creature’s center. 

It lets out a wail of agony, stumbles, and then charges towards you. 

Joel sees you falter, watches you become a deer in the headlights in real time. It reminds him so much of the look on Sarah’s face when she witnessed Joel’s first kill in their front room when Jimmy Cooper broke through the glass door; frightened, terrified. His chest pulls tight. 

He empties another round into its head, distracting it just long enough for you to come back to reality, to knock another arrow, light it, and release.

It takes every last one of your fiery arrows and all but six of Joel’s bullets before the creature falls to the floor in a mass of blood and flesh and fungus. 

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries to accept the impossible reality before him. 

You’re alive. Alive, and safe, and he is too. It’s the first time in a long time Joel has felt this happy, this elated. His eyes connect with yours and you’re covered in blood splatter and grime but he thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful as the moment that pretty smile stretches wide across your face. 

You laugh, and he does, too. The sound fills the space with warmth and light and love. Joel swims in it, basks in it, savors the moment because it’s the best thing to happen to him in years. 

But then a clicker peels itself from the mass of decay on the floor and it’s on you in a second. 

Your laughter turns to blood-curdling screams, bow clattering to the floor and you tumble right along with it. 

Joel runs to you, shoving any fallen debris that stands in his way.  He angles himself just right, Aims. Shoots. 

The clicker falls limp over you. Your screams stop. Joel thinks his heart does, too. 

You don’t move. Even when he finally manages to get to you and shove the clicker away, your eyes are misty, far away. 

Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, which is a relief, but you don’t look at him. He places both hands on either side of your face, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re okay,” he says, more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

He begins to wonder if he was too late. Maybe you’ve been scratched or bitten or—

That’s when he sees it. The blood covering your shirt, pooled in the center of your belly. And all he can think is not again. 

Please, God, if you’re listening, don’t do this to me again. 

It’s all too familiar. 

And suddenly Joel Miller isn’t in a hospital at all. He’s back in Austin, in the middle of that field, so goddamn close to the highway, so close to freedom. And that blinding light is being shined in his eyes again but this time it’s not his daughter dying in his arms, it’s you.

He must have missed. Must have shot right through the clicker. This is his fault.

Joel peels the wet cotton of your shirt up and doesn’t see any injuries. No scratches, bite marks or bullet wounds. But there’s so much blood it covers his hands now.

“Sarah,” you choke out. 

He freezes, trembling fingers still intertwined in the hem of your blood-soaked shirt.

It doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. Joel’s grip on reality is swaying. He must have heard you wrong, right? He must have. 

But then you speak again, voice stronger this time. “My sister’s name was Sarah.”

He says nothing. What can he say, anyway? 

Your eyes are still clouded when you finally look up at him. “Maria doesn’t talk about her. I…I want to, I should. I don’t want to forget her name.” The confession is broken in your mouth, breathless. “Please, Joel. Don’t let me forget her. Don’t let me forget—“

“I won’t,” he says. He swears he’ll circle back, swears to let you talk about this later. Promises it to himself, in fact. But right now he needs to get you to safety, needs to get you far from here. 

He helps pull you to your feet and doesn’t look away from you for more than two seconds while he searches for both abandoned backpacks full of supplies.

Joel carries them both and then wraps a tight arm around your shoulders, half carrying you. The ascent back up to the street takes longer, but he manages. And when you come upon two runners just outside the hospital, Joel wastes them easily even with extra weight on his back. 

It’s not the weight or the runners or the two mile distance between the hospital and the house where you’d stashed your horses and supplies that bother him though. It’s your complete and total silence that does. 

He doesn’t want to make things worse for you. Doesn’t want to get involved if you’re not ready to share. But he can tell something’s weighing heavily on your shoulders and the urge within him to fix it chafes him raw. 

By the time you make it half a mile from the hospital, it begins to rain. It’s a spring rain but still cold enough to make you shiver. Joel gives you his canvas coat, but it doesn’t have a hood. And you’re leaving a murky blood trail with every step you take. He thinks about clearing a house somewhere closer but knows even being away from the horses this long is a risk for thievery.

So, he forces himself to power through it, to watch you suffer silently while he can do nothing. Even though exhaustion is heavy in your bones, on your face, in your heart. And when you do finally arrive back at the house, the ends of your hair are plastered to your neck and the majority of the blood on your clothes has vanished.

He orders you to sit with the horses as he rummages through the bedrooms in search of something warm and dry. Joel returns with a pair of black jeans, an oversized sweater, and two towels to dry you off. “Stand up,” he says. 

And you obey wordlessly, which breaks his heart because he wants to hear some bratty remark, some unhinged comment. But you give him nothing but compliance. 

He strips you of your clothes, uses one towel to dry your skin and the other to ring as much rainwater from your hair as possible. He works slowly, gently. And then he maneuvers your limbs of his own accord, running two fingers over every inch of your bare skin. 

Your voice is broken and you sound so tired as you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bites,” he explains softly. “Maybe scratches.” He can feel your gaze on the side of his face, but Joel doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with his inspection.  He dresses you in the clothes he found. The jeans are a little tight and the ivory sweater has a moth-eaten hole in the sleeve, but your shivering lessens.

He knows it’s risky, but he breaks apart the crumbling oak dining chair and tosses the wood into the fireplace. He’s already striking a match and trying to light it before you catch onto what he’s doing. 

“No fire,” you tell him, a frantic tone slipping into your voice. It’s the first emotion you’ve shown since the hospital. “Joel, what if someone—?”

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he says, leaving no room for argument. You’re cold, and he has the tools to fix it. What kind of man would he be if he chose not to? 

The fire catches, illuminating the dark room in orange and yellow hues. He doesn’t want to leave you but he does for only long enough to feed the horses, bring them fresh water, and find dry clothes for himself. While sifting through one of the dressers he discovers more than just jeans and a black tshirt, though. 

When he returns to the main room, you’ve moved to sit in front of the fireplace, hands held out in front of the flames.

He moves the rickety old coffee table towards you and sits on the other side of it. “Look what I found,” he says, holding up the set of fifty-two playing cards. They’re no longer shiny and white, weathered and yellowed now with age. But they’ll still serve their purpose. Joel begins to shuffle the deck as he asks, “Is there anything you know how to play?”

You take your hands reluctantly away from the fire and tuck them beneath your legs instead. “Rummy,” you answer quietly. “Maria taught me.”

Joel nods and begins to deal out ten cards to the both of you. He can feel your stare, heavy and weighted, but doesn’t meet it until he’s lifted his cards to observe them. 

He’s got shit for luck. Always has. “Went out to a casino once with Tommy,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory. “Promised myself I’d only spend a hundred bucks but ended up spending double and left with less than fifty cents that night.”

You start a discard pile. Joel picks up your eight of hearts. “I’m okay,” you say. “You don’t need to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

A crease forms between his brows. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Distracting me,” you tell him, drawing from the stack of cards. “Trying to make me feel better. I’m just saying you don’t have to. I’d tell you if I needed to talk.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second. Because you might have a foul mouth and a habit of thievery but you’re also the most selfless person he’s ever met. You didn’t tell Maria you didn’t want to go on that run for her pregnancy craving, you didn’t tell him you needed him with a clicker trying to tear you apart, you didn’t ask for a fire or dry clothes while you shivered in the dark. Joel Miller doesn’t think you’d say a goddamn word even if you were drowning. “Would you?”

You don’t answer. You discard a three of clubs instead.

Joel discards and draws. He inhales deeply and lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore,” he says. “Supply runs, life riskin,’ grief…whatever it is, I’m with you.”

“Even back in Jackson?” There’s disbelief in your tone as you draw a new card. “People are gonna talk, Joel. You said it yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I did.” He discards his ace of spades. “Turns out, I care less about them and more about you.”

You don’t say anything. Joel wishes so badly that you would give him just an inch of an idea as to what’s going on inside your head. You pick up his discard and get rid of the two of clubs.

“That alright with you?”

“I don’t care about what the people of Jackson think or say about me. I already told you that.”

“I’m not askin’ about them I’m askin’ about you,” he says. Joel wonders how long you’ve been forced to put all your wants and needs aside for them. Long enough that it’s become a habit, even here when it’s just the two of you. 

“What about me?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, which only further proves his point. You discard a nine of hearts.

He picks it up. “I’m old,” he says, discarding his four of clubs. “Got a good fifteen years left in me, twenty if I’m lucky. You gotta whole lot more than that. An’ I don’t live on the exciting side of things much anymore. That really what you want?”

You roll your eyes and Joel feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. It’s something. 

“You could die tomorrow and so could I,” you say. “You know that as well as I do. Something as trivial as age doesn’t matter. Maybe it used to, but things are different now.”

He nods contemplatively and draws another card. “That’s true enough.”

“And you won’t ever hear me complaining about monotony,” you say, a little quieter. “Never had much stability. Doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

It’s not meant to provoke sympathy but he feels it anyway. Joel wants to provide that for you more than anything. But he doesn't want to be the kind of man that keeps things from you. He learned his lesson the hard way with Ellie. “My, uh…my daughter. Her name was Sarah, too.” Joel lays his cards down on the table, displaying a perfect ace through king run of hearts.

You don’t even register the fact that he’s won the game. Your cards tremble in your fingers. He knows you won’t speak, so he decides to instead. 

“I think I’ve known for…for quite some time. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself s’all. But the minute you looked at me and said her name?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “When I realized we shared this loss, you and I…that we were…connected somehow—I knew there’d never been another option. No goin’ back. It’s when I knew it without a doubt.”

You lay your hand down this time, a perfect run of spades.

A tie.

“Knew what?”

“That I love you.” It surprises him how easy it feels to say it, how naturally it flows from the tongue.

You tense up, muscles going rigid at his words. He watches the orange flames reflect and flicker in your eyes, watches you hesitate to speak.

He doesn’t expect you to say it back. Doesn’t matter to him whether or not you ever do, in truth. Because he doesn’t love you for what you can provide, he just loves who you are. He just loves you. 

You make a sudden decision and stand to your feet, crossing the room to rummage through your backpack. It takes you a minute, but you finally pull the battered leather journal from the bottom and then you return to your spot. “Goodnight, Joel,” you say, tossing the journal into his lap and lying on your side in front of the fire. “You’ve got the first watch.”

He spends it learning everything about you. The entries are vague, details omitted. But it fills in the gaps left behind by what he already knows. He gets a glimpse of who your Sarah was, and in those entries, he sees bits and pieces of you within her. He sees your distrust of Maria spiral into acceptance and then into attachment, sees your view of Tommy’s arrival and your apprehension to trust him, too. 

He learns that ultimately it was a day you spent on patrol together that his little brother won your faith. Tommy told you all about his sibling he would kill and die for, a conversation that must have struck you deep enough to decide to protect Tommy the same way you protect the whole of Jackson.

One of the older entries shocks him. The first interaction you ever had with Ellie, it seems, was the night after they returned to Jackson when he followed her back to the hospital in Salt Lake City. Joel remembers very vividly how awful he felt back then. And Ellie, it seems, was much the same.

In the entry, you say you find her sitting beneath the willow tree across the street from your home. You find her crying, alone, and so frustrated and confused that she’s barely making sense. You bring her inside, and she confesses all to you. Ellie tells you about the hospital, about how she both loves and hates Joel at that moment. She tells you about her friend Riley, about Marlene and Tess and Sam and Henry. She tells you she’s immune.

And in the next sentence, you make a confession in ink that you would do no differently than Joel had. You say that you would damn everyone else if it meant the safety of this crying girl at your kitchen table, and Joel’s eyes begin to sting the longer he reads. 

You document a run that happened seven years ago in which you made your first human kill at fourteen. You reference it in several other entries as The Dying. It takes Joel until halfway through the journal before he realizes you formulate several things in this dramatic metaphorical way. 

Discovering Jackson is The Finding, you call your bow The Cursor and sometimes refer to Maria as The Director. Your sister’s death is referred to simply as The End.

With less than a quarter of the journal left to read, he finds an entry dated the day before he was assigned to watch duty with you. You refer to yourself as The Wraith, comparing yourself to the dead, to a ghost. You express your longing to be a sibling again, despite that fact never changing even after enduring such a heavy loss. 

And then the next entry, dated the day after your shift in the watchtower, is an almost blank page. In the center, there’s a hand-drawn moth, the only thing within the journal’s entirety drawn in color. Below it, a single word is written.

Joel.

[part six] [part eight]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef

[let me know if you'd like to be added!]

[ch1meraa]

A very heart-wrenching scene from an rp with a friend. Vic is being shown the footage of the aftermath of him being given an experimental drug by GHOST. Here’s the scene that inspired the drawing;

______

The reality of the situation hit Vic like cold water as his vision cleared, the ringing in his head died down, voices came into focus, as did everything else - including the blue-white light of the room he was in. Naturally, he looked down and began to struggle against his bonds, even despite that he had no strength left at all, his movements were violent enough that he broke one of the bonds holding him and further damaged one of his arms in the process.

“**Secure him, for fuck’s sake.**”” Lena spat at one of the masked scientists, who were clearly unfamiliar with the Cyborg. The next thing Vic felt was the strangest sensation he’d ever experienced in his life. With the push of a button, the cables in his head delivered targeted electrical signals into specific regions of his brain, completely paralysing his body from the neck down.

He blinked in shock, not even able to communicate the fear he was feeling as he could not move an inch. Victor was no coward though. He had experienced worse and he was not going to be broken easily. He regained his composure and wordlessly stared ahead as he heard them approach.

“…*’You’re looking well’*, Victor~” Lena mocked, reminding him of why she hated him so, as well as being as potently sarcastic as possible all in the space of one sentence. Vic looked deathly.

Silas didn’t seem to notice, he was too busy making note of what a shame it was going to be to *waste* such a weapon… He hardly noticed that Vic was even human at all.

“Such a feat of engineering and biomechanics~ I am pleased to meet you at last, Victor. Allow me to introduce myself briefly, I am Silas. See me and mine as ah, the clean-up crew. Don’t be alarmed, my men are well trained but nobody here is going to harm you.. That is, unless you *make* them want to harm you..”

Vic’s eyes narrowed under his brow, his jaw set and clenched as he simply stared ahead, allowing his eyes to close for a moment of intense frustration before finally turning his face toward the man who called himself Silas. He noticed Lena standing there and scoffed, allowing himself to grin as he laid his head back.

“…What’ll it be this time, Lena? What, pray tell, the fuck….” Vic lamented, almost deliriously with his voice cracking as he grinned at his pathetic, exhaustive situation.

He soon looked toward Silas as Lena circled around the bed, obviously taking her time for the sheer *fun* of seeing Victor so helpless.

“Silas, is it? Well Si, why don’t you hop up on my lap and *swivel*~ Then, you and your …heh, ‘boys’ here can show me how good of a ‘clean up crew’ you *really* are. Cunt.” Vic seethed out, the venom in his voice as cold as ice and sharper than frostbite. He coldly spat at Silas’s feet, getting him on his ever-so-shiny boots. He was fully beyond giving a fuck anymore at this point and went back to chuckling to himself.

Silas looked down at his boots, not expecting such spirit, but Lena was furious, as ever. If only she could find a way to *silence* that mouth of his…

She stormed over, closing the gap between herself and the scientist, grabbed him under his jaw and then back-handed him across the face as hard as she could.

“Now I have your attention, you *might* wanna shut the fuck up, because I’ve got a *cute* little video, you might wanna see.” Lena whispered to him, as she then turned her attention to the screen. She lifted the remote, it started playing ….the same scream he’d been hearing in his nightmares for days, the same fragments of the fight with Sky he’d also re-lived, were now playing before him in what looked like 4K…. His face changed in an instant as the sound made him jump, the piercing cries and now, *the footage* of what he did as well. Before Vic could even begin to process what he was seeing, his eyes were blinking tears that ran down his face as he watched and listened in abject terror.

____

Vic and Lena (C) me

Sky (C) Turtwap

[cloudlessly-light]

From boys to men (Chapter 2/3)

A/N: This is a continuation of my fic From boys to men that was supposed to be a one-shot, but since I’m me and I love age-gap Hotchniss more than I should, this will now be a three-parter. Chapter one can be read here! Title: From boys to men (Chapter 2/3) Summary: From the moment Emily meets Aaron she knows that she has to have him, she doesn’t care that he’s older than her, doesn’t care that he’s Dave’s best friend. She wants him. Word count: 3,9k Rating: Explicit   Warnings: Smut, oral sex, dirty talk, teasing, praise kink, jealousy, feelings, age difference, (Emily is 22, Aaron is 40-ish)

They had been doing this, whatever they were calling it, for almost three months now. It was fun, sneaking around, having a secret nobody else knew about. Ever since that first afternoon with him, Emily had realized just how better an older man did… well everything. It wasn’t just the sex, but the conversation, the small gestures, the way he could make her feel like the only woman in the world. He always made time for her, something she knew was something he didn’t have much off. And she appreciated every second of it.

It wasn’t dating, she knew that, had to remind herself that a man so much older than her only saw her as something fun, as a way to blow off steam. He used her and she used him too, a twisted game that she found herself loving every second off. It was exciting, the allure in him drawing her in just as easily now as it had the first time they met. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about him more than she should. And she knew that it was dangerous.

Her eyes drift to the clock on her wall as she flips the page of the book she’s paying absolutely no attention to. He was coming over, had texted her before getting on the plane after closing a case and as time dragged on, she felt her excitement only increase. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks, but when her phone had dinged with the incoming message she didn’t even pretend to hesitate before agreeing.

When he knocks on her door she quickly gets up from the couch and looks over her appearance quickly, a smile on her face at her own reflection. She opens the door and is immediately greeted by dark eyes and furrowed brows as he takes in her lack of clothes.

Aaron’s eyes sweep over her form, mouth going dry by the sight of her in dark red underwear and garters, black stockings on her legs. She was a beautiful woman. He found her just as stunning in sweats as he did in lingerie, but the fact that she had taken the time to dress in something she knew he would love, made something in his chest warm while the dull ache of arousal settled low in his stomach. He grips the doorframe tighter, has to force himself to keep his composure but knows that she catches the way his jaw clenches at the sight of her. He had missed her, a feeling he knew he shouldn’t feel.

“Hi.” She breathes as she shivers from the intensity of his gaze. When he walks inside she backs up, barely even noticing the way the door slams behind him as he pushes her up against a wall and her hands grip the lapels of his suit jacket.

“This new?” He hooks a finger under the strap of her bra, voice already dropped low in that way she loves. His eyes follow his finger as he slowly trails it lower, over the cup of her bra and further down until he’s toying with the hem of her thong. When she nods he smiles, his breath mixing with hers as he stands pressed against her, forcing her to feel the power of him.

“Yeah.” She manages, already falling under his spell, she always did. She tries to kiss him but he keeps her trapped against the wall, his lips only grazing hers when he speaks and it’s driving her insane.

“Pretty.” He dips his fingers further down her underwear and is unsurprised to find her wet already. “Too bad you won’t be wearing it for long.”

At that she smirks, dark eyes gleaming up at him.

“That was always the point.”

“Is that so?” He hums, the sound vibrating against her chest as he slowly circles her clit and when she sucks in a breath he chuckles. “I see someone’s already excited.”

“You’ve been making me wait hours.” The slight irritation in her voice does not go unnoticed by him, but before he can say anything he feels her hand cupping him through his slacks. “Besides, I’m not the only one.” She squeezes his hard cock and when he swallows harshly she feels like that’s a win in itself.

He always wanted to be in control, and she relished the few occasions when she caught him off guard. For a moment she thinks she’s winning whatever battle of wills they’re playing but then it’s like he shakes himself out of whatever trance she was still under and he claims her lips in a bruising kiss.

His tongue sweeps over her bottom lip as he swallows down her surprised moan, his fingers dipping inside of her quickly and gathering her wetness on them before breaking the kiss and pushing his fingers between her lips.

“Don’t play games with me, sweet thing.” He mumbled and watched as she sucked her slick of his fingers, a low groan sounding in his throat at the feel of her tongue against the pads of his fingers. “Now, be the good girl I know you are and bend over the couch for me.”

Her mind is still reeling when he steps away from her, body buzzing with arousal. She feels his eyes on her the entire time as she walks the short distance to the couch and slowly bends over it until she’s leaning on her forearms on the seat and her hips are perched high over the back of it. The warmth of his body against her causes her to suck in a breath, his large hands caressing the outside of her thighs and up her hips slowly.

“Fuck I missed this.” He muses as he takes in pale skin and soft curves. “Been too long.” Slowly he kneels behind her, his tongue licking over one of her ass cheeks as he does.

“Then maybe you should do something about it.” She challenges, but her words pack little punch when her voice comes out breathy and bordering on shaking. Still, he snickers behind her, and she feels the soft puffs of air against her clothed center.

“I really should.” He agrees as he pulls her thong to the side to expose her fully to him. “Stay like this.” His words are mumbled, and he isn’t sure she even hears him, but he doesn’t care and instead licks through her slowly.

The moan that erupts from her is needy and she can feel his smug smirk against her folds as his arms wrap around her thighs to keep her open and still for him. She feels his tongue dip inside of her, feels the groan vibrate against her as he tastes her and she arches higher, giving herself fully to him. He had spent many nights taking her apart like this, had memorized exactly what got her off quickly and what would keep her right at the edge.

Tonight he wanted her to come fast and hard.

His lips wrapped around her clit, his tongue flicking it and Emily whimpered his name. With her eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping the fabric of her couch she stayed still as he pushed his tongue inside of her. His fingers were gripping so hard she knew she’d have bruises on her thighs, marks that she’d press on in the morning with nothing but fondness. There was something about having his marks on her body, something about the depravity of it all, that made her crave him again.

“Fuck!” She hissed through clenched teeth when he sucked her clit again, this time not stopping even when her thighs started to tremble and she was biting down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

Aaron felt his cock jerk at the breathy sounds coming from her, had been feeling the dark pull of want ever since he got on the plane. He knew how wrong it was, having Emily this way, but he also knew that it was part of the attraction, part of why it seemed impossible to stay away from her. She was like a drug, ever since that first time meeting her months ago, he had been falling victim to her. He should stop, but even when he’s tried he can’t seem to stop thinking about her, and not only the sex. She was funny, incredibly intelligent and strong-willed, having spent evenings arguing with him about the smallest things, and he found himself enjoying their time outside of the bedroom just as much as time spent in it. He wanted more, had wanted more for a long time but he hadn’t dared to voice it because all the reasons why they shouldn’t work kept ringing in his ears.

But he forces those thoughts away, because right now he had her like this, and for now that would have to be enough. Her moans are getting louder, and the sound brings him back to now. He kept his hold on her, kept sucking on her clit and when her legs started to tremble and her hips moved back against his face he knew she was close.

When she comes it’s hard and intense and her knees buckle from the pleasure. She knows he’ll catch her, his hold not lessening even as she shakes and buckles as she muffles her cries into the couch. He doesn’t stop even when she jerks away, in fact his grip only tightens as he sucks her clit harshly.

“T-too much.” She whimpers and she feels him shake his head behind her.

“You can take it.” He tells her simply before licking her clit again, his tongue flicking it quickly and she sucks in a breath.

It doesn’t surprise her that he makes her come again in less than a few minutes. Her body had responded to him from the moment she met him, and he had taken his time learning just how much she could take. She knew he enjoyed taking her apart, that he loved the power of it.

She’s panting, body sweaty and still trembling when he finally stands up. The sound of his zipper is loud as she pants in the otherwise quiet room and when he slaps the tip of his cock against her folds she blushes from the obscene sound of her slick.

“Do you want it?” His hand is soft as he caresses her back, fingers warm as they trail random patterns along her skin.

“Yes.” She gasps, back already arching and pushing back against him, desperately needing to feel him inside of her.

“What do we say?” His fingers grip her hair and tugs warningly. The pain in her hairline shoots straight to her clit.

“Yes, please.” She wants to hate how quickly she gives in to him, but she finds that she can’t. Especially not when he pushes inside of her, giving her what she wants.

“Mm, that’s my good girl.” He hums, satisfaction dripping from his words. He lets go of her hair only to hold her waist, his touch softer now as he enjoys the way her tight walls flutter around his shaft.

She starts to move back against him, and he gasps behind her. She throws him a smile over her shoulder, for all his boasting, he’s just as affected by her. He lets her move back and forth, creating friction for them as he watches the way her body takes him, feels her clenching and listens to her breathless moans. He gives her a few minutes of control, but he takes it back just as easily.

“Aaron!” She whines when he suddenly pushes her back against the backrest of the couch, his hands tight and his hips moving with fast, rough strokes. He’s strong, she’s always impressed by how strong he is, how easily he flips her or carries her, and tonight was no different.

The sound of skin against skin and breathless panting and low groans fill the apartment and Emily knows that her neighbors must be able to hear them. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You want to come again?” He gets out through gritted teeth. The spasming around his shaft is getting him close but he refused to give in until he felt Emily coming around him.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She hisses at way he forced pleasure from her, hand between her legs and rubbing her clit and cock hitting deep inside of her. She’s moving back against him the best she can, fucking him back just as eagerly as he’s fucking her and when he pinches her clit he sends her crashing into another orgasm. She comes with a strangled cry, her vision blurring from the power of it and somewhere through the blood rushing through her ears she can hear him behind her, swearing, calling her name like a prayer.

He comes with a grunt, low and breathy as he holds her tight against him as he lets himself enjoy his release. They’re still panting, barely down from their respective highs when he pulls out only to gently tug her up and turns her to face him.

She smiles up at him, happy and sated and when he presses a kiss to her lips she hums.

“I missed you.” He tells her and she knows that the flutter in her belly is something she should ignore.

“I missed you too.” She sees him smiling before kissing her again and she takes his hand and leads him towards the bedroom. “Can you stay a while?” She asks as they lay down.

“Yes. I’ll stay all night.”

When she meets his eye there’s something more there, something different.

*

It’s a week later and ever since that night Emily had found herself thinking about him even more. She caught herself smiling at her phone when he texted her and every time it rang she hoped that it was him. It was ridiculous, up until their last night together she had been fine, but that night he had stayed and when he left early the next morning it felt like something had changed. They had talked, loosely, about what they were, about the unspoken rule between them that they shouldn’t get in too deep. And yet, there they were stuck somewhere between admitting that they both wanted more and knowing that they shouldn’t.

She was going to see him today, she knew. Because it was Dave’s birthday and he had invited her over for dinner. So she picked a dress she knew made her breast look good and hugged her body. They weren’t together, but she knew what she wanted and she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to not think about her if he had decided to stop seeing her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind all the reasons why she shouldn’t do this kept ringing. He’s Dave’s best friend, he’s almost twice her age, they’re in completely different phases of life. But she ignored all of them, because those had still been the reasons why not to go there when they started this thing, nothing had really changed. Except, apparently, the way she felt.

“Happy birthday Dave!” She smiles at the older man and lets him pull her into a tight hug. He smelled safe, the same cologne he had worn her whole life enveloping her like an old friend.

“Thank you, Bella.” He kisses her cheek and when she hands him the bottle of scotch he raises an eyebrow. He knew exactly how expensive that bottle was.

“What? You’re more of a parent to me than either of my parents, and it’s your birthday!” She pushes the bottle into his hands and walks inside, quickly heading towards the kitchen. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, go get yourself a drink. Everybody’s already here so we’ll eat in a little bit.” He ushers her out of the kitchen, intent to keep Emily away from the oven at all costs.

“I’m sorry my parents couldn’t come.” She says and she means it, they usually always spent Dave’s birthday with him. But the older man only shrugs, he knew her parents probably better than anyone, he knew that their work was the most important thing to them.

“They’re still in Paris.” He gives her a flute of champagne and winks. “Besides, my favorite Prentiss is here.”

She laughs, but the sound catches in her throat when she notices Aaron coming towards them along with a woman that’s laughing at something he says. The jealousy was instant, made no better by the fact that the woman was beautiful and kind of similar to herself. They stop right in front of her and she’s never been happier for the political training she received as a child as she schools her features.

“Ah, Aaron perfect.” Dave says as he hands both of them glasses of champagne as well. “You remember Emily?”

“Yes, of course. It’s nice to see you again.” He nods curtly and her eyebrow arches just slightly.

“You too. Thanks for helping me with my AC.” She catches the way he tenses a little and that feels like a win. “And you are?” She turns to the dark-haired woman who’s smiling kindly at her.

“I’m Beth.” She extends her hand and Emily shakes it. “I’m Dave’s publicist.”

“I’m the happy matchmaker and I have to say a good one too.” Dave laughs at the slightly embarrassed chuckle that leaves Beth while Aaron just shakes his head at his best friend. And Emily wants to kill him.

“Nice to meet you.” She forces a smile and then takes a step back. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom before dinner, we all know how pedantic Dave can be when it comes to his cooking.” She barely hears the laughs before she turns and hurries through the house, she feels her cheeks flush and the jealousy burn like iron in her stomach. It’s jealousy she shouldn’t feel, but it’s too late. She wets some paper with cold water and presses it to her neck.

“Get it together Emily.” She tells her reflection.

By the time she comes back it’s already time for dinner and she thanks whatever lucky star she has that she’s seated between Dave and another old friend of his, Jason Gideon. It gives her more time to calm, to come up with a plan that didn’t end with her being a mess.

In the end it’s simple, if he’s going to make her jealous, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to ignore her. 

So she spent the night making sure that she got his attention, pushed close against him when walking past or bending over as she helped clear glasses from the table. It was working, his dark eyes on her, his jaw clenching and she couldn’t help the smug smile on her face.

As the night carries on, she finds herself being one of the last people to leave. Only Aaron, Beth and Dave’s girlfriend Erin still left. She had barely spoken to Aaron, but she knew she had his attention, his dark gaze rarely leaving her.

Aaron walks into the kitchen in search of another bottle of red when he sees her. She’s leaning over the counter, her cleavage showing as she licks chocolate sauce from a spoon. Her eyes find him and she smirks at the way his eyes zero in on her when she licks her bottom lip.

“Having a good time?” She asks casually and he feels the urge to touch her, had wanted to grab on to her and not let go all night.

“It’s a dinner, much like many else I’ve been to.” He takes a couple of steps closer to her and looks around to make sure they’re alone. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” She feigns dumb and licks more chocolate sauce from her spoon. He follows her pink tongue with his eyes, he knew exactly what she could do with that tongue and it was driving him insane.

Ever since their last night together he had wanted to be with her again. Something was different, or maybe it was just the fact that he had stopped trying to ignore that his feelings towards her were more than primal. But he wanted her, and then she showed up looking like a goddess and he could feel his brain malfunction.

“You know exactly what.” He wraps his hand around her wrist to keep her from dipping the spoon into the bowl for a third time.

“What’s your problem?” She twists out of his hold and turns to him.

“My problem is that when you do that all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you.” He tells her lowly and she chuckles, the sound bordering on sarcastic.

“Is that right? Is that why you brought a date?” She says the words without thinking but the second she does she can see the way his mind is reeling. He’s a profiler, of course he would have caught on.

“Is that why you’ve been behaving like this? You’re jealous?” He laughs and the sound makes her furious. Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t say anything, she didn’t want to cause a scene in Dave’s home, so instead she walks away. “Emily, wait!”

“We’re done here.” She mutters as she hurries towards the patio where she knew she’d be alone. He follows her, his steps long and determined but she doesn’t stop until she’s outside breathing some fresh air. She continues further away from the house, to where they couldn’t be seen from inside with Aaron still following her closely.

“Leave me alone.” She tells him, her voice surprisingly steady even as anger flows through her veins.

“It’s not like that.” He tries to take her hand but she pulls away.

“It’s not what?” She huffs, her arms crossing over her chest. “This isn’t you using me for whatever ego boost you’re getting until someone like her comes along?”

“What? No!” His eyebrows furrow, feeling sad that she’d think he’d ever think of her that way. “I didn’t know that she would be here. Dave set me up.”

At that she faulters.

“What?” Suddenly she feels mortified, cheeks flushing in embarrassment and she looks down at the ground.

“I have no interest in her.” He gently grabs her chin and makes her look back at him. “I don’t want her, Emily.” He takes a step closer to her and smiles when she relaxes enough to uncross her arms.

“Then what do you want?” She can feel herself holding her breath as she waits for his reply. Suddenly everything felt real in a way it never had before.

“I want you.” He takes her hand and when she doesn’t pull away this time he squeezes it.

“Really?” She takes a step closer to him, breathes in his familiar scent and enjoys the heat of him as he wraps his arms around her.

“Yeah. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. We have some… obstacles.”

“Like the fact that you’re old?” She laughs when he narrows his eyes at her and he pinches her side.

“Brat.” He mutters and she smiles at him before they turn serious again. “Do you want to do this? With me?” He asks quietly.

“I do. I want you.” She pulls him into a kiss, and even though they had kissed probably 100 times before, this one felt different. It felt like a promise.

[mcondance]

amends; bucky barnes

pairing bucky barnes x Black! afab fem! reader

summary bucky's therapist told him he needs to make amends. and that included with himself. but this one, he can't quite bring up in the session next week.

contents smut; riding, nipple play, kissing, soft and slow sex, he cums inside, uses of "girl", coded language (clit)

words 1205

notes reupload from my old blog. part of a series! the next part is already uploaded.

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yori told you about his friend, tall dude with blue eyes, looked like he hadn’t been with a girl in 100 years. yori had failed to mention that he had a metal arm, or that he was.. you know.. who he was. you were not expecting the guy to be james “bucky” motherfucking barnes, or for him to be so pretty in person. despite all of that, though, you hit it off immediately, and that’s how you ended up here.

his hands trail up your sides while you take him slow and soft, rock your hips back and forth on his length. he’s so fucking responsive, the slightest touch eliticing sweet moans and groans that you’d pay to hear forever, charge it to the super soldier serum running through his veins, his senses heightened to 10. praises spill from his mouth almost on instinct, mind fucked with how good you feel, how wet you are, how tight you clench around him.

“god, honey, you’re treating me so good, can’t believe a sweet girl like you knows how to work me so well.” his eyes flutter between open and shut, the soft baby blues conflicted on whether to close in pleasure or watch the goddess above him fuck him so good. the cool metal of his vibranium arm contrasts with the heat that’s almost radiating off of your skin as he slowly tweaks a nipple, rolling slowly to gauge your reaction, attentive to every slight movement of your body. every little sound, every small moan that leaves your mouth brings him higher and higher, the super soldier persona melting away into something softer, sweeter, something more wrecked.

“i know, james, it feels so good, doesn’t it? fucking you nice and good.” you say with a soft sigh, indulging in the way his metal hand feels against the searing heat of your skin. he feels it, feels the way you’re giving yourself to him just as he's giving himself to you, those sweet words leaving your mouth like it’s nothing. he loves the way you use his real name, the one he never lets anyone say. he didn’t even care when you said it the first time, when you laid him down and told him you were going to take good care of him. you had him trapped from the beginning. you’re too skilled, melting his brain with the things you say to him, with the promises you whisper as you give him pleasure like he’s never felt before. the women before you always took and took and never gave, but you’re something different. something so much better. and that’s what his therapist told him he needed. something better.

as you circle your hips on him, your motions soft and slow and almost designed to break him down, he can’t help but shut his eyes as they roll back, succumbing to the sensation you’ve overtaken his body with. he’s entrusted himself to you more easily than he thought, not even flinching when you bring a hand to flick at his nipple, mimicking his motions from earlier. “does that feel good, james?” you ask, though you know it does. the way he groans is enough evidence. but you want to hear him say it.

“god it feels so good honey, everything feels so fucking good.” he can’t say anything else, can’t find the words to describe what you’re doing to him other than so good. he’s still enamored with the way his name slips off your tongue like it’s natural, the lilt in your voice, the sweetness of your tone drawing him farther into this untapped reserve of pure bliss. it’s so much for him, his senses being overridden with you and only you. he can smell your arousal, hear the blood running to that swollen bud, feel you everywhere. you’ve reduced that enhanced brain to nothing but nothing, only concerned with the smooth rocking of your hips and the way you clench around him. nothing else matters but your gentle pinches at his nipple, and the way you grab his face in both hands, leaning down to entrap his lips in a kiss, tender and slow, just like everything else you’ve given him tonight. he falls into your rhythm immediately, hand leaving your chest to rest on the side of your face, entangling his fingers in your hair.

the kiss drags him deeper into this ocean of .. whatever you’ve done to him, this spell you’ve put on him. his flesh hand slides down to your ass, just resting there, just wanting to feel you. he never wants the kiss to end, never wants to breathe if it means having to detach from you. “i’m close, james.” you whisper against his lips before meeting them again, and he takes your kiss like it’s the last one he’ll ever get from you. you feel him start to thrust up slowly, adding to the reservoir of pleasure you both are swirling in.

“i’m gonna come with you, honey, you’re gonna make me come so hard.” he’s so ruined, so broken by you. his metal hand graces across your skin to find your clit, rubbing it soft and slow. he drinks up your moan of his name, meeting your hips with his, brings his flesh hand to the side of your face just to feel you more. you just nod at his confession, not daring to break this kiss, your moans growing as he continues his soft teasing of that bud. he whines as you detach from him, needing to breathe but hating it all the same. you rest your forehead against his, catch his eyes with yours as you build each other up higher.

“i’m gonna come, james, gonna come for you.” he groans at your words, speeds up on your clit, never stops looking into your eyes. he wants you to come for him so bad. he needs it. and you can feel it. it’s in the way he fucks into you more desperation, nods his head, begs you to come for him. right now, he wants to make amends with the part of him that needs to feel desired. that is what he craves.

“come for me, honey, please.” and you wouldn’t deny him what he asked for even if you could. it takes over you like a wave, makes you curl in on yourself, sink your fingernails into his shoulders. he thinks you look so beautiful as you get lost in pleasure that he gave you, the feelings that he caused to surge through your body. it’s almost magic, the way he follows so closely after you, moaning “so good, honey, so fucking good”, coming so hard he swears he blacks out for a second. it’s something he’s never had to feel before, something that even the advanced nature of his brain isn’t built to handle. maybe later he’ll find words for what you’ve done to him. but now, as you come on his cock and he lets go inside your warmth, he has no explanation. he feels content with not knowing what this is. all he knows is that he will find what he needs in you. he’s followed his therapist’s orders.

he has made amends.

[warren-cold]

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...when first we practice to deceive.” - Walter Scott, Marmion

May 24th, 2023

Julieta Jimenez lay sound asleep, her head resting against Warren’s bare chest, her arm draped across him to keep him close. It was three in the morning, but Warren lay wide awake, his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the room they were in. This was Julieta’s home, a place meant only for her, but he couldn’t help thinking someone would suddenly burst through the door.

It was a constant battle in his heart and mind. He knew he could not love the woman in his arms yet here he was, pretending he could. He needed to, all for the sake of going home yet this thought didn’t make the task easier. It was becoming more difficult to feign his affection for her. The hatred that was growing within him was threatening to bubble to the surface. The more he got to know her, the more he was repulsed by her.

At first, he had believed she was just a pawn to her brother, a victim with no way out but he now knew the truth. She wanted to help her brother with the madness he created. Julieta alone could easily abduct young girls mid-day without drawing attention. It was easy for her to do. She even bragged about it.

Warren could often taste the bile in his mouth. He choked it down and closed his eyes momentarily, sighing heavily,

Julieta stirred in his embrace but did not open her eyes. “Amor, what’s wrong?” she mumbled in her sleep, her nails delicately skating across his skin.

“Just a bad dream. I dreamt I had lost you to someone else,” Warren lied easily, speaking in a soft voice to her.

This caused Julieta to open her eyes, lifting her head so she could look at him, even though the darkness. “That would never happen. I love you. I promise, you have nothing to worry about,” she told him, leaning closer so she could place a kiss beneath his jawline.

Warren nodded, hooking her chin with his finger to tilt her head up. He kissed her lips lightly then her cheek. “I love you too,” he told her gently.

Julieta groaned happily, nestling closer against Warren. “Amor, I want to know everything about your life. We’ve been together a while now and you still haven’t introduced me to your friend,” she said, perking her head up so she could look at him.

“Who? Brad?” Warren asked, referring to Adriel.

Julieta nodded. “Yes, him. He’s handsome and I have a few cousins who would love to get to know him, you know?”

“Ah, well Brad. He’s…a widow. He lost his wife a year or so ago and he’s sworn off love. She was his soulmate so I don’t think he would be interested in your cousins, as beautiful as they may be,” Warren explained.

“Oh. How did she die?”

“A fire broke out in their apartment. He couldn’t get to her in time,” said Warren, sighing softly and glancing at her.

“That’s so sad. I’m sorry to hear that,” Julieta said, pausing. “But I would still like to get to know him. Invite him out. My brother is throwing a party on one of his yachts. You two should come so that way, I can finally introduce you to my brother. You will love him.”

“I’m finally meeting him? About time. I was beginning to think you were keeping our relationship a secret,” Warren teased her, nipping at her neck.

This made Julieta squeal, her hands squeezing Warren. “Not a secret, amor, no. It’s just that…I don’t just bring anyone to meet my brother. I must be sure I can trust whoever I’m bringing to my brother,” she explained, sitting up so she could stretch out.

Warren watched as the sheets slipped from her bare body, exposing her naked flesh to him. He instinctively reached for her, his hand grasping her hip to urge her back to him. “So you trust me?” he asked.

“With my life, amor and I’ve never been wrong,” Julieta stated confidently. This caused Warren to smirk.

“I look forward to meeting him then. We’re taking the next step in our relationship. This means a lot to me,” he said, eyeing her.

“Me too, amor. So, it’s settled then? You will talk to Brad about the yacht party and I’ll see you both later today?” she asked.

“I’ll talk with him and let you know but I’m sure it’ll be a yes. I can be pretty convincing and it’s what you want so what you want is what you’ll get,” he replied.

“Good answer,” she said, laying back down next to Warren and pressing a kiss to his chest before closing her eyes so she could attempt to fall back asleep.

Warren stared up at the ceiling long after she had fallen asleep. They were going to meet their target in less than 12 hours.