#i want to read stuff that's going to grab my by the throat and wring out every one of my feelings

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 20 - Teary Tuesday: "I didn't know where else to go."

i’m challenging myself to keep all these at either 127 or 1,270 words each, see day one for more of an explanation! this was originally going to be a 127 fic but i was taken over and wrote this while at work, idk what the hell came over me. adding a read more for the following CW: discussions and aftermath of child abuse at the hand of a parent.

It’s late on a Friday evening when someone knocks on the trailer door.

“Dammit,” he curses, heaving himself up off and out of the sagging couch cushions. He was comfy too. “Whoever you are, you better have a good excu—”

Eddie studies him. His face is bruised, one eye is already swelling, his knuckles are bleeding.

Steve Harrington stands on his porch, drenched with the fall rain.

“Hi Eddie.”

“What’re you doing here, Harrington.” It’s not a question.

“I don’t–” he takes a shuddering breath, Eddie’s heart fractures. "I didn't know where else to go."

“Steve, we haven’t talked in like, six fuckin’ years.” He’s trying to prolong the inevitable.

“I know..” It’s only a feeble whisper.

Eddie scrubs a hand down his face, “C’mon then, I’ll get you some clothes.”

Steve’s shoulders relax minutely and he follows Eddie inside, “Stay there on the linoleum.” Eddie says, stopping Steve on the small patch of the stuff right inside the door. “I’ll bring ‘em to you.”

“Thanks.. Eds.”

Eddie harrumphs, going to his room and pulling out some sweats and ratty tee that’ve always been a bit too big on him.

He grumbles back out to the living room, a handful of scathing remarks on the tip of his tongue, ready to fortify his defenses.

He looks up at Steve, mouth at the ready, but whatever it was he was going to say dies in his throat.

Steve’s eye is already darker, more inflamed.

The solid stone walls he’d built around his heart the last time it was shattered by the same person that stands before him now, crumble to dust.

“Take off your shoes and socks, let's get you into the shower.” Looks like Wayne’s gonna get the next hot shower in the morning. Stupid tiny water heater.

“T-thanks, Ed-d-d.” Steve shudders, toeing off his sneakers then bending to peel his socks off.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie means it.

Steve follows him to the Munsons’ avocado green nightmare of a bathroom, “I gotta grab you a towel, so just leave your wet stuff on the floor and I’ll pick it up when I bring one back.”

“‘Kay.”

Eddie closes the door behind him, shuffling to the tiny linen closet and pulls out the first towel he finds.

He goes back to the bathroom and pointedly avoids looking at Steve’s shadowy form behind the curtain.

“Towel’s on the toilet.” he says, and is out the door with Steve’s wet clothes by time the soft “Thank you.” reaches his ears.

He takes Steve’s clothes to the kitchen sink, wringing as much rainwater out of them as he can. His socks too, grabbing them from the front door.

After he’s laid everything out over the radiator, he stuffs Steve’s shoes under one corner, and goes to the kitchen. Sorry Wayne, dry cereal for you. Eddie thinks, heating the last of the gallon for hot chocolate.

He’s pouring it into mugs when Steve shuffles out.

“Couch? There’s a blanket there you can wrap up in.” Steve nods, and Eddie follows, setting a mug on the side table for him and taking the spot against the other arm.

Eddie’s perfectly content to stare at his mug for the rest of the night, but Steve’s wince snags his attention.

He looks up to see a bruised upper arm get folded in under the afghan. The blanket falls from Steve’s shoulders when he reaches for his mug. Eddie spares a hand to pull it back into place. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” A sip of cocoa. “So what’s with the eye? Get in another fight you couldn’t win?” It was meant jokingly, but Steve shifts uncomfortably, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

“Uh..no– my dad he um…”

“You don’t have to tell–”

“No! No, I want to, better tell you now so you can kick me out too. Sooner than later at least.” He huffs a sardonic laugh.

Oh no.

Eddie knows what those words preface. He said the same ones to Wayne when he was first dropped on his doorstep.

“Steve, no, wait you really don’t—”

“He caught me and Jacob Simmons in bed together..”

All the breath leaves Eddie’s lungs

It comes back to him in horrid laughter. Of fuckin’ course.

“What? What’s— should I grab my stuff? I’m gonna grab–”

“Of fuckin’ course.” Eddie’s cheeks are wet. Steve just came out to him and Eddie’s crying.

“Eddie, are you alright?’

“No! I’m not– I’m… You’re perfectly safe here, Steve, ‘Kay? Wayne is good people.”

“But you’re—”

“I’m going to bed. I don’t want to be here right now.”

“You don’t like it either…”

Eddie cackles again, his collar gets even more damp. “It’s not that, Harrington.”

Steve is queer, he’s sitting here on Eddie’s couch after taking a beating from his own father for it, and Eddie can’t stop thinking about himself. The cruelest fuckin’ irony in the known fuckin universe.

“If it’s not that then.. What’d I do?”

“You broke my heart, Steve!”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “Wh– I– How??” is what he settles on. Eddie’s eyes burn. He manages to hold back this round. It won’t be for long.

“I told you that I liked you like how Tammy Thompson liked you and you said, and I quote: “Ew! That’s disgusting!” and told me I had to go home.

Steve’s eyebrows scrunch together then up above the bridge of his nose.

“It was your birthday party, remember?”

“Yes.” it’s a meek whisper.

“Wayne was at work because he knew I’d be at your house. He took an extra shift. Your mom ushered me out at your whim and I walked my ass home through the woods. In the dark, I might add, since you decided I needed to go even though it was 11 at night.”

Steve’s eyes go wider, It pisses Eddie off more. “I didn’t have a key yet so I couldn’t get even get inside once I got there, so I slept on the porch until Wayne got home in the morning.”

“Eddie, I—”

“Do you even remember that I was out of school after that?”

Steve stares at him,

“Well? Do you?”

He shakes his head.

“I got pneumonia from sleeping outside. I was sick for days.”

“Ed—”

“And after all that, I still— I still—”

“…You still?”

“I still had the biggest fuckin’ crush on you.” Now it’s Eddie’s voice that’s fallen quiet.

He still does, isn’t that a fuckin’ joke.

“And now here you are, on my couch, and I can’t help but feel…gratification. That you got what you deserved.

“You just came out to me, told me you got a beating for it just like I did, and all I can think is “Good.”. How fucked is that?”

Eddie collapses back against the cushions.

“Your dad?” Steve manages to say after a handful of minutes.

“Yeah.” Eddie croaks. “My dad.”

“How bad?”

Eddie turns his head, makes a show of looking him over, “‘Bout the same. More punches to the gut though, if I had to wager. No bloody knuckles on me though. Was too small.”

“Damn.”

Eddie looks back toward the front door, nods. “Damn.”

The tension slowly dissipates in the next handful of minutes that pass.

“I’m sorry.” He turns toward Steve’s voice, he’s looking down into his mug. “If it’s worth anything now, I really am sorry I did that, Eddie.”

Eddie’s chest loosens. “It’s worth something.” he watches Steve nod. “If it’s worth anything, I’m sorry your dad’s a huge ass. And that my feelings are huge ass.”

Steve snorts a laugh, he seems surprised by it, “It’s worth something.”

anyone else ever feel like eddie does? feeling like shit about having feelings that threaten to overtake the feelings and problems someone you care about is going through?? just me?? okay, great.. 🙃

see the collection on ao3!

[primeministerofantarctica]

Mankai Therapy Company

tsumugi vc you guys need so much therapy on god

It started, like it always did, with extortion. 

Or rather, it started at a company meeting. 

“I,” Tsumugi announced, “have great news.”

“You’re getting married?” Citron all but yelled. Tsumugi choked. 

“N-”

“I didn’t hear Tasuku say anything,” Itaru muttered without looking up from his handheld gaming device, still managing to be heard by everyone in the room.

“I’m not getting married!” He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly before opening them. “I - we-” he gestured towards the Director- “called everyone in here to tell you that I was able to contact one of my old colleague’s practices, and they said they’d be willing to do business with our company at a reduced price.”

“Practice?” Muku echoed in confusion.

“He’s telling us to see a shrink.” Yuki said flatly.

“Only if you feel comfortable doing so,” Tsumugi curled his fists to keep himself from wringing his hands together. It was best not to show nerves in these situations. “I acknowledge that it is a personal choice and I won’t force anyone into this. However, if you do decide to take this opportunity, it’s now arranged so that the company will pay for your sessions in full.”

“Am I dreaming?” Tsuzuru blinked. “Did you just say free health insurance?”

“Holy shit, are you crying?”

“No!” He rubbed his eyes quickly. Kazunari patted him on the arm. 

“There, there, Tsuzuroon.” 

Sakyo cleared his throat. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” Tsumugi did his best to make his expression open and nonjudgmental. 

“Or a concern. Where in the company’s budget have these funds been allocated?”

Tsumugi’s smile was unchanging, not flickering or wavering in the slightest. “Sorry, let me rephrase that. Anyone who works for Mankai Company who wants to see a therapist, counselor, psychiatrist, or any mental health professional now can, free of charge, with any copayments covered in full. Is that understood?”

Izumi had to hand it to Tsumugi, the soft-spoken man could be downright scary when he wanted to be. Why was it always the nice ones? 

“I’ll be reviewing this on next month’s budget.”

“Great!” Tsumugi hummed. “Does anyone else have a question?”

“Yeah,” Taichi raised his hand, “why are you telling us to go to therapy? Isn’t that for, like, divorced couples and depressed shut-ins and stuff? I mean, none of us qualify for that, right?”

Tsumugi’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help it. 

“Hey, Tsumugi!” 

Tsumugi looked up from the script he’d been reading on the sofa, politely greeting Taichi in return as the boy opened the fridge and grabbed a soda. He frowned slightly. 

“Nanao, don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Yep!” Taichi nodded as he popped the soda cap off and took a swig. “Uh, why? Is there something else happening tomorrow?”

“No, I just-” he looked pointedly towards the soda. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to drink so much caffeine before bed? Won’t you have trouble going to sleep?”

“Oh, this?” Taichi laughed and rubbed his neck. “It - okay, this might sound fake, but I swear soda and caffeine actually make me sleepier! Weird, right?”

“That’s certainly…interesting.” 

“Azuma, my dear, my camellia that blossoms in the moonlight,” Homare paused. “Were you, perchance, the one that moved my tea bags?”

“Hm? No. Why, are you missing some?”

“No.” Homare closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them. “I…apologize for the accusation. Thank you.” He turned around to leave before-

“Aha!” 

“Oh crap,” was all Tasuku could manage before Homare accosted him. “Tasuku, my Adonis, you wouldn’t happen to have moved my tea bags this morning, would you?”

“Uh, yeah?” He blinked. “They were in front of the cereal. I didn’t take any, though, if you’re missing some.”

“I’m not!” Homare reassured him. “I simply woke up to find the lavender and chai had switched places, and the lemon much farther to the left than it should be, which as you can imagine is quite a distressing predicament to find oneself in.”

“I…I really can’t imagine that, no.”

He hummed. “Well, if you do find yourself moving my teas again, please ascertain that they are relocated back to their original positions, would you?”

Tasuku didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay, sure.”

Azuma chuckled. “Classic Homare.”

Tsumugi bit his lip. 

“Ah, Tenma,” Tsumugi slid a sheet of paper across the table and tapped on it. “This kanji is backwards.”

“Huh?” Tenma snatched up the paper and stared at it, blinking hard. “Oh…oh, yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” He winced. 

“It’s no problem,” Tsumugi smiled gently. “Let’s just correct it and move on, shall we?” 

“Yeah,” Tenma’s ears were still flushed, “yeah, okay.”

“I’ve got it!” Tsuzuru slammed open the door forcefully and marched in like a knight on a mission. A pale, scrawny, sickly looking knight with unwashed hair and dark eyebags. “I’ve got the new script!” He grinned maniacally. 

Itaru looked up. “Five.”

“That’s great, Tsuzuru!” Izumi smiled and took the packet, still warm from the printer. “I’ll read through this tonight and have my notes ready by tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?” Tsumugi asked. 

“I’m fine. I’m great! I’m wonderful!” Tsuzuru said, a little forcefully. 

Citron stood. “Four.” 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I can’t just sleep, Tsukioka, what if I forget a line or piece of dialogue?” 

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Chikage muttered. “Three.”

“Still - sorry, what are you counting for?”

Sakuya just shrugged, half-smiling apologetically. “It’s just easier to coordinate this way. Two.”

“Coordinate what?”

Tsuzuru collapsed face first into Masumi’s arms. “...One.” 

“Taichi’s right, I don’t think any of us need that therapy crap. ‘Cept for Hyodo, maybe someone’ll find out why he’s so chronically annoying.”

Juza elbowed Banri in the ribs. He retaliated by punching his shoulder. 

“It’s a scam anyway.” Yuki spoke up before the fight could escalate further. “Therapy’s just a pseudoscience made to make normal people feel good about themselves by talking to a stranger. No offense.”

Tsumugi steepled his fingers. “None taken. On a related note, how many of you have actually been to therapy?”

Yuki looked away, muttering something about school counselors and zero tolerance policies. Nobody else seemed willing to speak up. 

“I have!” Misumi raised his hand. Tsumugi blinked, trying not to look surprised. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm! I think?” Misumi leaned back on the sofa. “I was really young.”

“What…how was it?”

“They gave me some toys to play with and asked Gramps a lot of questions,” he shrugged. “Don’t remember much else.”

“I…see.” Tsumugi said slowly. “That’s very…enlightening. Thank you.” He coughed. “Still, I have a stack of business cards here, so I would like all of you to take one.”

Banri glared at his card like its existence offended him. Kazunari flipped his over and shoved it into his pocket when he was sure nobody was looking. Misumi also put his in his pocket, but only after forcing the edges down to make a triangle fold. 

Tsumugi prayed that he made the right decision to be so upfront about this. Then again, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to make the first move. 

He had almost forgotten about it, a month later, when Banri stormed into his room and practically threw the business card at him. “Rurikawa was right, therapy’s a total scam. I want a refund and I didn’t even pay anything.”

Secretly Tsumugi was pleased that Banri had relented into going for a few sessions, but he forced those feelings down. “It’s normal to feel upset after a session. But if you feel like you’re being treated unfairly, you can always ask for another therapist.”

“Yeah, I’m being ‘treated unfairly’.” Banri rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor, right in front of him. “You still have your license, right? Why can’t you be our therapist?”

“That’d be an extreme conflict of interest and highly illegal.”

“Didn’t know we cared about the law,” Banri muttered under his breath. 

“If you want to talk, though, I always can as a friend.”

“Right, so,” he waved his hand flippantly. “I was just telling this chick about Hyodo eating my pudding with my name on it, and in the middle she looks me right in the eyes and says Oh, wow, you must really like this Hyodo person to talk about them so much!”

“Oh. Wow.”

“As if! I was just telling you how much he pissed me off, seriously, how dense do you have to be to NOT understand that?”

Tsumugi bit back several comments. “I can’t imagine.”

“Ugh. Anyways. This sucks.”

“Sometimes it does,” he said sympathetically. 

“Tsumugi!” 

He barely had time to blink before Homare’s fingers had interlaced with his, a quick kiss pressed to his temple. “Hello, Angel!”

“Hello, Homare,” he smiled, more than used to these random bouts of affection. “How are you?”

Homare glanced down the hallway quickly before leaning in close to his ear. “Actually, I do have a topic I wanted to discuss with you. Your knowledge on the subject would provide valuable insight on the matter.”

Tsumugi felt the back of his neck prickle. “What is it?”

“Do you think I’m on the spectrum?”

“There’s...a lot of spectrums, Homare.”

He tsked. “True. I- I initially assumed my therapist said I might be on the artistic spectrum, and I told them that I was a renowned poet on the literary arts spectrum, but-” he sighed dramatically, “they simply laughed and gave me a pamphlet to ‘read over’.”

“I see,” Tsumugi squeezed his hand. “And you read it?”

“I…I did, yes.”

Thank god, FINALLY, Tsumugi wanted to say. Instead, he very tactfully asked, “What did you think?”

“I am,” Homare frowned slightly. “Not sure. I’m afraid I must deliberate on the matter further before drawing forth any hasty conclusions.”

“Well,” Tsumugi kissed his cheek. “There’s no rush.”

Hisoka looked left, then right, then cautiously reached for the doorknob before-

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Chikage snapped, crossing his arms.

“There’s a pop-up sweets shop in the next town,” he yawned plainly. “I want to see it.”

Chikage narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were expressly forbidden from driving.”

“It’s only a few minutes,” he shrugged. 

Chikage’s lip curled. “Are those Tasuku’s keys?”

“He’s out jogging.” Hisoka answered. It was getting harder and harder to stay-

He felt somebody shaking him. “I hope you were planning on asking your boyfriend to drive you.”

“I can drive myself,” Hisoka felt a twinge of annoyance. “It’s fine.”

“Right,” Chikage closed his eyes. “Get in Chigasaki’s car before you do anything stupid.” He shook his head and muttered, “Of all the reckless…I can’t believe you fell asleep in the MRI machine-”

Tsumugi watched the door slam shut on Hisoka’s smirking face. 

[mego42]

Make Yourselves Forget That The Plague Is A Bitch: Book Edition

Tagged by: @foxmagpie and @jazillia007 💖

What’s the most recent book that you’ve read and absolutely fell in love with?

the starless sea by erin morgenstern. erin morgenstern is hands down one of the most incredible authors i’ve ever read. her writing is literal magic, she transports you to these lush, rich, fantastical places that you want to live inside of and never come out. the starless sea is also a story about the nature of stories so it’s got this brain puzzling meta element to it that gives me such a raging brain and craftsmanship boner i have to go sit in the corner and face the wall until i calm down.

Do you keep track of how many books you’re reading every month?

lmao no. i used to have a goodreads that i would sporadically update with varying degrees of accuracy but i locked myself out of it last year and found out the email it was attached to no longer exists so i can’t get back in.

What’s your stance on the debate as to whether or not we should dissociate the artist from their art (artist = writer in this case)?

I’m pretty unilaterally camp to each their own. everyone has their own lines in the sand and it’s not anyone else’s call where those lines fall. I will say, though, generally when people are terrible, their terribleness is reflected in their work to some degree so that’s often where i turn off. but at the same time, sometimes you fall in love with someone’s work at a stage in your life where you don’t notice/have issues with it (for me, joss whedon and jk rowling immediately jump to mind) and it’s not like that love just like, turns off like a faucet when you stop liking the artist so much, you know? buffy’s my forever girl and always will be. Idk, it’s complicated.

What do you do when you can’t focus on a book?

usually put it down and do something else, half the books on my shelves have book marks tucked away somewhere from when i started and then decided i wasn’t in the mood

Paperback or hardcover?

EBOOK BITCHES!!!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA listen i love being able to read anywhere and i can read ebooks on my phone. that said, i prefer hardcovers for the aesthetic but paperbacks for the cost/weight. i’m p unfussy tbh, i just like books.

Which language would you like to learn just to be able to read its untranslated literature?

literally any of them, i’m hopelessly bad at languages, it’s a disgrace.

Pick up the book that is closest to you. convince me to read it in less than 10 sentences.

it is super handy that i pulled out one of my all time fav books the other day to look up a quote so i can actually say the book closest to me is froi of the exiles by melina marchetta.

melina marchetta is an australian author who writes hands down the most engrossing, beautiful, real family dynamics that will haunt me until my dying day. she’s also very much about home, community, and culture, both the ones we come from and the ones we build, and the indelible mark they leave on ourselves and our worlds. not only that but she writes literally the most poignant, evocative romances i’ve ever read. froi of the exiles is the middle book in her epic fantasy trilogy the lumatere chronicles and while it is technically fantasy, it’s incredibly grounded in real world themes (iirc she said somewhere it was originally supposed to be a refugee story set in the real world but she ultimately swerved to fantasy so people wouldn’t get hung up on real world baggage). literally every character is a fully realized person and i would die for approx 87% of them.

honestly i don’t really know how to sell this trilogy, it turns me into a drooling idiot every time i read it bc it’s so good it melts my brain. i absolutely 100% seriously weep for the entire second half of the third book, even though i’ve already read it at least 7 times, it makes me feel that much that strongly and it never wears off. if i could read nothing else until the day i die it would be this trilogy and that’s not even a little bit hyperbolic.

i have no idea how long this has been going around or who has been tagged so consider yourself tagged if you want to play!

[mannick]

Lover Boy

Something to make up for ‘The interview pt2’ taking so long! I keep deleting it and rewriting it because it doesn’t live up to the first part! I’m having a crisis, but after reading sugar pt6 for the 80th time it’s finally coming together so be on the lookout for it later tonight or early-ish tomorrow!

Warnings:Cursing, Alcohol, Dirty nasty smut! Technically public? Sorry for any mistakes! Asshole!Jake

"Jacob remove your whore hands from my body." I immediately spun to face him, pushing his chest.

Jake threw his head back letting out a loud laugh and shook his head afterward "Whore hands huh?"

I scoffed and took a sip from my beer before continuing to talk. "Yes, whore hands. Shouldn't you be feeling up Kayla like you were earlier?" I cocked a brow at him.

He smirked and got closer to me again, he leaned down to look at me. "You're so hot when you're jealous." He took his bottom lip between his teeth and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me to him.

Rolling my eyes I immediately mushed his face pushing him out of my way and walked past him downing the rest of my beer. I was literally at a party and I was single, time to act like it!

I was beyond tired of his cat and mouse games, as a grown woman I was embarrassed that I had played along that long anyways. Jacob knew I had feelings for him, like REAL feelings. He used that against me, he knew I was weak for him.I drunkenly professed my love for him multiple times and he always brushed it off. He always brushed ME off. Unless he wanted sex, then it was always "you know I adore you Y/n" "please forgive me, it wasn't like that" "you were drunk I didn't think you meant it". But- after tonight I no longer care. I'm going to get laid and forget about the situation, forget about him.

"Y/n! Please help me." Josh moved through the crowd of people with a frown.

"Joshy! What's wrong bub- oh shit." His favorite cropped blue top has red soda all over it. "Cmon, I can make sure it doesn't stain." I grabbed his hand pulling him through the sea of people.

When we got to the bathroom I closed the door behind us and then pulled my hair up. "I need that shirt off your body honey."

Josh nodded and took his shirt off sitting on the counter then handing it to me. I took it from him and grabbed peroxide and searched the bottom cabinet for detergent. I knew the girl who had thrown the party so I was a bit aquatinted with the house and stuff. I held the shirt up looking at the damage.

"I can definitely get this out, I'll have to hand wash it but it'll come out."

Josh immediately smiled widely and nodded "Thank you Y/n, Maya poured pop on me after I told her I didn't love her the way she loved me."

"I wish Jake would've done that to me, instead of pretending that he kinda had feelings for me to get sex. I'm done with that shit though, I deserve more. Also, Maya is beautiful but she's not a good person at all, so I totally get why the love isn't reciprocated." I took my lip between my teeth as I rinsed the shirt and wrung it out holding up the top.

"Yeah she really sucks as a human if I'm being honest, and I like EVERYBODY- also I'm sorry about Jake. He's a real ditz, especially not to bag you when he had the chance." His eyes were locked on me, I felt myself blush.

I slung the shirt over the shower rod after wringing out the access water and turned to Josh.  My eyes wandered down his chest to his exposed happy trail and v-line. He noticed my eyes and his cheeks got red, he cleared his throat snapping me out of my thoughts. But it was a bit late as I had already felt a warm feeling pool my underwear. This was not the first time just being around Josh had turned me on, he was always so sweet and hot. I usually just ignored it because my head was so far up Jake's ass. A knock at the door and girl yelling "Please come out or I'll piss everywhere!" snapped me out of my thoughts yet again.

Josh laughed at the girl and grabbed his shirt "Do you think the the host would mind if I used her dryer?"

I shook my head "Liyah wouldn't mind at all, I'll take you to the dryer." I took Josh's hand into mine walking out earning a few weird stares from people.

Josh stopped mid way and stared off into the distance, my eyes followed his and I seen Jake and Maya making out on the couch. Jake's hands were under her skirt and you could see her grinding into his hand. My eyes watered immediately as I practically pulled Josh into the small washroom closing the door while breathing deeply.

Josh looked at me with sympathetic eyes even though he himself seemed a bit hurt.

"I'm sorry you had to see that Y/n... You didn't deserve to see that." He pulled me into his chest hugging me tightly.

My arms wrapped around his waist as I sniffed, I didn't want to start crying over that asshole. "It's okay Josh, he's not even worth my tears. But, it's alway harder to let go of your first."

He nodded and let me go holding my face in his hands rubbing my cheeks with his thumbs giving me a warm smile, he turned away from me putting his shirt in the dryer turning it on.

I held my face missing the feeling of his hands on your face before shaking my head and taking a deep breath.

"Josh, want to hear something funny?" I say giggling a bit.

Josh spun to face me with a wide smile on his face signaling for me to go on. "I'm wet, like ridiculously wet right now." I was laughing hard now with a blush forming over my cheeks.

His brow cocked and he crossed his arms over his chest "From the sight of Jake and Maya?"

I shook my head grinning wide, I jumped onto the dryer my legs dangling off it. "No, from the sight of you without a shirt."

Josh's cheeks grew red as he looked at me in my eyes, he walked towards me standing between my legs with his hands resting on my thighs. "I didn't realize me without a shirt could get you 'ridiculously wet'."

My hands went to his cheeks as I looked over him again "Your happy trail and v-line is what sent me over the edge though." I bit my lip staring into his eyes.

He bit his lip his eyes going from my eyes to my lips, his hand going between my legs. His index and middle fingers rubbed over my soaked underwear rubbing me through them causing me to let out a small moan. I took that opportunity to kiss him, his lips were so plush against mine and he kissed me back with the same hunger I kissed him with. He rubbed my my clit through the wet fabric causing me to moan into his mouth, josh pulled away and flashed me a big smile.

"I've wanted to do that for while, I've wanted you for a while." Josh spoke lowly before his lips attached to my neck kissing on it softly before he'd randomly suck on the skin creating hickeys.

My back arched my chest pushing into his "You've always been so sweet to me, I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage the situation."

He chuckled and pulled away,hooking his finger through my underwear and tapping my thigh with his other hand to signal me to lift up. I placed my hands on the dryer lifting my lower half as he pulled down my underwear, he stuffed them into his pocket then looked at me.

"I want to do this mama, do you?" He raised his brow waiting for a response.

I smirked and sat back onto the dryer spreading my legs so he could see how wet I was for him. "Please fuck me joshy."

Josh's eyes wandered down to my heat and he groaned at the sight "Fuck mama."

I pulled my dress over my head and tossed it onto the floor leaving me completely nude for him. My hand went to my heat rubbing my middle finger through my wetness then sliding it over my clit before rubbing it in gentle circles slowly. I whimpered and felt my slick begin to pool out of me.

Josh's eyes watched me momentarily before he took his pants and boxers off allowing his stiff cock spring out. He pulled me to the edge of the dryer and swiped his fingers through my slick and sucking me off his fingers, I watched in awe as his eyes rolled back as he tasted me.

"So sweet mama, so fucking sweet." His words were low and gruff making me squirm.

He grabbed himself rubbing the tip against my clit momentarily before sliding his whole length into me. My back arched and my breathing stopped feeling how big he was inside of me.

“Josh!" Was all I could get out before he started to thrust inside of me at an inhumane pace. My arms wrapped around his neck and his went around my waist tightly as he sped up while pushing his face into the crook of my neck groaning loudly.

"So- fuck! So fucking tight princess." He was a wreck from feeling me squeeze around his throbbing cock, my nails dug into his back as he pushed into me deeper his tip rubbing against my g-spot.

"You fuck me so good j-josh, I love the way you fuck me!" My head laid on his neck as he continued to fuck me senseless, the feeling in my legs started to fade from all of the pleasure he was giving me.

He pulled out and backed away taking me with him before turning me over roughly and bending me over the dryer sliding back into me resuming his deep but fast thrusts.

"OH fuck fuck fuck joshhhh!" The amount of pleasure I was receiving from him was unexplainable, my eyes rolled to the back of my head as I pushed my ass back to meet each of his thrust pushing him even deeper.

"I'm gonna cum mama!" He growls as his thrusts start to become slower than I'd like them to causing me to throw my ass back on him while looking back at him keeping eye contact as I moaned his name.

"Please cum for me baby, fill me up joshy please."

That causes josh to go absolutely still as he spills his seed inside of me while throwing his head back letting the loudest groan I've ever heard escape from his throat.I started to slow down feeling how much he came into me,it was so much that it started to spill out of me and he was still cumming.

He slowly pulled out causing us both to groan, he dropped to his knees spreading my cheeks apart pushing his face into my heat wrapping his lips around my clit causing me gasp.

His tongue was heavenly he rolled it over my sensitive bud lapping at it vigorously making my legs shake feeling myself getting close.

"Just like that! Please josh you're gonna make me cum so hard for you." I whimpered as he plunges two fingers into me making more of his seed spill out of me curving them to hit my gspot as he shook his head from side to side with a groan.

"Cum for me princess, be a good girl and cum for daddy."

That's all I needed to hear because after a few more licks and thrusts of his fingers i squirted with the loudest stream of profanities leaving my lips as i became undone for him. He continued to push his fingers into me in order to let me ride out my orgasm before pulling them out, i fell to the floor my body completely limp. Josh immediately at my side concerned as if he didn't just give me the best fucking of my life.

"You alright Y/n?" Josh asks while wiping the tears I hadn't noticed from my face.

I nodded and bit my lower lip pulling him in to kiss him passionately "I'm fine."

He smiled as we pulled away and leaned in to kiss me again. Just as our lips touched the door flung open causing josh to cover me leaving himself full exposed.

Liyah squealed taking in the scene before her.

"What the fuck. In my laundry rooommmm Y/n? I haven't even fucked in here yet!"

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,962 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Denise asks Y/N to find some much needed medical supplies. Y/N and Daryl head out on a supply run.

Your name: submit What is this?

You and Daryl both healed up from your close call outside the walls and soon you were making scavenge runs and hunting together again. Things in Alexandria went on routinely for some time until one evening when there was a knock on your door and Denise was standing on the front mat.

“Denise, hey,” you said. “Come in.”

She was wringing her hands a little anxiously. “Hi.”

You could easily read the worry on her face. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

She sighed and adjusted her glasses, a nervous habit. “I’m fine but I have a huge favor to ask you.”

“What do you need?” you interrupted. Your expression was intense.

Denise gave you a hesitant look and pulled a list out of her back pocket. “I know this is asking a lot but—I don’t think you’re going to be able to find all this stuff outside of a hospital.”

You gulped but looked it over, nodding. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Hey. I’ll get it. It’s okay,” you reassured her. “I’ll leave early tomorrow.”

“You’re not going alone?” she asked urgently.

You shook your head, folding the list up again. “No. I’ll ask Daryl.”

Denise’s expression morphed from concern to a knowing smile, but she caught herself and quickly tried to hide it. “Oh. Daryl. Good,” she said. You glanced up at her, your lips pressed together in a thin line. She laughed and held her hands up, palms out. “I didn’t say anything!” You rolled your eyes.

“Would you just stop with that? We—we’re just good friends.”

“Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that,” she said in an undertone, turning back to the front door, resting her hand on the handle. She glanced over her shoulder at you again and her expression was once again serious. “Thank you,” you said.

“Of course. We’ll get what you need. Don’t worry.”

As soon as Denise left you made your way across the street and knocked on the front door of Daryl’s house, shuffling your feet a little nervously. Rick answered it with a curious expression.

“Hi, Rick. Is Daryl around?”

“I think he’s up at Aaron and Eric’s. He said something earlier about changing the oil in his bike.”

“Okay, thanks.” You turned to leave but Rick called you back. You watched with a little apprehension as he closed the door behind himself and stepped out onto the porch toward you.

His thumbs were looped into his belt, one foot sticking out toward you.

Your pulse started to race a little with nerves.

“Listen, I know we haven’t spent much time around each other but I wanted you to know that you’re real important to Daryl—anybody can see that. You two have already been through some things together. And that makes you family. So, if there is anything you ever need, you can rely on any of us.”

You stared back at him in some disbelief trying to come up with something to say, but you mostly failed. You gulped at the nervous tightness in your throat. “Thanks.”

Rick nodded. “Sure. Alright. We’ll see ya.” You nodded and turned away from the sheriff, puzzling over his willingness to invite you into the fold so readily.

You jogged up the street, your eyes fixed on the distant glow of orange light spilling out of Aaron and Eric’s garage. You found Daryl standing at one set of shelves along the wall, replacing some tools. He hands were gray with dirt and oil and his toned arms were glistening with sweat.

“Hey,” you said. Daryl turned and glanced at you, one corner of his mouth twitching upward reflexively at the sound of your voice.

“S’goin’ on?” he asked, easily reading the seriousness on your face.

You pulled the small folded piece of paper out of your back pocket and held it out. “We’ve got a job. Denise just came to see me.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed and he pulled the red rag out of his back pocket to wipe off his hands before taking the paper from you and unfolding it. His blue eyes scanned the list and he nodded. “Alright.”

“We’re gonna have to go to a hospital to get a lot of this stuff,” you said apprehensively. The archer nodded and handed the list back to you.

“So, we go to a hospital,” he drawled. “Ya know of any where ya think we could still find supplies?”

You licked your lips nervously. “Yeah. But it’s not—the med centers were ground zero before anybody knew any better. There’s a reason this one still has supplies and hasn’t been picked clean. It’s full of walkers.”

Daryl paused thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed a bit in concentration. “We’ll figure it out. If anyone can do it, it’s you and me, right?” He said, giving you a half-smile, that boyish quirk of his lips.

There were still worry lines on your forehead.

“Hey. We’ve got this,” Daryl said. “Ya think we should take more people? Glenn and Rick, maybe?”

You sighed heavily and thoughtfully ran a thumb over your lower lip, something you did often when you were thinking which Daryl found extremely distracting. “Honestly, the fewer of us the better probably. Keep it as quiet as possible. In and out.”

Daryl nudged his nose up at you in a nod. “Alright. In and out,” he agreed. “We can take my bike. Leave at sun up.”

You nodded. “Okay. I’ll get some gear together,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Meet ya outside in the morning,” he said. “Hey. Try and get some damn sleep,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

The next morning the two of you met in the middle of the road that separated your houses just as the sun was starting to break over the horizon, each with a pack slung over your shoulders. Daryl had his crossbow and you had your recurve bow. “Armory first, then we’ll grab my bike,” Daryl drawled, leading the way to the armory with long strides. You had a sick feeling in your stomach, nervous about the day’s task. Daryl seemed to be able to sense your mood and he glanced back at you. “We’re gonna be fine. And we’re gonna get everything on that list and more,” he said strongly.

You felt the knot in your stomach loosen a little and nodded. “Yeah,” you said.

After grabbing your weapons of choice from the armory, you swung a leg over Daryl’s bike and settled in behind him, your nerves surging again as you wrapped your arms around him to hold on, feeling the strong muscles of his back and stomach. You gulped. Daryl felt like he was about to lose his mind with your arms around him.

The bike roared to life and you were off.

The first part of the trip was uneventful. You directed Daryl to the hospital you had in mind and the bike came in handy as you had to wind through the ruins of gridlocked traffic on what had once been a busy highway. You had parked the bike and hidden it and walked the rest of the way to the medical center on foot, sneaking quietly and hoping you wouldn’t run into any walkers or, maybe worse, people.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing ahead to a tall building down the block. He nodded and continued to lead the way, snaking between cars and debris. Soon you approached the sliding doors of what had been the emergency room entrance. Daryl shouldered his bow and glanced back at you.

“Cover me while I pry these open,” he muttered. You nodded and readied your bow, sweeping your eyes inside beyond the doors for any movement and then back over the cityscape behind you.

Daryl got the doors open and nudged his head toward the interior, putting his crossbow back up to his eye as he gazed over the atrium in front of you. When he was sure it was clear he lowered his bow and moved behind you to shut the doors again. “Don’t want anything followin’ us in here,” he said.

Your eyes were anxiously darting over the space in front of you. “Or anyone,” you murmured.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, rejoining you. “Ya have any idea where to look for this stuff?”

“Um.” You walked over to a directory on the far wall. “Well, we need to find a drug cabinet or pharmacy for the antibiotics and other medications and a supply closet for everything else.” You glanced up the hallway to your left. “I guess we just pick a direction and start sweeping?”

“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” he whispered back. “C’mon.”

You followed behind him and moved up the hallway. You managed to locate a medication locker and shortly after a drug dispensary or pharmacy. You loaded your packs with as much medication as you could, leaving room for the other supplies. Daryl also found a cloth tote bag and filled it up with anything he thought would be useful. So far you hadn’t met with any walkers. It seemed far too quiet and it was causing your apprehension to grow.

Daryl stepped back into the hallway and cleared both directions. “Now we just need to find a supply closet,” he said. He nudged his head toward the other end of the hallway and you followed behind him silently.

“Doesn’t this feel a little too easy to you?” you said, finally speaking your fears.

Daryl looked back at you and nodded. “Yeah. Where are all the damn walkers?”

You continued down the hallway until you found a closed door with a placard beside it that said ‘Supplies.’ “Hey,” you whispered, drawing Daryl’s attention. You tried the handle and swore under your breath. “Locked.” You swung your pack down and dug in the front pocket. “I can pick it. Just cover me.”

Daryl stood guard while you slid the two tools into the key hole, prodding the pins methodically until you heard the characteristic click of completion. You shot a satisfied smile over at Daryl and pushed the door in, shining your flashlight onto the shelves lining the walls. “Fuck.”

They were barren.

Daryl shook his head and sighed. “Guess we try up a level?”

You grabbed the one lone pack of sterile IV tubing left and shoved it into your bag. “I guess so.”

“C’mon. Stairs this way.” You ghosted behind Daryl’s broad-shouldered frame until he paused in front of the stairway door and peeked through the window. It looked empty. He opened it as silently as possible, straining his hearing.

You stepped in after him, climbing the stairs, sweeping behind you with your light every once and a while. When you reached the next floor, Daryl froze and looked back at you with a furrowed brow. You gave him a questioning glance. “Door’s barricaded,” he muttered.

You sighed. “Should we just try the next level up?”

He shrugged and started to climb again, but when you arrived on that floor you saw that it too was barricaded from the other side. “Shit. What do you want to do?” you asked him. He chewed his bottom lip nervously for a moment, shining his flashlight through the small window and looking at what was blocking the door.

“Fuck it,” he said, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “Who knows how many of these damn doors are blocked. Some assholes probably thought they could outlast this thing.”

“Or they thought someone was coming for them,” you said. “The army.”

Daryl turned the handle and heaved his shoulder into the door. The heavy metal cabinet on the other side began to slide. He tried to move it as steadily and quietly as he could, but it made a harsh scraping noise in the silence. You both froze and listened, but you heard nothing.

Daryl held the door and you squeezed through the opening, turning around to hold it for him as he pushed through. When you turned around again you felt your stomach drop. “Oh, God.”

Blood. And corpses. There were old bloodstains and the bodies looked more like mummies than anything but it didn’t bode well. You exchanged a look with Daryl.

“In and out,” he whispered, nodding. You let out a deep breath, your lungs feeling suddenly tight, and the two of you started creeping down the hallway side by side, sweeping your eyes over each hospital room standing open. “There,” you said, spotting another placard designating another closed door as a supply room. This time the handle was loose as you tried it. You pushed inside and were relieved to see that it looked like it hadn’t been touched. Apparently, any other scavengers hadn’t been brave enough to venture past the barricades. You and Daryl dropped your packs and opened them up, shoving supplies inside and filling them so much you almost couldn’t fasten yours closed.

“Alright,” Daryl rumbled quietly. “Let’s get outta here before our luck runs out.”

You nodded heaving your bag onto your shoulders again with some effort. You were about follow Daryl back to the stairwell when you spotted another window that looked like a dispensary. “Hey. Wait a second. Maybe there are more painkillers in here.” You wandered over and tried to push the metal slatted grate over the window up. It didn’t budge. You went to the door. The handle was loose and you shot Daryl a smile.

But that was when your luck seemingly ran out. You pushed the door open and stepped inside but some water damage from a dripping pipe in the ceiling had rotted out the floor and subfloor. You heard it starting to collapse beneath you and had just enough time to throw your bow behind you and spin around. Daryl’s arms were already out and he grabbed onto you as the floor gave way beneath your feet. You held onto him as tightly as you could and in a moment he hauled you up out of the sudden empty space, your heart pounding out of your chest. The two of you collapsed in a heap on the floor.

But you didn’t have any time to rest or be thankful that you hadn’t plummeted downward. The debris and a heavy shelving unit had fallen with a tremendous crash that reverberated through the building. You scrambled for your bow and adjusted your pack again as Daryl was trying to see if you were alright, but there was a sudden growling and mawing from the other end of the hallway and you both swore.

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, looking at a stream of walkers coming up the hallway from out of the stairway at the other end of the hall. “I guess that other stairwell wasn’t barricaded.

“Yeah, no shit,” he growled. “C’mon. We gotta get outta here.”

You both made a run in the direction you had come up but as you approached you could see that there were walkers filling that stairwell now too. “Shit! Daryl!”

You spun around looking helplessly at the herd approaching from up the hall. “We’re fucking trapped!” you said desperately, raising your bow and landing an arrow right in the skull of a walker in the lead. It crumpled and slowed the others behind it for a moment.

Daryl heaved the metal cabinet against the stairway door again to close the opening you had created. The dead were pressing against the door. “We ain’t dyin’ here!” he yelled. “C’mon!” he firmly grabbed your arm and pulled you partway up the hall, toward the incoming herd. He threw his shoulder into the nearest closed door and pushed you inside, firing a bolt at a walker who was reaching for him. He rushed in after you and slammed the door closed.

You had already tossed your stuff down and upended a desk and pushed it against the door. Daryl slid a metal cabinet against it too to fortify the barricade.

“Fuck,” you said, bending over with your hands on your knees, your heart absolutely pounding, your chest heaving.

Daryl was pacing around the room and made his way to the windows. “We gotta go. That shit isn’t gonna keep em out forever. Maybe there’s a fire escape we can use.” He looked out the window but saw nothing you could climb down. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face and jaw.

The dead were pounding against the door and the growling was reaching deafening heights. Daryl continued to pace like a caged animal, back and forth, looking around desperately. “There’s a door here,” he said, rushing over to it in the middle of the far wall. You retrieved your gear and raced over but watched as Daryl jumped back. “Fuck. Goddamn walkers out there too.” His expression was grim as he resumed his pacing.

You looked around as you heard the desk you had upended shaking with the blows of hungry dead ones against the door. Your eyes raced around the room. You were in some kind of laboratory.

Suddenly, Daryl froze like he had been turned to stone and you felt his eyes on you.

“What?” you urged. He tossed his pack down and drew his knife from its sheath at his hip. “What the hell are you doing?” you asked.

“Ya ain’t dyin’ in here. I’m gonna go out, clear a path, draw ‘em off so you can get out.”

“Like hell you are!”

“It’s the only way,” he growled back. “I ain’t lettin’ ya die in here!”

“And I’m not fucking letting you do this!” you said, grabbing onto his arm firmly. “Daryl, that’s suicide.”

“One of us has to get out with the meds and supplies,” he argued. “People back home need ‘em.”

“You’ve got people back there. If anyone is going to draw them off it should be me. It’s just—it’s just me,” you argued. You saw a fierce flash of fire in his blue eyes.

“Nah. Not happenin’,” he growled. He shook you off his arm. “This is how it’s gotta be.”

“You’re not doing this, Daryl. I’m not letting you. There’s gotta be another way out. There’s gotta be—” you rushed over toward the windows, desperately searching for something he had missed, some magic ladder that had suddenly appeared, anything. “There ain’t no other way out, Y/N! And eventually they are gonna come through!” That’s when your eyes fell on the lab supplies nearby. You looked up with a struck expression on your face. Daryl’s expression morphed from determined stubbornness to confusion. He watched as you threw down your pack and bow and started pulling stuff off the shelves. You threw down some glassware which shattered and started scooping up the shards, not even caring that they were cutting your hands up.

“The hell are ya doin’?” Daryl asked, rushing over and looking down at you like you had lost your mind.

“I’m making a way out,” you said. Daryl watched you mixing chemicals and pouring them into some containers you had found, dropping the broken glass in before carefully measuring out another liquid. You glanced up at him. “I’m—I’m making some nail bombs,” you said matter-of-factly. You got up off your knees on the floor and rushed across the room to a custodial cart you had seen, grabbing a box of screws off it and skidding back over to your area on the floor. “Well, screw bombs actually, I guess.”

“Ya—ya know how to—”

The desk against the door rocked violently and you both looked at it. You turned around and pointed to a table pushed against one wall. “Tip that over. We’re gonna need to hide behind it.”

Daryl heaved the table onto its side. “Ya sure ya know what you’re doin’?” He watched you methodically and carefully putting the finishing touches on the devices in front of you, sweat running down your neck and beading up on your hair line, your chest heaving. You wiped your arm across it.

Your eyes were fixed on them as you stood up with one in your hands, being extremely careful not to tip it. “I know what I’m doing,” you said, not taking your eyes off it. You walked over toward the barricaded door and set it carefully down on the floor. You did the same with another one a bit farther into the room. You glanced back at the archer, your eyes a bit frantic. “When they knock those over—” Daryl understood your meaning. “Help me move this shit,” you said, looking at the furniture blocking the door. You and Daryl heaved it out of the way. You could tell that the door wouldn’t hold much longer.

You rushed back over to the table Daryl had turned over and pulled your pack and bow behind it, along with the two remaining devices you had made. Daryl joined you behind the table. “What about those?” Daryl asked eyeing the bombs uneasily.

“These ones are for throwing,” you said, your eyes fixed on the door across the room. “Any second now,” you thought aloud.

“Ya got a Plan B in case these don’t work?” Daryl asked.

“This is Plan A through Z,” you said. “But they’ll work.”

A moment later there was a splintering of wood as the door gave way to the force of bodies on the other side and a flood of walkers started to enter the room. You hunkered down and plugged your ears. There was a concussive blast and you felt Daryl’s body against yours, sheltering over you as the windows in the room shattered and debris flew, embedding into the table you were using as a shield.

You straightened up, your ears ringing, coughing a little in the dusty and smoky haze in the air. You peeked over the table, Daryl doing the same. Body parts and a red splattering of blood was covering the room. There was a substantial hole where the doorway had been. “Sick,” you said aloud, wincing as some gore that was on the ceiling dripped down onto your shoulder. But you climbed to your feet and grabbed your gear. “Come on. Effective but loud. It’s gonna draw more. We gotta go now.” You thrust one of the remaining devices into Daryl’s hands with an urgent look. “Don’t shake it. Don’t drop it,” you said.

He nodded and followed your lead. As you moved into the hallway you headed for the opposite end, to the stairwell that had the door propped wide open. You could still hear walkers pounding on the other locked door of the room you had just been in, still intent from the sound of the blast.

You both snuck past them and started down the stairs, praying that the rest of the way would be clear. You made it to the ground floor and rushed out into the atrium. Daryl threw some chairs and boxes out of the way. You made a rush toward the sliding doors you had come in through and Daryl immediately started prying them open, handing you the bomb you had given him.

“Oh, fuck. I can hear them. Hurry, Daryl!” you urged. You ran back toward the sound of the walkers.

“The hell are ya doin’?” Daryl shouted over his shoulder, still heaving the doors open.

“Covering our ass!” you yelled. You peeked around the corner into the long hallway and saw a stream of walkers started to fill it. You heaved a breath and tossed one of the bombs, pressing yourself up against the wall and covering your ears against the blast.

Debris flew down the hallway and smoke drifted out. You peeked around the hall again and could see the carnage of the walkers blown all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. More walkers were still coming.

“Y/N! I got it! Let’s go!” Daryl roared. You eyed the last bomb and threw it as far down the hallway as you could, feeling the concussive force from the blast run through you as you ran back to Daryl and slipped out through the front doors. He slammed them shut behind you.

“We gotta get the hell away from here before every goddamn walker in the city shows up,” he said, rushing to put distance between you and the hospital.

“Not exactly subtle, but we’re out,” you gasped as you ran behind him.

You didn’t slow until you made it back to where you had stored the bike, doubling over with a stitch in your side, throwing your gear down and collapsing with your back against the wall. “Oh, shit. Fuck me,” you murmured, clutching at the cramp in your side, pressing your head back against the concrete and shutting your eyes.

Daryl’s chest was heaving from the run but he stared down at you with intense blue eyes. He dropped his pack down beside his bike and knelt down next to you. You felt him there and opened your eyes as he grabbed your wrist gently. “You’re bleedin’,” he said, looking at the cuts and punctures from the broken glass you had handled and from pushing yourself up on the debris of the blasts.

“It’s nothing,” you breathed as he examined each of your palms. He pulled his pack over and dug out some of the gauze you had just scavenged. “Daryl, it’s fine.”

He ignored you and only continued his care in silence, wrapping the gauze around both your palms and tucking the end under to secure it. When he finished, his eyes flitted up to meet yours and there was some unreadable expression in them. “That was too damn close,” he said. He gently grasped your elbow and helped you to your feet.

“Tell me about it,” you murmured in agreement. You looked down at your pack stuffed full of supplies. “But we did it. And we got everything Denise needs.”

Daryl still seemed ill at ease. “Ya wanna tell me how the hell you know how to make a fuckin’ nail bomb?”

You laughed wryly. “You wanna tell me how you ever thought I’d let you go on a goddamn suicide mission?” you said in disbelief. “Jesus, Daryl! Don’t you ever try to pull something like that again, okay?”

He avoided your eyes. “If I have to, I will.”

You felt a twist in your stomach at his words, but the next moment he was simply strapping his pack down on the back of his bike and swinging his leg over, looking back at you expectantly. “C’mon. Let’s get the fuck outta here before it gets dark.”

You pulled back into Alexandria and Daryl stopped his bike in front of the infirmary. Denise came rushing out. “Oh, thank God you’re both okay,” she said in a gasp. “I’ve been going crazy all day.”

Daryl climbed off and helped you do the same. Your heart jumped as he gently closed his hand around yours, being careful to avoid your cut-up palm. “Y/N needs her hands looked at,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “No, I don’t. They’re fine, Denise.”

She stared at you in concern and adjusted her glasses. “I’ll look them over. How did it go?”

Her question made you and Daryl exchange a glance for a moment. “Oh, God! I asked too much of you,” she said anxiously.

“Hey, we’re both fine. And we got everything on the list,” you said, shouldering your pack more securely. “We just, uhh, had a close call is all.”

Daryl threw one of his pack straps over his shoulder. “Where ya want these, doc?”

Denise wrung her hands but motioned for you both to follow her inside. After dumping out the copious bottles of medication and packs full of supplies on a table, Denise forced you to sit down so she could look at your palms underneath a bright light.

“They aren’t bad at all,” you protested. Daryl was standing nearby with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall, making sure you couldn’t leave until you’d been checked over.

“How did this happen?” she asked, turning your hand to catch the wounds in the light.

“She grabbed a bunch of broken glass,” Daryl rumbled from his place against the wall.

Denise gave you a look like you were nuts. “…why?”

You cleared your throat and averted your eyes. “Because I needed it for something.”

She grabbed a tweezers and plucked a shard of glass from one of the wounds dropping it into a nearby metal tray. “For what?”

“Uhh…”

Daryl let out an amused snort from his place against the wall and you were relieved to see that his intensely serious and grim expression had broken. You caught his blue eyes and grinned a little sheepishly. Denise looked over at him too. “What? What’s so funny?”

You stared back down at your palm, feeling those annoying butterflies flitting to life in your stomach again at the boyish half-smile on Daryl’s face. “Nothing. Nothing is funny. Don’t worry about it.”

When Daryl was satisfied that you had been thoroughly attended to, he nudged his nose up at you and you thanked Denise one more time before following him out of the clinic.

“Ya really ain’t gonna tell me how the hell ya know how to make bombs?”

You shrugged. “I was—I was out there alone for a long time,” you said. “I, uhh, familiarized myself with things I thought would be useful.”

One of his eyebrows was quirked up at you but he nodded. “Alright… Smart.” He considered you for a moment. “Hey, why don’t ya come on over and eat somethin’? We usually eat around now. I’m sure somebody has fixed somethin’.”

You gave him a thoughtful look.

Daryl could sense your hesitancy. “Ya even got any food in your house?”

“Yes,” you said, acting affronted.

“What? What have ya got?”

“I’ve got stuff in the freezer!” you said.

“Uh huh. Stuff that ya ain’t gonna thaw out and cook tonight. C’mon. You’re eatin’ with us,” he said. He turned and started in the direction of your houses and you sighed, still feeling a bit apprehensive about the thought of so many people, but you followed behind. Daryl glanced back and felt a sense of relief when he realized you had conceded.

Rick heard the front door open and walked over to see who had just come in. Daryl and, to his surprise, you. “You’re back. And you’re alright?” Rick asked.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed.

Rick nodded. “Well, you’ll have to tell us all about it.” “Supper?” Daryl asked.

“We were just about to sit down,” Rick replied, looking over Daryl’s shoulder at you as you hovered a little anxiously just behind him. “Good to see you. I hope you’re joinin’ us?” he asked, his eyes moving back to Daryl’s.

“Ya, she is.”

You felt your cheeks redden a bit as Rick glanced back at you. “Well, come on in and grab a spot,” Rick said, giving you a friendly smile. He patted Daryl on the back as he passed him and you trailed behind.

“I’m just gonna go drop my gear downstairs, alright?” Daryl said to you softly. You nodded, but he noted that you looked a little nervous. He gave you a small smile. “They don’t bite. I promise.”

You shot him a look which elicited another half-smile from him. “I’ll be right back.” His broad shoulders disappeared through the doorway to his space downstairs.

You were standing a little awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen, watching the busy scene in front of you as Glenn and Maggie set the table and Carol and Rosita moved food from the kitchen island to the big table. The air was buzzing with happy conversation, warm laughter, and you felt like you were an outsider looking in. Rick sensed your discomfort and came over with Judith in his arms.

“We can be a little much to take at first,” he said kindly. You met his eyes and gave him a hesitant smile. “Judith, will you say hello to our guest? Say hi! Say hi!” he prompted, kissing her cheek and drawing laughter from her. The little girl lifted a hand and waved at you. Rick watched your face light up with the widest smile he’d ever seen you give.

“Hi, Judith,” you said sweetly. “I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you,” you said, reaching out and gently grasping her little hand to give it a shake.

Rick grinned as Judith laughed with her hand in yours. Your eyes were bright and twinkling as you looked at the little girl in his arms. “She’s so precious,” you said softly, catching Rick’s eyes again.

He pressed a kiss to her soft hair and nodded. “She is.”

“Alright, dinner is on,” Carol yelled over the somewhat boisterous noise. “Everybody grab a seat before it’s cold!”

Rick gave you a kind smile and nudged his head in the direction of the table. You followed him over, glancing back at the doorway Daryl had disappeared through and hoping to see him but it was still empty.

You randomly picked a chair between two empty ones and sank down into it. Carl sat down next to you on one side.

“Hi,” he said, giving you a smile. “Y/N, right? Daryl talks about you a lot.”

You felt another flush of heat in your cheeks. “Yeah, that’s me,” you said, definitely feeling out of place. “You’re Carl, right? Daryl talks about you a lot,” you said managing a smile. The teenager grinned. Where the hell was Daryl?

The chair on the other side of you suddenly was pulled out abruptly and it made a loud scraping sound on the wood floor which seemed to draw everyone’s attention, not only you. Most of the conversation in the room quieted. You looked over and watched as a brown-haired man with a mullet sank into the seat, his eyes immediately on you.

“Hello,” he said abruptly. “My name is Dr. Eugene Hermann Porter and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said eagerly. His eyes were a bit wide and fixed on your face as you stared back at him in surprise. His tone was unique, somewhat flat with a heavy southern accent and oddly formal almost.

You nodded, your own eyes wide as you looked back at him. “Hi,” you said quietly. “I’m, uhh, Y/N…”

“I am fully and completely aware of who you are,” he said. His stare was intense and unwavering and you immediately felt a bit uncomfortable beneath it, tearing your eyes away from his which you could still feel fixated on you.

You glanced around at the others at the table, a little uneasy and definitely trying to avoid Eugene’s gaze, and you saw some trying to stifle laughter at how the self-proclaimed genius was gaping at you. Others were less successful at stifling the laughs and there was certainly some head shaking and amused eye-rolling.

Rosita spoke next, snapping her fingers in Eugene’s direction. “Ey! Eugene! ¡Oye!” His eyes snapped to her face. “What have I told you about the staring?” she snapped. “You’re making her uncomfortable! ¡Basta!”

You noted that he looked chastised and he lowered his eyes to his plate, but continued to steal glances at you that he apparently thought were subtle but which definitely were not.

Abraham put a hand up to his face and shook his head as Sasha, Glenn, and Maggie laughed appreciatively.

“Hey!”

You knew that gruff voice. You looked back and watched as Daryl jostled the chair Eugene was in.

“Get on out. Move,” he said.

Eugene tried to argue. “But I’ve already claimed this spot. There’s a perfectly vacant chair right over—”

“Nah, c’mon. Out,” Daryl snapped again.

Eugene stared at him for a moment, but Daryl’s eyes were unwavering and eventually Eugene quailed beneath the stare, his shoulders slumping, and he moved over one chair. Daryl sank down beside you and gave you a hint of a smile. You returned it eagerly.

Dinner began and was lighthearted as everyone chatted and passed the food around the table. You were accepting a bowl from Carl when he caught sight of the red puncture wounds on your palm. “What happened?” he asked, pointing at your hand. Everyone seemed to immediately key in on the question and be looking your way.

“Oh. Uhh—” You glanced over at Daryl as if for help with an explanation but you were met with no assistance and only a small curve in his lips and his eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. You stared down at the punctures in your palm. “Just—from some broken glass on the run today. It’s nothing,” you said, giving Carl a reassuring smile, your heart pounding in your chest with everyone’s eyes on you.

“Nah, c’mon,” Daryl said, teasing plain in his voice. “Don’t lie to ‘im. He’s just a kid.”

You shot a look at him. “I’m not—That’s what—” You wanted nothing more than to punch him hard in the arm right then.

Daryl took a huge bite of bread and stared back at you. “Lie of omission,” he drawled through his full mouth. “Tell ‘im the whole story.”

He watched you clench your jaw and give him another pointed look. There was a mischievous spark in his blue eyes, fixed steadily on your face, that made it impossible for you to be too genuinely annoyed.

“We want to hear about the run today anyway,” Maggie said. “How’d everything go?”

Daryl obviously wasn’t going to answer so you sighed and nodded, your hands twirling your water glass anxiously. “We… We got everything on the list that the clinic needed,” you said.

“And had some more bad luck with a rotten floor,” Daryl added, glancing over at you. “Seems to be becoming a habit.”

“Daryl said you were going to have to go to a hospital. No walkers? We should go back and clean the place out if we can. Stock up before anyone else gets to the supplies or before we need ‘em,” Rick said.

Your mouth dropped open as you searched for how to respond. “Uhh—no, there—there were walkers…”

Daryl leaned forward with his elbows on the table. You felt the convivial mood in the room darken. “We had a close call,” he rumbled. “Y/N got us out.”

You felt everyone’s eyes on you again and you stared down into your water glass. “It was nothing,” you murmured.

“Nah. It was somethin’,” Daryl insisted. He leaned forward and looked at Carl. “She got those punctures on her hands because she broke a bunch of glass to put in some nail bombs when we were trapped by walkers. Made a way out. Blasted ‘em to hell.”

“Wait—sorry. Did you say nail bombs?” Glenn repeated.

You hazarded a glance at the faces around the dinner table and most of them were staring right back at you, some with unreadable expressions and others with looks of surprise or amazement.

Carl broke the tension. “Heh…cool,” he said with a laugh.

And just like that everyone was letting out relieved laughter. The tension in the room broke and you passed the rest of dinner in more comfort. You didn’t say much, content to keep to yourself and watch the members of Daryl’s group interact with each other.

And Daryl couldn’t stop stealing glances at you the whole time.

You insisted on helping with the post dinner clean-up, feeling somewhat more relaxed after the shared meal. Daryl was sitting in the living room sharpening his knife just for something to do, purposely positioned where his eyes could flit up and find you easily.

Glenn wandered over to the archer, his hands stuffed into his back pockets. Daryl looked up with a question in his eyes.

“What?” he asked, his deep voice heavy with gravel.

Glenn smiled at him and just shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing…” he trailed off. Glenn glanced into the kitchen in your direction and then looked back at Daryl. “Just—life’s short, man. What are you waiting for? Besides, you better hurry before Eugene beats you to it,” he joked.

[peterrparrkerr]

Pornstar au - read on ao3

*-*

Peter's nervously fiddling with his fingers as he walks onto set. Camera-men and directors and other crew members are hustling around, making last minute changes and adding to the low murmur of conversation.

His feet feel glued to the floor, the sudden raise in his blood pressure making his hands sweating.

"You Peter Parker?" A woman demands, standing in front of Peter and making him jump.

He looks up and gives a small nod, mouth dry and tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Get in the dressing room, you've got 15 minutes."

And then she was gone. Peter stares after her with wide eyes. He looks around, trying to find a dressing room.

This was a bad idea, this was such a bad idea. Peter should've just stuck to amature porn shot on his phone.

He's about to ask someone for directions when someone sets a hand on either of his shoulders and starts rushing him. Peter tries hard not to stumble, and he's nearly running ahead of the person.

"Fifteen minutes, be ready when there's a knock on the door."

Peter's thrown into a room. Hd straightens himself, and before he can even look around there are people rushing him to a seat.

Questions and comments are flying around him, and Peter can't focus. Someone is dabbing on concealer and someone else is demanding Peter change.

After a whirlwind of fifteen minutes, Peter's rushed back to the set. There seems to be even more people around.

Peter takes a small step back, ready to dip and just run out, but someone shouts, and someone's taking Peter's robe -leaving him in yellow swim trunks- and shoving him forward.

Peter's bare feet pad against the linoleum floor, and its like he's been shoved onto a stage fully naked in front of his high school.

"Two minutes!"

Peter is about to yell wait, when -oh, fuck, its Tony Stark. He's walking over, and he's looking at Peter.

"You look nervous," Tony smirks, looking relaxed in a pair of dark swim trunks and an open Hawaiian patterned shirt.

"Uh," Peter says dumbly. He glances around at the people in the room, then at the set they're in.

"It can be overwhelming," Tony said, all confident yet lax posturing as he stands in front of Peter, intimately close. "This is your first time filming?"

Peter swallows thickly, unsticking his tongue from his teeth.

"Ye-yeah, I mostly just, uh, usually there's not a film crew," he stammered.

Tony smirked, glancing over at the crowd, then steps a little closer. "Just pretend they're not there."

"Uh, that's gonna be hard," Peter confessed, wringing his fingers.

"Thirty seconds!"

Peter feels his heart rate spike. His eyes widen a little.

"Hey," Tony hums, smirk falling away. He grips Peter by the chin and tilts his head so Peter has nowhere to look but him. He swallows thickly, staring into Tony's dark eyes.

"Its just us, okay?" Tony said, their noses almost touching. "Its just like any other time you've filmed. Just you and your partner, right?"

"Ye-yeah," Peter nods, chin still held in Tony's grip. the older man smiles and squeezes.

"I've seen your work, Pete," he says, and Peter's eyes widen. Tony Stark -the Tony Stark- saw Peter's amature porn? What-

"You've got a lot of potential. Don't let your nerves get the best of you."

And with that, Peter's left alone at the end of the set while Tony walks to the door he's supposed to walk through at the beginning of the scene.

There's a countdown, and someone rushes over and sprays water over Peter's chest and hair, getting his curls damp and then shoving him into the middle of the set.

Peter doesn't stumble -thankfully. The countdown ends and the cameras -yeah, there's three- start rolling.

Peter picks up the towel on the wood chair in what was set up to be a mud room. He brings it to his chest and wipes himself dry.

The door opens, and Peter doesn't look up. He's read the script, he knows what happens.

Thankfully, this isn't a speaking porno. Theres no dialogue Peter needs to memorize -he doesn't think he'd be able to speak anyway without stuttering.

He feels a hand on his side and jolts -its not an act either. The hand snakes around to Peter's stomach and pulls him back.

Peter lets the towel fall to his bare feet. He can see the camera in front of him, just out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn't know where every camera is, so he tries to keep his eyes on things around the set, or closed.

Tony hums lowly against Peter's ear, mouthing at his jaw as his hand slides down, fingertips dipping below Peter's trunks.

Peter lets his head fall back a little, feeling himself growing hard. Its quiet except for Peter's slightly heavy breath, and Tony's gentle cooing.

Tony's other hand reaches over and turns Peter's head, forcing Peter to turn at his hips in order for the older man to kiss him.

Peter's seen Tony Stark's porn. Hes seen the way Tony kisses, but seeing it and actually kissing him, are completely different.

Tony's lips are pillow soft, surprisingly plump. Even with his goatee, he's soft. Peter can't help the small whimper that falls from his mouth, and Tony eats it right up, licking into his mouth.

Peter's breath hitches when Tony's hand finally brushes against his cock, tenting the yellow trunks.

"Hmm," Tony groaned, wrapping his fingers around Peter and squeezing. Peter can't help but raise onto his toes, hands grabbing onto Tony as the man sucks the breath from his mouth.

And then Peter is being pressed into the set wall, back to the cheap wood, and Tony's hand is stroking Peter under the trunks.

"O-oh," Peter gasps, head thunking against the wall. Tony ducks down, mouth latching onto Peter's throat as he continues stroking him.

"So responsive," Tony hummed against Peter's skin. He can feel the older smirking as he nips at Peter's collarbone.

"You're gonna be so fun to play with."

Peter moans up at the ceiling, rocking his hips up into Tony's grasp. He doesn't know what he's doing, but Peter's never felt a handjob quite like this one.

Tony's flicking his wrist at the top, brushing against his tip, squeezing -its incredible, and Peter is close to bursting.

"Cut!"

Peter's quickly brought back to the set and he blinks his eyes in surprise.

Tony pulls his head back and smirks down at Peter, pulling his hand back. Peter can't help but frowning a bit.

"Lets set up the next scene," the director calls.

"Dont worry, you get used to it," Tony smirks at Peter's frown. It makes his frown deepen.

Tony nods for Peter to follow him, and Peter's quick to fall into step with him.

Peter's usually not this quiet, but he doesn't know what to say. He feels like a newbie -which, technically, he is, to the professional side of porn.

"You've watched my videos?" Peter finds himself asking, and nearly slaps himself. Way to go, Parker.

Tony glances down at Peter and smiles, the two heading across the open warehouse to a bedroom set.

"Of course," he said. "Who do you think got you an interview?"

Peter's steps falter in shock. Tony's hand on his lower back, urging him forward.

"I had to see for myself just how cute you were in bed," Tony murmured against Peter's ear. All Peter could do was gape at him.

"You- I."

"Dont strain yourself, kid, we haven't even gotten to the good stuff," Tony grinned.

Peter doesn't really follow what happens next. He's still freaking out that Tony Stark had requested to work with him. That Tony Stark had seen Peter's amature porn filmed on his smart phone and wanted to meet him and work with him.

And its Peter's wet dream to work with Tony. And here he is, naked and rutting up against Tony's bare cock on the bed, whimpering and moaning.

He already prepped himself before he drove to the set, but Tony still works a couple fingers inside him -for the sake of the cameras.

Peter moans, rolling his hips, silently urging Tony to go deeper. The man obliges, sucking bruises into Peter's throat as he presses brutally into Peter's prostate.

The noises that fall from Peter's mouth are authentic. Theres no faking how good Tony makes him feel, stimulating him everywhere with experienced touches.

"You ready, kid?" Tony murmurs, so low in Peter's ears he knows the cameras and mics won't pick it up.

Peter answers by lifting his legs, hooking his ankles around Tony's back and urging him close.

Tony hums and pulls his fingers free, moving closer and lowering himself. Peter nods, hand moving down to grab at Tony's cock. He wants it in now.

He helps to guide Tony to where Peter wants him most, and groans long and loud as Tony slides in.

"Oh, God, you feel so good," Peter moans. "Please, fuck me."

Tony smirks above him and snaps his head forward. Peter gasps, lifting his legs higher, allowing Tony to drive in deeper.

It feels amazing. Peter's completely forgotten about the camera crew. He's lost in Tony and the roll of his hips that have Peter's toes curling and his back arching.

"Harder, please, harder," Peter begs, feeling the low building pleasure in his gut.

Tony's hips snap forward, pace quickening as the man holds himself over Peter.

It feels so good. Peter groans, letting out little punched-out sounds with every thrust forward.

"You like that?" Tony asked, grinding his hips down. "You like it rough?"

"Yes," Peter gasped, hands running over Tony's chest, gripping at his shoulders.

"Change positions," someone says lowly. Peter blinks, about to turn to see who, when Tony dives down and kisses him.

Peter kisses him back, and then the older is pulling out and lifting Peter into a sitting position by the back of his neck.

He allows Tony to move him hoe he sees fit, and whimpers when the man sinks back into him.

Peter's on his knees, back to Tony's chest. The older man has both arms around Peter, biting into his shoulder as he thrusts up into him. 

"Oh, fuck -ah!‐ just like that," he groans, head dropping back onto Tony's shoulder, one arm reaching back to grip at the hairs at the back of Tony's head.

He presses back into the older, turning his head into Tony's. Tony easily connects their lips, bruising teeth and sloppy tongues.

Peter's eyebrows screw up, his breath hitching, and he pulls away from Tony. "Wait-"

But its too late. Peter's orgasm hits him hard, surprising him. Tony stills deep inside of him, holding Peter in place as he cums against the white sheets, grip on Tony tight.

"Hmm," Tony hums once Peter's finished, holding him up, still buried inside. "That was gorgeous, kid."

Peter blushes, taking a deep breath.

"Alright, clean up, we've got the rest of the shot," the director calls. Peter frowned.

"Huh?"

Behind him, Tony chuckles, kissing at Peter's tender neck.

"You gotta try and hold off for as long as you can," he said as a few crew members add another white sheet in front of them, covering the spot of cum. "Give them enough footage to edit through."

"Oh, uh, sorry," Peter blushed.

"Dont be sorry, it was hot as fuck," Tony chuckled, still holding Peter to him.

"Someone get a fluffer in here," the director calls. Peter's blush deepens.

"Thats not needed," Tony calls, lifting his head from Peter's shoulder. "I've got it under control."

"What?" Peter glances over at the crew -which is terrifying. They're all looking at him.

Feeling slightly mortified, Peter turns his head forward, so he's got part of the set wall to stare at.

"Oh my God."

"Shh, kid, just relax. You're doing great," Tony said, moving one of his hands down to tickle at Peter's pubic hair.

"I don't know if I can get it up with everyone watching," Peter whispered, his hand still holding the back of Tony's head -almost like a lifeline.

"You did it before," Tony pointed out, wrapping slender fingers around Peter and beginning to tug on him gently.

"I-I was distracted before," Peter confessed. Tony gently rolls his hips forward, pressing into Peter before pulling out and repeating.

"Its just us," Tony reminded. "No one else." Peter feels himself getting hard again at Tony's words and his actions. He lets out a breath.

"There, you're doing great," Tony praised. "Just relax, let me take care of you."

Peter nods, dropping his head down on Tony's shoulder.

"I'm gonna give you a signal, when its time to cum," Tony continues, stroking Peter back to full hardness. "Dont cum until then, alright?"

"Okay," Peter nods. Tony kisses his shoulder and wraps his arm back around Peter's middle. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in.

Peter keens, body overstimulizated. And thats it, they're off again, and Peter's struggling to keep his noises to a minimum.

He doesn't want to be too loud and ruin the shots, but damn does Tony know what he's doing.

"Tony-" Peter gasped, cutting himself off a little too late. Could they use their names? "Oh- Oh! Ri-right there!"

Tony pulls back and slams into the same spot, making Peter wail. His grip on Tony tightens.

"On your elbows for me," Tony whispered, mouthing at the shell of Peter's ear. Peter barely hears him over his own panting, but the moment Tony's arms unwind from him, Peter leans forward, dropping to his hands, and then his elbows.

The new position has Tony railing right into his prostate. He grips the sheets in his hands and drops even further into the mattress, pushing his ass out further and allowing Tony to go even deeper.

What Peter doesn't expect is for Tony to slap him. He rocks forward at the sting in his left cheek and mewls, burying his face in the bedding.

He's been hit before during sex, but usually its bruising slaps -ones meant to paint Peter's skin a dark red.

This, this is different. It stings, but not in a painful way. It amplifies the already there pleasure in a way that has Peter begging him for more.

And Tony gives it to him. Its not a brutal pace, and he doesn't do it often, but every few thrusts, his hand swats down on Peter's ass. It feels good, so, so good.

Peter feels himself getting close to cumming, and he reaches a hand down, squeezing himself just under the mushroom head to stave it off.

Tony's thrusts get a little sharper, and he leans over Peter, kissing at Peter's shoulder blade, hands on either side of him.

"You wanna cum for me?" Tony asked lowly, thrusting unforgivingly. All Peter can do is nod and whimper.

He begins stroking himself in time with Tony's thrusts  until he's cumming with a shout, body trembling.

Tony has to wrap an arm around Peter to keep him from collapsing on the bed as he climaxes.

Tony groaned low, allowing Peter back down onto the bed once he's emptied himself.

Peter keeps his ass somewhat elevated as Tony thrusts into him, balls slapping against Peter's perineum.

Peter moans at how sensitive he becomes, but he stays somewhat still so Tony can finish.

He does seconds later, burying himself deep inside and painting Peter's inner walls with cum. Peter mewls at the feeling.

He thrusts a few more times, rough and biting before his grip on Peter's hips ease up, and he takes a breath.

Then he pulls out and Peter drops into the puddle of cum on the sheets. Tony follows soon after, dropping to the bed beside him and glancing over.

Peter can't help but smile, his mout hidden behind his arm. Tony grins.

"Damn, kid, you're so much better in person," he sighs. Peter blushes and hides a little more of his face in his arm.

"You are too," Peter managed. Tony's grin widens.

Around them, crew members are taking down the sets, messing with their tech and talking with the director about the final cuts.

Peter doesn't pay them any attention. At least not yet. He can't believe he's just filmed a porno with Tony Stark.

"Before you leave, I want your number," Tony then says, climbing out of the bed.

It takes Peter a second for his brain to process that, and then he's scrambling off after him, snatching the robe held out for him and quickly wrapping it around himself.

Tony's already walking towards the dressing rooms, pace casual as he ties the robe shut in front of him.

"Wait, you want my number?" Peter asked, finally catching up with him. Tony smirks down at him. 

"Definitely," he says. "You're way too good to work with just once."

Peter blushes at that, then gives a small nod. "I, I just have to shower."

Tony's eyes lower, a knowing look settling in his features before he nods. "I'll be waiting."

Peter's got cum drooling down the inside of his thigh as he rushes into the dressing room.

This could be a thing. Peter could do this. Make professional porn. Especially if his partners were anything like Tony Stark.

[lsvdw-blog]

Okay

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings; Rating: Angst (with a happy ending); General

Premise: The aftermath of MC and Ethan's fight about their date night debacle.

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback on Part I and II! This almost had an alternate ending, (it's still sitting in my WIPS) but I couldn't do them like that 😅 it starts off angsty, but the happy ending is there 😊 I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

She struggles to unlock her front door, vision blurry from the tears. She hopes to any and every deity that the apartment is empty as she stumbles through the entrance.

“Serena, you’re home! How did it go?”

Sienna is at the dining room table, jumping excitedly in her seat. Her face falls as she takes in her roommate’s running mascara.

"It didn't go."

“What?"

Serena staggers to the couch, falling face first onto the cushions. "He didn't show…"

"Oh sweetie… " Sienna stands and makes her way to the couch. Sitting on the unoccupied end, she strokes her best friend’s hair.

“Then, I went to his apartment and we had this huge fight and he called us a mistake," she says through her sobs as she sits up and puts her head on Sienna’s shoulder.

"Do you want to stuff our faces with takeout and junk food and binge watch Marvel movies?"

Serena just sniffs and nods her head.

Two hours later, the television is playing a soft melody as they share their second pint of Ben & Jerry's.

"Even after everything… Steve is Peggy's Lobster, just like Ethan is yours."

Serena looks to her left with incredulity.

"You know! Lobster! They fall in love and mate for life!"

Serena snorts. "Have you seen the claws on those things? Ever been pinched by one? Shit hurts," she says as she puts another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Serena’s dejected voice rings out. “Why does he keep doing this to me?”

Sienna scrunches her nose. "Lobsters always were finicky."

~~~ One Week Later ~~~

“Here are the test results you requested, Dr. Ramsey.”

She places the manila folder in front of him and takes a step back, keeping her head down.

Ethan stares at her for a long moment, willing her to look at him. It’s been like this for the past few days: she only speaks to him when absolutely necessary and avoids eye contact at all costs. When she continues to evade his gaze, he sighs, and opens the folder.

His brows furrow. “This isn’t the test we decided to order.”

“Oh. I'll go fix that right now.” She finally meets his eyes and says, “I must have made a mistake.”

His chest tightens: Did she make a mistake with the test... or with me?

~~~~~~

She approaches the office and knocks softly.

“Come in.”

She slowly pushes open the door and sees Naveen look up.

“Ah, Serena! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my grand-mentee?”

She gives a small smile as she shuts the door behind her. “I was hoping you would have some time to talk.”

“What did he do?”

She spills the story, only stopping halfway through to take the tissue Naveen hands her. After she finishes, she wipes her eyes, and reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out something folded. “And I was hoping you would approve this.”

Naveen unfolds the paper, skimming over it. “A leave of absence?”

She nods. "I'm not asking for this solely because of what happened. I've been homesick for a while now; it was my first holiday season without my family and I haven't seen them since I moved here… and I don't know, I guess what happened with Eth—” she clears her throat, “Dr. Ramsey, was the last straw. It all feels like it's too much: Edenbrook, Boston.” She shakes her head before continuing. “I just… need a break. Please."

Naveen sits back and takes her in. She’s slightly hunched over, strands of hair falling out of her topknot, the concealer no longer hiding her dark circles, and she’s been wringing her hands since she sat down. The woman in front of him is a shell of the usually confident and exuberant young lady he is used to seeing and his heart breaks for her.

“I will grant you this leave of absence.”

She perks up at his words.

“On one condition.”

She eyes him warily.

“When you feel like you have reset, you must return and talk to him. I am not saying you have to make up with him, or even forgive him. Just talk to him about what happened.”

She is unmoving for a few seconds, then nods soberly. “You’re right, I know.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a grand-mentor if I wasn’t, now would I?” He says with a smile.

~~~~~~

Ethan is walking down the corridor to his office, trying to comprehend the words on the file in his hand, but his mind is elsewhere. The sun has long set, but he refuses to go home. To the place where, everywhere he looks, he's reminded of her. It's not like he'll be able to sleep anyways; he's lost count of how many sleepless nights he's had since their argument, tossing and turning for hours, as her side of the bed remains tucked and cold.

Not only has he been unable to sleep, he's been unable to focus on anything but her: her melodic laugh lilting through the hospital corridors, her sweet perfume lingering in the office, her animated way of chatting with anybody but him.

He opens the office door and a voice in the back of his head reminds him: You miss her, you idiot.

He rubs his bleary eyes and looks at his watch. 8:09pm.

He groans and goes to sit at his desk when a purple sticky note catches his eye. There, scrawled in her loopy half-cursive is a note: Need some space.

He immediately grabs his bag and rushes to the parking garage, hoping he's not too late.

~~~~~~

He knocks urgently, stepping backwards as the door swings open.

"Dr. Trinh, hello. Is Serena here? I really need to speak with her."

Sienna stands there, unblinking.

He awkwardly clears his throat and begins to try and look into and around the apartment.

Sienna follows his movements, trying, and failing, to block his line of sight.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that Dr. Ramsey."

Before he can speak, she continues: “Even if she hadn’t left yet, she wouldn’t want to speak with you anyways.”

His blue eyes turn a shade stormier at this information. “What do you mean ‘if she hadn’t left—”

“Nothing!” Sienna goes to close the door, but is stopped by Ethan’s hand.

“Dr. Trinh. Sienna… please.”

His eyes are conveying a plethora of unspoken pleas, and after a few beats, she sighs.

“She’s at the airport.”

“What? Where is she going? For how long?”

“She’s going home and she didn’t say.” She shrugs.

Ethan immediately turns on his heel.

"Flight 936!" Sienna yells after him as he sprints back to his car.

He hurriedly weaves between the leisurely drivers and dodges through the lackadaisical travelers in the airport lobby, stopping in front of an information screen. His eyes scan the monitor furiously until he sees it.

Flight 936: Boarding Now.

He bolts to the nearest desk, buying the next available flight, and rushes through security.

He's running like a madman, frantically looking for her, hoping that she hasn't boarded yet.

He arrives at the designated gate area, but she's nowhere to be found. He's about to approach the help desk when a familiar voice rings out from behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

It’s not lost on him that she utters the same words he so callously said to her in front of his apartment that night.

He heaves a sigh of relief. He turns towards her, taking a step forward, only for her to take a step back, and the small smile on his face fades.

“I need to explain myself.”

“It’s a little too late for that.” She begins to walk around him.

Ethan lightly catches her wrist, stopping her. “Rookie… I know I've hurt you, innumerable times, and I am so sorry. Please hear me out and if you still want to leave afterwards, I will buy you a new ticket home.”

She looks into his imploring orbs and sees nothing but honesty. She closes her eyes, breathes out, and whispers, “I cannot believe I’m about to do this.”

She grabs her stuff and begins walking to a less busy part of the gates area. Ethan is too stunned to move for a moment. She looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Right!” and speedwalks after her.

She stands with her suitcase in front of her, arms crossed, waiting for him to start speaking.

He runs his hand through his hair, clears his throat, and locks eyes with her.

“There are no excuses for my actions, but I want you to know that it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I know that’s an out people utilize, but in this case, it’s true. You know about my mother abandoning my father and I when I was a child, but what I have not shared is that her leaving absolutely destroyed my father. He waited and waited for her return, all the while putting on a brave face for me, and continuing to love her."

He notices that her arms have fallen back to her sides.

"What he did not know was that I could hear him crying at night, that I would catch him wistfully looking at her pictures, and overhear him leaving her voicemails begging her to come home. Watching him fall apart, while I couldn’t do anything, broke my heart and I promised myself I would never let myself be in the same position. ”

Her eyes have slightly softened now too and it’s all the encouragement he needs to keep going.

“My father says that he and my mother had a great relationship in the beginning. Then a few years down the road, it started to change. He told me that no matter how much you love someone, sometimes it just isn’t enough, because if it was, she wouldn’t have left. Therefore, to ensure that I wouldn’t be left heartbroken again, I closed myself off to anyone and everyone.”

He can feel the tears gathering slowly in his eyes and he tentatively reaches for her hands.

“Until I met you. You have been so incredibly patient, supportive, and understanding with me; I see and feel it everyday. Despite that, I am still afraid. Afraid that one day, you will lose your patience with me or that you will see what my mother, the one person who was supposed to love me most in the world, saw, and leave as well and I’ll be left shattered, begging you to come back to me.”

She begins to try and say something, but Ethan continues.

“I know you are not my mother and that I am not my father. But the images of him in the first few months after she left are ingrained and still haunt me.”

He’s gripping her hands tightly now and she squeezes them comfortingly.

“I do not want to make the same mistakes as my parents: that is what I meant. You, and we, are not a mistake. I know we can, will, do better. I completely misspoke the other night and even Jenner has been acutely avoiding me since then.”

She laughs lightly and it gives Ethan the strength to blink away his tears.

“I am so incredibly sorry for my words and for hurting you. I will spend however long and do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.”

He rests his forehead against hers and whispers, "There are not enough words for me to convey my gratitude in having you in my life. You deserve better and I will do my utmost to be better. Forgive me, baby.”

She serenely scans his face and his heart begins to pound so loudly, that he wonders if she can hear it too.

She brings one hand to wrap around the back of his neck and her eyes flutter closed. She gives a small nod and whispers, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She pulls back far enough to look in his cerulean eyes and nods again. He breaks out into a large grin and sweeps her up into his arms, spinning her around. She laughs in surprise and Ethan thinks it's the most wonderful sound he's ever heard.

He sets her back down and kisses her tenderly, languidly. He pulls away with great effort and takes her plane ticket.

“Now that you won’t be needing this anymore, how about we go back to my place?” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, as he’s already moving to collect her things. She tugs on his hand and he looks up. When their eyes connect, she places one hand on his cheek.

“I know this is difficult for you. So thank you. For your apology, for opening up to me… for trying.”

He leans into her touch and places a sweet kiss to her palm.

“For you, I am always willing to try.”

She beams at him as he places a soft kiss to her temple and they walk out of the airport, hand in hand.

[lady-divine-writes]

The Hitchhiker - Chapter 1/4

Picking up a hitchhiker isn't exactly the dumbest thing Kurt has ever done, but it's not exactly the smartest either. When he comes across Blaine Anderson caught in a sudden downpour, he can't just leave him on the corner to drown... can he? (1756 words)

Read on AO3.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you need a ride?”

Kurt flashes as confident and honest a smile as he can to the man standing on the side of the road. But the second those words leave his mouth, he hears his father’s voice in his head yelling: “Kurt Hummel! What the hell are you doing? Picking up a hitchhiker? Are you out of your mind!?”

And Kurt has to admit, the voice is right. 

There is a fifty-fifty chance that this man, standing alone in the dark by the side of the road, is a violent serial killer. His outfit alone perpetuates the stereotype - indigo jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket. He has an olive-green duffel slung over one shoulder and he's carrying a guitar case, for God’s sake! What are the odds that there’s actually a guitar in there!? If Kurt picks this man up, he has a greater chance of becoming a statistic than of that man being a musician! Kurt should drive away now without an inch of guilt, floor it without looking back.

And he probably would have deferred to his better judgment and stepped on the gas had it not been for a few things. 

It's pitch dark out for a start. Only a handful of street lights line the curb, installed twenty or so feet apart, which creates long expanses of shadow in between. The road they're on is in the middle of nowhere, with trees towering on both sides of them. This doesn’t help Kurt’s argument any since it seems like just the place a killer would lie in wait for a potential victim. But, in that same vein, someone or something could be stalking him, waiting for Kurt to drive away so they can pounce on him from the trees. Then it would be up to the reach of this man's legs and his athletic ability to save him.

This leads directly to reason two: the man is a klutz. In the five minutes Kurt has been stuck at this red light, he’s seen him smack himself in the face with his own bag, drop his sunglasses (pink rimmed Wayfarers, no less), catch them, then fumble them again, and step in the same puddle twice. If this man is a serial killer, he may not be the most competent one on the planet. 

Three, just as Kurt’s light turned green, it started raining. And not the light drizzle he has come to expect during his infrequent forays to San Diego, but an honest-to-God downpour. Kurt saw the man turn his face up to the sky, his shoulders slumped, wholly defeated by this new development. He put the butt of his guitar case on the toes of his shoes to keep it out of the mud, then attempted to wrap his jacket around it.

And Kurt’s heart melted. 

Kurt is a musician himself. Singer more than musician but he has friends who play the guitar. His stepbrother Finn owns a Fender that he sold plasma to afford. Puck's Gibson is the only thing he has never hawked when he needed money. And Sam, in this man's position, would take off every stitch of clothing to protect his Blueridge if it came down to it. Kurt can imagine this man’s whole life wrapped up in that case, which he is now convinced does hold a guitar.

Kurt isn't a gun enthusiast by any means, but he thinks a semi-automatic should be able to withstand some weather. He may want to Google that one later on… provided he’s still alive.

And about that guitar case: it isn’t a plain, generic, black guitar case. The thing is covered in travel stickers and bling. It has a personality all its own. An easily identifiable personality. If this man is a killer, Kurt is pretty certain every human on the West Coast would know about it. He’d be nicknamed the Kitsch Case Killer or something along those lines. That case sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s no way a man carrying a guitar case decorated like an old-school Lisa Frank binder is getting away with swiping a pack of gum, not to mention murder.

To a lesser degree (Kurt tells himself so he doesn't have to admit how idiotic this idea is), this is the most a-dork-able man Kurt has ever seen. He looks more like a puppy than a predator (weak reasoning, he knows). But Kurt has instincts about people that are usually on the money. He has to give himself credit for making it this far in life. Kurt is tougher than he looks. He has taken his fair share of licks, and he’s still ticking. 

Plus, he has bear repellent in the pocket of his jacket the size of a can of Aquanet. He feels he has his bases covered.

The man walks slowly towards Kurt's car, the curls piled atop his head hanging heavily down his cheeks the wetter he gets.

No, Kurt can’t leave him out here.

“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot,” the man says, cautiously eyeing Kurt up and down as if he may be asking himself Kurt’s same string of questions in his head. “But I… ” The fact that he isn’t jumping at Kurt’s offer, that he’s glancing anxiously down the road, mulling his options even as rain pours down his back, puts Kurt at ease. The man looks like he’s trying to gauge if Kurt might have a weapon hiding somewhere on his person, contemplating if he’ll come out of this alive if he accepts this ride. 

Ironic, but that proves that there are two sides to every situation.

The man looks about to step away and decline until a fork of lightning turns night into day for five seconds, a boom so loud following it shakes Kurt’s rental car. 

“Sure. Okay. Why not?” He pulls open the rear door in a rush but still wary as he puts his belongings into the backseat and joins Kurt in the front. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard, or I might have stayed in my hotel room one more night.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the water that sprays the headrest.

“Not a problem.” Kurt reaches behind the seat and grabs the towel he’d fished out of his luggage earlier when he’d done the same thing. But the rain was only a sprinkle then – angel spittle, his mom would have called it. “I couldn’t just drive by and leave you out here to drown.”

The man chuckles. It, much like the rest of him, is too cute for words. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” Kurt extends a hand for Blaine to shake. Blaine looks at it, hesitates a second before taking it, still questioning Kurt and his intentions, Kurt assumes. Despite being stuck in the rain, Blaine’s hand is warm, comforting in a way Kurt speculates a serial killer’s hands would not. “Well, Blaine, where you headed?”

“Oh, uh… I’m trying to make my way to L.A. But you can drop me off anywhere between here and there.”

“Ooo. Actor? Producer?”

“Unemployed schlub, unfortunately. Currently riding my brother’s couch. He’s the actor. I’m the… the failure.”

Kurt pulls onto the road again and heads for the highway. “That’s a really unkind thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s what… well, it’s what my father would say.” He wrings his hands uncomfortably. “He’d also say I’m a disappointment, a waste of a Harvard education, a bum… ” He shivers. Kurt raises the temperature of the heater. Blaine glances at Kurt in embarrassment, and Kurt gets the hint that it’s not the cold that has him trembling.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but I’d stop listening to your father if I were you. It doesn’t seem like he has anything worthwhile to say.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” Blaine says under his breath, with an edge like a growl, the kind wild animals give when you stumble into their territory unaware. It sets the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck on end, and he starts second-guessing this decision. 

Relax, Kurt. The man’s just beat down. Exhausted. You understand what that’s like.

Blaine sighs, sinking into the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be nice. It's been a long day." 

“I understand. And I may not know you, but I know fathers," Kurt continues. "A father’s job is to be supportive of their children, no matter what they do in life. Succeed or fail, win or lose, they should always be in your corner. And if he’s not, screw him! Surround yourself with people who want to lift you up, not tear you down.”

Blaine winds his arms around his torso, hugging himself tight. “I---is that the way your father treats you?”

“Yup,” Kurt answers with a subconscious smile at the mention of his dad. “He supports me in everything, even the stuff he doesn’t entirely agree with. And when things don’t work out, he’s the first person there, helping me to my feet and encouraging me to try again.”

“Sounds like a great guy. You’re lucky.”

“He is," Kurt says proudly. "And I am.”

Blaine fixes his gaze to the road ahead as Kurt merges onto the highway. He chews the inside of his cheek, stares too hard at the rain-slick asphalt, not shifting focus. It's as if he can't bring himself to look at Kurt when he asks, “So, you think you’re a good judge of character?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, I do."

"How do you know?"

"Experience. I have a decent track record.”

"Surround yourself with a lot of questionable people, do you?"

"I guess you can say that," Kurt agrees with a laugh, thinking of the people who have come into his life that he has adopted as his own: Rachel, Dave, Santana, Puck, all of them rivals or bullies. Or both. But now, a cherished part of his found family.

People he hopes will miss him if SDPD finds him by the side of the road tomorrow with his throat cut.

Stop it, Kurt! Relax! You're in no danger! Everything is going to be fine!

Blaine shrugs, examining his wet hands as if he’s reading something etched on his skin. “Someday you’ll be wrong.”

“Probably." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes in the reflection of the windshield, flashes his confident smile again. "But I don’t think that day is today.”

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2663 Warnings: fluff, light angst, brief mention of smut

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: I’m still sorry... or am I? 😂

PART 12 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Sunlight filters in through the part of the window not blocked by opaque curtains, the golden glow reaches Billy’s eyes making him throw an arm up to block out the brightness. He’s careful of his movements, not to disturb you as you sleep against him.

He had a good time last night bowling and meeting all your friends but when you accepted his offer to come back to his place that was when the real fun began. In the comfort of his apartment you sat curled against him on his couch, feeling warmth spread through your body from the amber colored drink in your hand, though Billy was more intoxicating.

You quickly found your way into his bed, tangled together as your hands and lips explored every part of each other until you reached soaring heights of passion and pleasure. Billy was an incredible lover and you hadn’t thought that simply because he had broken your dry spell. He knew how to please and did so generously. You didn’t intend on staying over but truthfully your legs felt like jelly afterwards you couldn’t do anything but stay beside him, falling asleep in his arms.

Billy puts his arm down, shifting just a little so he could face away from the sunlight, the slight movement unintentionally waking you. He felt bad, watching as your heavy lids blinked themselves open a few times before they focused on his beautiful smile.

“Sorry, go back to sleep babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A smile pulled at your lips as you felt the soft lingering touch of his lips. “S’okay, I want to stay awake.”

Billy smiled at the soft noises you made as you took in a stiff inhale of breath, your body tensing up as you turned away from him, bringing your hand to cover your mouth as you yawned. The feel of morning breath was heavy on your tongue so you decided to go to the bathroom, hoping there would be mouthwash you could freshen up with.

Goosebumps prickled at your skin when you pulled off the sheets, sitting up as you scanned the floor for your clothes that had been scattered around the room amidst the throes of passion. Billy’s eyes roamed your bare skin, memories of last night bring warmth to his body, feeling himself ache for you again the longer he stared.

You spotted your sweater, pushing yourself up from the low platform bed to grab the crumbled fabric from the floor, stretching it over your skin. Beside it was your pants though you picked up your lacy bottoms and stepped into them before leaving his room to find the bathroom.

Billy leaned back against the arm he folded under his head, not feeling like getting up to find his phone wherever he last left it. He didn’t need to distract himself anyway since you walked back in, slightly shivering as your bare feet walked along the cold floors.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling back the blanket.

As you began to get back in bed your movements were halted by “nuh uh” as Billy shook his head. “No clothes in bed, it’s the rules.” He smirked, sitting up towards the edge of the bed.

A giggle escaped your lips as you moved towards Billy’s side of the bed, standing in front of him. His hands went under your sweater, holding you firmly by your waist.

“Those are the rules, huh?” You repeated, grinning coyly as you let your hands glide up his arms, caressing his smooth skin until your fingers met a raised ridge along his left shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you stared at another scar on his chest, having missed both in the dimmed lighting last night. They were clearly old but by the way Billy’s jaw tensed you suspected they weren’t fully healed.

His dark gaze wandered as he focused on something behind you, his trance dissolving from the sound of your sweet voice saying his name.

“There was… this guy, Arthur. He volunteered at the Ray of Hope group home I was in. We all thought he was so cool, playin’ stickball and hoops with us. I was ten or eleven at the time.” Billy clenched his jaw, clearing his throat of the lump that formed there.

His hands dropped into his lap and he began wringing them. “When a grown man tells you that you’re pretty you know nothing good is coming. Let’s just say I wasn’t interested in the kind of games that he had in mind. I went after him with the stickball bat, caught him a few times before he broke my arm… ripped my rotator cuff in three places.”

You had been listening quietly as Billy spoke, not realizing you were holding your breath until his hand cupped your cheek and you let it out shakily. His story wasn’t new– no, unfortunately you had heard about this situation too many times but despite being familiar with this in your line of work Billy’s story really affected you.

No matter who the person or what their story is, you care deeply about all the cases you have from Metro-General but Billy was different. You really liked him and hearing him talk about the terrible memories from his past reminded you about Pietro and what could have happened if someone had been there to help. Growing up in the system is hard enough as it is, but if the caretakers aren’t doing their job to protect these children…

Sighing, your lips flattened into a line of frustration. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Billy.”

“Hey… don’t, okay?” His hands wrapped around your waist as he looked up to meet your sympathetic eyes. “Everyone’s got a story, this one’s mine.”

His lips stretched across his face into something that wasn’t quite a smile but not a frown either. You knew it wasn’t easy to share, something he clearly can’t forget though you appreciated his openness, feeling closer because of it.

Leaning down you cupped Billy’s cheeks, feeling his scruff scratch at your palms as you placed a gentle kiss to his lips. You felt him smile against you as he kissed back, his hands grabbing the hem of your sweater and breaking the kiss for him to pull it over your head.

Billy kissed your exposed skin, softly, slowly as he laid you down on the bed. His touch was like heaven, setting fire to your soul, and together you climbed higher and higher until you reached the apex of pleasure a few more times over.

You got home late in the afternoon knowing you had a novel’s worth of texts to return from your friends, mainly the girls wanting to know all the details. Bucky’s was the only text that you replied to right away. He hoped you would get home safe, and behind your shared wall he let out a sigh of relief, reading your message that you did, even if it meant you were only getting home now.

Bucky shuffled reluctantly to his door, wondering why there’s a knock. Looking through the peephole, he can’t help but let a smile stretch over his face.

“Hey neighbor!” you said, with a beaming smile.

He hadn’t seen you in a few days, throwing himself deep into his work, thankful for the distraction. “Hey Y/N.” Bucky takes note of what you’re wearing, a comfy hoodie and oversized polar bear pajama pants. You always had the cutest pajamas.

“You busy? I was gonna watch a movie and order a bunch of food since my period came and all I want to do is eat. Sorry was that TMI?” you asked, seeing his expression change in a multitude of ways.

He let out a slightly uncomfortable laugh. “Where’s Billy?”

“Working.”

Bucky wasn’t happy with that answer, making him feel like you were settling for plans with him since Billy was busy. He was about to decline, making up a lie about anything just so he didn’t have to feel bad about himself before you continued.

“But I’d rather hang with you anyway. Not that Billy would care about my period like that but, I don’t know, we’re not at that point yet, you know? Like I feel like I can always be myself around you.”

His blank expression turned into a smile as Bucky nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah I get that. I feel the same about you.”

Bucky felt a weird sensation in his stomach as he stood there smiling at you, breaking out of his trance as you spoke again.

“Okay so hurry up and come over. I don’t know what I want to eat. I kinda want tacos, but also pizza. And if you have cookies bring them over because I already ate the ones I had.”

It felt right, sitting beside you on the couch, stuffing your faces and laughing as you watched a movie. Bucky took it upon himself to grab the bottle of Advil from your bathroom, bringing over a full glass of water for you to take for your cramps.

“Thanks. You know, I know you hate relationships and stuff but you’d make a really good boyfriend.”

Bucky was frozen, the only sound he could hear was that of his heart drumming rapidly in his ear. “Y-you think so?” he croaked out, swallowing down the thick knot in his throat with a gulp of his drink.

You nodded, leaning forward to set the glass down on your table. “Why, you don’t?”

“No, that’s… That’s not it.” He turned away from you, silent and contemplative.

It wasn’t always like this. Bucky was a young boy that grew out of the idea that girls had cooties long before his friends did. It started with Olivia. They met in sixth grade, two nervous kids in a brand new school that happened to sit next to each other in homeroom.

Her eyes were like honey and Bucky was stuck, letting himself get lost in her beauty. He memorized the freckles speckled across the nose and cheeks of her sandy brown skin like a galaxy of stars, each one more dazzling than the last. Her hair was polished bronze packed in tight corkscrews that Bucky loved brushing aside so he could kiss her; every morning before they got to class, during lunch where he neglected his food in favor of her lips, and after school when they parted.

Bucky loved her as much as a young man could love a young woman, his first love, the girl he thought he would have everything with. He was a fool to think he could have it all, blinded by his utter devotion to Olivia before he realized his relationship was more one-sided than he realized.

They spent seven years together and not once did Olivia tell him she wasn’t planning their future the same way Bucky was. Olivia meant everything to him and when she was accepted to college on the West Coast Bucky immediately started looking into transferring to a school out there. It didn’t matter that their music program wasn’t as accredited, he was willing to do anything to make what he and Olivia had last.

What Bucky didn’t know was that Olivia didn’t feel the same. Not anymore. She fell out of love with him and was hoping to use graduation as a clean break. She broke his heart and Bucky was devastated.

He didn’t understand how she could stop loving him just like that. How it was so easy for her to let go of all their history; wondering what the turning point was in their relationship and why she didn’t tell him. His trust was broken. She strung him along for months, years maybe? It wasn’t just the fact that they broke up, she had moved on. Olivia was with someone new and every day Bucky asked himself why he wasn’t worthy of love.

He shut down, losing himself in composition, letting the melody of strife carry him through the sea of heartache. It was decided then, by a boy who was barely a man, to take what he needs and never be vulnerable again. It was easy.

It was easy.

Over the past few months everything has changed. There was a moment Bucky was ready to abandon his beliefs. He had grown up, matured; he knows his boundaries and knows there is so much more of himself to give to someone.

Bucky thought that someone could be you. It was a silly idea. You were just friends. But he was friends with Olivia first too. He felt the same ease as you did with him, enjoying spending time with you even if you did nothing. He thought there might have been a chance, somehow for him to break free of the mold he set upon his life and ask you out but someone beat him to it.

You and Billy had been seeing more and more of each other. He remembers that feeling from so long ago, desperate to spend every waking moment with the person that sent your heart a-flutter. Bucky understood when you cancelled plans with him, for the times Billy was able to make a last minute date after work arrangements changed. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He couldn’t object even though he wanted to. You were happy and Bucky felt worse the more he thought about even thinking of taking that away from you.

He changed the subject, letting the movie resume but the thoughts never left his mind.

For the first time in a very long time Bucky is lonely. While the world is out overspending on chocolates and roses, fancy dinners and champagne Bucky lays in bed, trying to distract himself with a movie. He’s usually alone on Valentine’s Day, by choice. It’s too complicated to sleep with one of his regulars, not wanting to get their hopes up by any means on the day that celebrates love.

Bucky exhaled a heavy breath, upset with himself for being unable to keep his mind off everything. His heart is a dilapidated shack lost in a desolate wasteland. Abandoned after so many years, it’s dust covered, with a haze of cobwebs clouding over the part of himself that used to thrum with life.

And suddenly the walls become unsteady. His heart begins to crumble at the sound coming from the other side of the wall. It’s you, with unmistakable cries of pleasure, in a duet of passion with Billy.

Bucky shudders, feeling uncomfortable for being able to hear something that should be so intimate. It’s payback perhaps, a taste of his own medicine for all the times he’s disturbed you in the same way.

His mind runs wild against his will, imagining you in bed as the soundtrack of your lovemaking permeates the thin walls. It’s bittersweet poison to his ears.

Bucky throws the blankets off him, nearly tripping over the boots he haphazardly toed off earlier as he rushes towards his desk. He grabs his headphones to block out the sounds, a painful reminder of what could never be.

He grabs his phone, scrolling through his contact list. So many names and yet he feels nothing for them. He stops at your name, his chest hitching with agony. He wants what you have. To love fully, and give himself completely to someone. To renovate all the broken pieces inside of himself.

His fingers tap away and Bucky refuses to stop himself of their doing. He’s scared but excited, knowing the threat of getting hurt again is very real but he’s had enough of telling himself that the way he’s been living is what he’s really wanted.

With his own melodies playing in his ear Bucky is ignorant of the way you cry out Billy’s name. He is blissfully ignorant, opening the Tinder app he’s just downloaded, creating a profile because he’s finally ready to give dating a real shot.

PART 14

[chrispevanss]

Sinful Intensions

A/N: A smutty, smutty, filthy, Priest!Bucky AU. I’m not a catholic, and I had to google a lot of this, so if I messed up, don’t come for me. 

Warnings: Smut, Oral, Unprotected Sex (remember: no glove, no love), Blasphemy

I don’t own or claim to own the pictures used below

Your fingers slid across the crucifix that hung from your neck as you slowly approached the old church. You hadn’t been there in years, but at your mother’s insistence you decided your niece’s christening was the exception. 

The instant you walked into the church your nerves fired up, little pin pricks that made your skin crawl. You weren’t sure if it was God smiting you from above or the old school nuns looking condescendingly at your slightly too short, and definitely too low cut dress that clung to your figure. 

The old pew creaked as you sat down, the cool wood pressed against your thighs and you shivered slightly. The church smelled musty, old, but familiar. Your mother’s eyes caught the hem of your dress and she twisted her mouth in disdain. 

“You didn’t have anything else?” She whispered “This isn’t the club, you know. This is God’s house! You aren’t supposed to be parading around on display like that,” she spat. You smoothed the material down your thighs, willing it to somehow grow longer. 

Before you could brace yourself from the same barrage of words you were sure were going to come from your father as well, mass had started. A man stood up at the front, your brother and his wife cradled their newborn baby girl in front, her godparents sat to the side. You knew you should be focusing on your niece, it was her day after all, but when you looked up and caught the eye of the celebrant, it all went out the window. 

He had dark hair, closely cropped, steely blue eyes, and even though he was cloaked in an oversized vestment, you could see that he treated his body like the temple he preached it was. Thick fingers wrapped around the Bible in his hand, a kind smile lit up his face as he spoke of the blessings of parenthood. The joys of raising a child in the church, to walk in and live in Christ. Verbiage you had heard hundreds if not thousands of times growing up. 

You unconsciously shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together to stave off the warmth that began in your toes and traveled north. 

“May almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless you.” His voice washed over you, pulling you from your less than holy thoughts. 

“Amen,” You muttered with the congregation. You stood up, eager to shake the uncomfortable feeling this church gave you. You silently waited as others passed you, searching hopefully for a break in the crowd, when you were stopped. 

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, I’m Father Barnes.” Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up and met the very eyes you had spent the entire mass getting lost in. He held out his hand and you shook it with a kind smile. 

“Y/N. My niece was the one you baptized today,” You slipped your hand from his grasp. He pressed up against the edge of the pew as your great aunt, Agnes shuffled by. 

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at church before. Your parents are William and Cindy, correct?” You nodded and stepped out of the pew, following the young priest as he began to walk up the aisle. 

“I, uh, church is complicated.” You breathed out, wringing your hands. You half expected him to tell you he was different and to give the church a chance. 

“I understand. We all have a relationship with God, some choose to have that relationship in a church, some choose not to.” Father Barnes unlocked a large wooden door and pushed it open, gesturing you into his small office. 

You took a seat in an overstuffed, puke green, crushed velvet chair. Gasping as you leaned back a lot farther than you gauged, your knees practically up to your chin. Father Barnes chuckled softly and pulled open a small closet door. 

“Why aren’t you judging me for not coming to church and not being on 7 different committees, and basically being the polar opposite of my super fu-super religious parents, Father?” You chewed on your bottom lip at your almost swear, wishing you could sink back even further into the chair.

The young clergyman didn’t answer you as he slipped his white vestment over his head and hung it neatly in the open closet. You stole a glance at the way his black dress shirt clung to his body just so. The way his slacks molded to his ass and thighs. Father Barnes was, in a word, delicious. He moved to stand in front of you, leaning against the old desk, hands planted firmly on top. 

“Because I was like you once. Fresh outta high school, I joined the Army with my best friend. Before that though I hadn’t been to church in years, didn’t even know if I believed in God. And then I spent 6 months in Kuwait. After seeing all that death, seeing friends die, I found comfort in God. And when I was discharged a few years later, I joined the seminary.” He looked down and unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows. Heat spread outward as his tattoos peeled out from underneath the shirt he wore, something about the move and his look feeling much more sexual than it should have in front of a priest.

You gasped softly as your eyes trailed up and down his forearms, admiring the work of art his body was. Literally. 

“See something you like?” Father Barnes smirked and grabbed your chin in between his fingers, forcing you to stare into those steely blue eyes of his. 

“I, uh, um…” You started and he chuckled softly. 

“Cause I sure do.” He winked and released his hold on your chin as your mother rounded the corner. 

“There you are!” She huffed, walking into the small office, standing next to you, her eyes bore holes into your skull as you sat there. 

“We’re all heading over to the house for lunch, if you’d like to join.” She practically sneered. You gulped, and pushed yourself out of the chair. 

“Yes. I’ll meet you at the car. I was just talking to Father Barnes about rejoining the congregation on Sundays. You met Father Barnes’ steel blue eyes, his gaze sent a rush of heat through your body once again. 

“Alright,” Your mother conceded, turning on her heel and walking back up the hallway, exiting through the large door at the end. 

“So, see you Sunday?” Father Barnes raised a brow in your direction and you couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across your face. 

“Front and Center, Father.” You purred, stepping closer. You could hear a groan bubble deep in his chest as you let the scent of Pine and Musk overwhelm your senses. 

Before Father Barnes could form thoughts that were appropriate for a priest, you had gathered your purse and coat and were standing at the door. 

“See you Sunday,” You blew a kiss and winked at the stunned priest before making your way down the hall. You could feel his gaze follow you, and you wiggled your ass just a little, teasing him. 

——

Sunday came all too quickly, and at the same time, not quick enough. You swiped on a layer of lip gloss, and adjusted the top of your romper. You wanted to give Father Barnes a tasteful glance at your cleavage, not have your tits on display for the congregation. It was still a church after all. 

Your gold crucifix laid delicately against your cleavage as you slid in the pew next to your parents. Father Barnes had already started service, and you smiled softly as he grabbed your gaze. His eyes grew wide at your choice of outfit and you smirked as he stumbled over the Bible verse he was reciting. 

You bowed your head, your eyes closed as you attempted to look focused on the Homily. But as interesting and attractive as Father Barnes was, sermons were just as uninteresting. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from slipping over the precipice of sleep. 

As the Homily came to a close, you found yourself shuffling along the worn carpet to the front of the chapel for communion. You followed your parents, almost obediently, keeping your gaze cast down to the floor until you approached the front of the line. You looked up at Father Barnes, feigned innocence clouded your eyes. You opened your mouth and accepted the small wafer, winking as he swallowed thickly. You whispered a meek, “Thank you Father,” as you retreated back to your pew. 

As the service came to a close, you found yourself hanging back, almost hopefully, as the chapel emptied. Father Barnes approached you, you couldn’t quite put your finger on the look in his eyes, but it excited you nonetheless. 

“Y/N, So good to see you!” He beamed, clutching his old, well-read bible to his chest. 

“The service was great today, Father,” You smiled back, following him up the aisle to the doors. “Do you have a moment that I could talk to you, privately?” You whispered. 

He nodded, opening the doors into the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him to that same cramped office as before. 

“For you? Always.” He unlocked the door, setting his bible and service notes on the massive desk. He moved to the closet, slipping off the white vestment to reveal that same, all-black outfit that made you weak. He carefully hung it on a wood hanger and turned to face you. You shook your head, trying to clear it, and swallowed thickly. 

“Everything alright?” Father Barnes leaned against his desk. You hadn’t moved from the doorway. Your eyes met his and you nodded. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Just distracted by some personal stuff I guess,” You laughed softly and sat in the same overstuffed chair as last time. Father Barnes unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and began rolling them up his arms, revealing the beautiful, intricate line work of his forearms. 

“Alright. What did you want to talk about?” Father Barnes shuffled through his notes from the service. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark tendrils back. You chewed thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you stood up. 

Father Barnes’ gaze met yours as you approached, standing close enough he could smell the sweet coconut of your shampoo. A scent that sent a shot of arousal straight through his body. You swallowed thickly as you played with the edge of his collar. 

“Wh-What’s goin on?” Father Barnes chuckled uncomfortably, taking a step back. You followed him and cupped his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his. His lips stilled for a moment as yours moved insistently against his. You slid your hands to his hair, knotting the chestnut locks in your fingers and tugging softly. Father Barnes groaned softly and wrapped an arm around you. You gently licked at his lower lip, prodding him to open, he complied and you moaned as his tongue met yours. It was electrifying, the thought of doing something so taboo with Father Barnes. It made you feel alive. 

Your hands slid down the front of his black dress shirt, and tugged it from his slacks. You were desperate to feel every inch of him. But he stilled. You pulled back, panting slightly, a smirk danced across your face. 

“What is it, Father?” You whispered, a hand reached up and twirled some hair at the base of his neck. 

Father Barnes stepped away and scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“We-I can’t.” He sighed. Your face dropped, your eyes cast down at the worn burgundy carpet. The clock ticked as the two of you stood in uncomfortable silence. 

“You should go.” He finally broke the silence. “We shouldn’t meet like this anymore, either. We can’t. I’ll see you on Sunday.” 

You swallowed back the hot tears of embarrassment that pricked at your eyes. You quickly gathered your purse and started for the door. 

“See you Sunday,” Father Barnes called from his desk. You nodded softly and walked towards the large doors at the end of the hall. 

————

It was three weeks before you dared go near the church again. Confessional was held on Saturday night, you tentatively approached the church, stepping inside, your stomach churned. 

The familiar smell of old wood, and must filled you with comfort as you stepped towards the confessional booth. You let out a breath, before speaking. 

“Bless Me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was..” You paused thoughtfully, almost laughing when you couldn’t remember. “Many years ago..” 

“I see,” The priest mumbled from his side. And you drew in a shaky breath. 

“See, I’ve been having these thoughts about a man I considered a friend and a confidant. They have been incredibly impure thoughts, and I acted on them a number of weeks ago. He didn’t return my affections, and I haven’t been able to face him since. He was the first one in a long time who understood why I fell away from the church, and he helped me. A lot. Both personally and spiritually. I saw how good of a person he was and it made me want to be a better person.” Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffed softly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

“Is there anything else you wish to confess?” His voice filtered through and a fresh wave of tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. 

“N-No Father. That’s all.” 

Father Barnes swallowed thickly before he broke the silence. 

“I see you are remorseful. But you did commit a sin in the eyes of our Father and must do penance to receive his forgiveness.”

“Yes, Father,” You whispered meekly, wringing your hands. 

“I require of you 3 Our Fathers and 5 Hail Marys. As well as regular church attendance.” 

Before you could open your mouth, he had already exited the booth, the door slamming behind him. You tentatively pushed the door open, hoping to spot him. But your stomach sank as you realized you were alone. You spent the drive home in silence. You didn’t sleep that night and were nearly late to mass the following morning. 

You slid into the pew next to your parents as Mass began, breathing out a sigh of relief. Father Barnes looked haggard this morning. Dark circles under his eyes, and when he spoke, he didn’t have as much enthusiasm or that usual sparkle in his eye. 

Communion came and you shuffled up to the front. Your eyes didn’t meet, Father Barnes’ and you held out your hand for the small wafer. The feel of his fingers touching your skin as he placed it gingerly in your palm was electric. You heard him stiffen as you placed it on your tongue and walked back to your seat. You spent the rest of the service with your eyes cast down, your hands in your lap. 

“May almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless you.” Father Barnes’ bible closed with an audible thud and you glanced up. 

“Amen.” You muttered with the rest of the congregation. You stood up as soon as the hymn ended, eager to leave the building. 

“Can we talk?” A shiver crawled up your spine, and embarrassment reddened your cheeks as you turned to face the man behind you. 

“Good Morning, Father.” You plastered a fake smile on your face as you greeted the clergyman. 

“Can we talk? In private.” Father Barnes restated his question before you could put a thought together though, you had already agreed. You followed him out of the chapel to that same office. That same offending office you had been in three weeks ago. 

You sat timidly on the edge of the puke green chair and watched as Father Barnes shut the door and began moving around. He removed his vestment, hanging it in the closet, and set his well-read bible and notes on the shelf behind his desk. 

“Father, I-if this is about confession last night, I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I just wanted to say I was sorry for what happened a few weeks ago but I couldn’t bring myself to face you and tell you.” Your head snapped up when he chuckled softly. You scowled at him, how dare he laugh when you’re here pouring your heart out! 

Father Barnes didn’t answer, he simply followed his routine of rolling up his sleeves and leaning against the old desk in front of you. He smiled gently and tucked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. 

“First, call me Bucky, when we’re here, I’m a friend, not a priest. Second, well..” He leaned forward and took your lips in a gentle, passionate kiss. You whined softly as his tongue traced your lower lip. He licked into your mouth as he pulled you out of the chair to straddle him. Your knees dug into the edge of the desk, the uncomfortable pain was the last thing on your mind as his hands ran down your back and grabbed 2 handfuls of your ass. 

“Fuck,” You whispered as Bucky broke the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the chestnut tendrils as a wanton moan escaped your lips. You ground your still clothed core over the bulge that was beginning to form in his slacks. Bucky stilled for a moment holding your hips in place. 

“Fuck, doll, if you keep doing that I might not last long and believe you me, I wanna feel that pretty little pussy wrapped around my cock.” He nipped your earlobe, your hands trailed down his front, unbuttoning the black dress shirt, pushing it down his arms. He let go of you for a moment, only to toss the offending material behind his desk. But then his lips were back on your neck, hungrily kissing and sucking at the already tender skin. 

Bucky stood up and carried you over to the couch next to the door. His hair was mussed, his lips, kiss swollen as he laid you down and slotted himself between your legs. 

You started unbuttoning your sundress, when he stopped you. 

“Let me,” His voice was gruff but his actions were gentle as he pushed each button through the hole, slowly revealing your body to him. When you were clad in a simple white bra and plain cotton panties, Bucky sat back on his haunches to admire you. 

“God, you’re like a fuckin work of art, babe.” He grunted, leaning down to kiss you, dropping your dress on the floor. Your hands reached down, desperately seeking his belt buckle. You groaned softly when you felt the leather slip from the metal buckle. Bucky’s hands met yours and he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants letting them fall to the floor with your dress. 

“Someone’s a work of art,” You muttered as you trailed your hand down his chest and stomach, marveling at how toned his whole body was. You traced a nail across the linework of a tattoo that sat right on his left pec before dragging your hands back down and toying with the edge of his boxer briefs.  

“You just gonna tease me all day, doll? Or are we gonna do this?” Bucky canted his hips forward, nudging your still clothed clit. You whimpered, biting your lip as a fresh wave of arousal shot through your body. 

“Buck. Please.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you moaned against his neck as he repeated the action. 

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty little pussy since I first met you,” Bucky drawled in your ear, he dragged his fingertips down your body, stopping when he reached the band of your panties. 

“You gonna do something about it?” You mocked his earlier argument. His fingers curled around the waistband of your panties, bunching the thin cotton between his fingers. Before you could protest, he ripped the material, discarding it on the floor. 

“Come here,” Bucky growled, wrapping his arms around your thighs, pulling you to him and kissing the sensitive skin. Breathy moans escaped your lips as he continued his ministrations. 

“Oh fu-mmmm” You grabbed Bucky’s hair in between your fingers as he gently kissed your clit. 

“Fuck, Princess, you’re so wet.” Bucky slid a finger inside your waiting heat as he wrapped his lips around your swollen clit. You nearly screamed at the sensations overwhelming your body. 

He added another finger, scissoring you open, his mouth never leaving your clit. You thought you had died and gone to heaven when the coil in your belly snapped and you came all over his fingers. 

“That’s a good girl,” Bucky smirked, licking his fingers with an exaggerated pop as he crawled back up to kiss you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning as he licked into your mouth, usually, you’d find the thought of tasting yourself a complete turn-off, even gross. But something about tasting yourself as Bucky’s tongue explored your mouth turned you on even more. 

You hooked your feet into the elastic waistband of Bucky’s underwear and pushed it down, freeing his strained erection. You gasped softly, he was bigger than you had imagined, thick, the tip dripped with precum as you slid your hand up and down his shaft. Bucky’s cock was, in a word, beautiful. 

His large hand covered you and he kissed your cheek chastely before moving to whisper in your ear. 

“I’d rather cum inside you, than on you.” A shiver ran up your spine, a soft whimper escaped your mouth. 

“Do it, then,” You challenged him. 

Bucky sat back on his haunches again, spreading your legs as far apart as they would go. He tenderly dragged the head of his cock through your wet folds, both of you moaned at the sensation. And finally, ever so slowly, he sank into you, filling you up, making you feel like you were about to burst. 

“Oh fuck!” You moaned as Bucky bottomed out, stilling his hips for a moment, his lips met yours tenderly. He rolled your pebbled nipples between his fingers as he began thrusting. Your toes curled and you gasped against his mouth. 

You whimpered a meek, “Faster. Harder.” 

Bucky grabbed your calf and lifted a leg over his shoulder. The angle made him feel so much bigger, so much deeper. You were almost positive you wouldn’t walk out of this normally. Bucky’s hands dug into your hips as he thrust into you, almost animalistically. You cried out, fingers tugging on your nipples. 

Your head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. 

“You’re so fuckin tight, Princess. God, squeezing my cock real nice,” Bucky panted above you. A thin sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies when he pulled out suddenly. You protested at the loss of sensation until he flipped you over, one leg propped up on the arm of the couch as he slid back inside. 

“B-Bucky!” You cried out, tears of pleasure streamed down your cheeks as you neared your second release. 

Bucky’s hand traveled around your hips, the roughened tip of his pointer finger began rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts. And that’s when everything exploded. You swore you saw stars as your walls clenched down around him. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch and you couldn’t contain the shout that escaped your throat in a fit of passion. 

“Ah fuck, baby, just like that,” Bucky cooed in your ear, his arms wrapped around your front and held you up as he found his own release. You moaned at the warmth that filled your belly, Bucky kissed your shoulder softly and helped you lie down on the couch. He lay behind you, cock still firmly tucked into your pulsing cunt. 

“Holy shit,” You laughed, reaching down to Bucky’s hands on your stomach and lacing your fingers with his. 

“Yeah..” Bucky chewed thoughtfully on his lip. You didn’t want to intrude, but the words left your mouth before you could think. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, you rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word. 

“I don’t think I can be a priest anymore, and after meeting you, I don’t know if I even want to.” Bucky squeezed your hand in his, taking your lips in a tender kiss. 

“Wanna go on a date?” Bucky chuckled softly. You laughed, rolling over on the couch to face your partner. 

“Only if you shower first, you smell like sex,” You chided playfully. Bucky’s arms tightened around you and you giggled through his assault of neck kisses.

“And then after, we can run away together, and live on the beach, and be naked 24/7, and fuck like bunnies,” Bucky muttered against your neck. You sighed in contentment, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I like that. A disgraced priest, and his sinner girlfriend living on the beach, naked and fucking,” You laughed as Bucky placed another kiss on your lips, pulling you closer to him. 

[spookysmujer]

No Más, O.Diaz

Summary: Oscars sends you away for the weekend to handle some business, but things seem a little out of place.

warnings: a n g s t

A/N: Ok but I feel like if Spooky has a gf she would be a ride or die type of girl and that’s giving me major ‘03 Bonnie & Clyde vibesss. Thank you for all the love! ❤️ Just hit +750 followers, I’m honored!! Again, I appreciate you taking your time to read my comment. Please don’t forget to: follow, heart, comment. reblog and turn on the notifs for alerts when I post, thank you so much!

(gif belongs to @merakiaes 🦋)

“It’s all about the Valentina, bebe.”

Oscar grabs the hot sauce that you had just placed in the shopping cart a few seconds ago. You let out a tsk as he placed it back on the shelf, reaching higher to grab the biggest bottle of extra hot Valentina.

He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he continues on through the isle. Shopping trips with Oscar always consist of him ‘teaching’ you about the do’s and don’t’s of food/cooking. Which is why you don’t know why you bother joining him half the time.

“Must you run my life in the kitchen too? You already do that in the bedroom.” You pass him as he catches up to you, setting his hands on the bar of the cart besides yours which has your trapped. “And don’t you forget it, mamas. Trust me, Valentina on the raw oysters, as you say, chef’s kiss.”

You face defeat and nod in agreement. The shopping trip being better than usual. Oscar is playing around with you, making you laugh. It would’ve been a perfect trip if Oscar didn’t get a call mere seconds after checking out. Business, per usual. If it wasn’t you he was on the phone with, then it’s most likely gang related.

“Gracias.” He ends the call and unlocks the trunk of the infamous cherry red impala. You both load the car together, you keeping to yourself. The car ride back to his place quiet though he does rest his hand on your thigh, you high-key loving when he does that.

The both of you unloading the groceries and putting them away. Your mouth watering as you seen all the goodness that will be on the grill tonight. A night for just you two, you’ve been looking forward to it all week long.

“Sorry, bebe. I got some business to take care of with Cuchillos. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” Oscar’s voice sounds from behind you as you were gathering all the spices and ingredients he’d need.

You hold back letting out a sigh as you start to set back things in their places. He walks over to you and places his hands on your arms, planting a kiss to your shoulder. Oscar is no fool, he knows you’ve been looking forward to tonight but when Cuchillos calls, he goes no questions asked. Though lately he has been tired of her bullshit.

“I’ll order you some pizza, don’t wait up for me. I love you.”

He kisses your cheek as you keep quiet. He does wait a moment though for any response from you before leaving. When you hear the door close, you look around the empty kitchen, finally releasing the sigh you’ve held in. Though frustrated you didn’t want to escalate the situation, not when things have been going well between the two of you.

After blinking away the tears that began to pool, you put away everything and go for a shower. Oscar did indeed order you some pizza and after managing almost half of it, you turn in for the night.

When you wake the next morning Oscar is sleeping soundly besides you. A sleeping Oscar always makes you smile no matter what the circumstances. You lean over and kiss his cheek and get out of the bed to get your busy weekend cleaning started. It’s the Santo house, it’s never clean for more than 5 minutes.

As you start the day you make sure to make breakfast for Oscar and Cesar for when they wake. It’s rare to see Oscar sleep in but the meeting with Cuchillos must have been a serious one, considering the clock is close to 9:30 am. By the time the morning sun had approached its morning peak, Oscar and Cesar join you in the kitchen and get to grubbin’.

“Mano, let me talk with Y/N.” You hear Oscar say as you clean the counter-top. It didn’t sound like the normal ‘bounce foo’ that he’d tell his brother when he wanted just you and him time. But you carry on with your chores until you feel Oscar beside you.

You rinse the rag and lay it out to dry, turning to face Oscar who is now leaned with his lower back against the counter and arms crossed over his chest.

“Everything go okay with last night?”

“I need you to lay low for the next few days”.

You both say at the same time. You hear his words clearly and your face contorts as you replay what he said in your head and then out loud.

“Lay low?”

Oscar simply nods at you. You cock your head and switch your weight onto your other leg as you look at him for which he still hasn’t look at you yet. There is a moment of silence as you move around the kitchen again before speaking, “Why do I need to lay low? Something going down?”

From the beginning of your relationship you understood that for him, as the leader, the gang comes first and foremost. And so when things like carne asada gets postponed, you try your best to show little to no irritation or displeasure. You knew what you are in for. And yes, he never got you involved with his business, but for him to openly tell you something such as this meant something else.

“You don’t need to know, I just need you to lay low for a bit. Off the streets, maybe stay with Geny and Ruben for a bit. Or it’d be a good time to go visit your moms for the weekend.”

Oscar keeps his eyes trained on beyond you as you stand across him, leaning against the other counter. Eyebrows knitted, he finally looks you in the eyes. He sees the confusion in them, the desperation to know. It gives him the urge to smile a little because in the beginning of dating, you were so clingy to him like a Koala to a tree. You loved being with him, you would whine when you weren’t with him and he can see the worry in your eyes on why he wants you to lay low.

“Why would I need to go out of town this weekend? Oscar, what’s going on, hm? Is everything good with you and the Santos?” You ask stepping closer, still a couple of arms length away.

He purses his lips into a thin line, face contorting to irritation, “You don’t need to know like I’ve said. Can you just give me your word you’ll go?”

Your head tilts to the side as you try to read his face for any signs of anything. Something to tell you more than his words are but he holds the irritation, the one that you know all too well. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you nod, “I’ll go.”

He nods and wipes his hand over his mouth, looking around the almost clean kitchen. Oscar takes the rag and wets it before walking over the dining table to wipe down. It’s not that he never cleans but it takes more than just a desire to clean for him to do so, it takes nerves. It’s more of a distraction for him. 

“I’ll go call my mom and book a bus ticket.” You announce walking over to get your laptop and phone, Oscar continues to clean as you head to sit on the couch and proceed with your sudden weekend trip. Despite your less than thrilled mood about this, your mother is thrilled to be having you. 

When she asks if Oscar will be joining, you sigh and sadly reply it’s just you. As Oscar puts away the last of breakfast he eavesdrops on your phone call.

He can hear the sadness in your voice when you tell your mom that it’ll be just you heading out. His shoulders slump and his breath hitches in his throat. But he is uncertain what the next few days will bring and your safety has been one of his top priorities since the beginning of your relationship. So he shakes any emotions that could get in the way. Sending you off is best.

Unfortunately, the weekend has approached at speed lighting. Oscar parks his car across from the bus station, the two of you exiting the car and he being the kind gentlemen to carry your bag for you. It’s mostly quiet as you head over to the kiosk to print your bus pass. The 4 hour ride mocking you as stated on the ticket. 

The bus is set to arrive in the next 15 minutes or so, though you were smart enough to pack some snacks and drinks, Oscar heads over to the food vendor to get you a breakfast sandwich and a smoothie. 

Again, radio silence as you sit on the bench near the designated spot where your bus should arrive soon, “You sure you got everything?”

“Yup, though really I do have some clothes at ma’s so it was unnecessary for me to pack all this stuff. The only thing I do really need is your flannel so I thank you for that donation.” You giggle as you lean into him and kiss his cheek. You can feel his cheeks rise as you do so. “Which leads me to ask one more time... Is everything okay?”

He moves his arm from behind you and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands together. A knack of his when he has a hard time putting words together. The only other times you’ve seen him do it is when you both waited for time to move as the pregnancy test loading to determine your results, which was negative, and when he waited in the lobby of the hospital for one of his homies to get out of surgery.

You don’t push for an answer, you give him his space because you can really see how much he didn’t want you to go either. He had to put authority in his voice when he first asked you to lay low. For you, you know that there is more to this than he is leading on. For him, he’s sending you away because he doesn’t where this could all go and in the case that something should happen, you won’t be alone nor will you have to deal with any repercussions.

“It’s all good. Just got some shit to deal with and I don’t need you in the crossfire of it all. It’s the Santos and 19th street, too much to keep up with and the last thing I need is for you to get in the middle of it all. So you heading out of Freeridge will put my mind at ease.” He finally looks over his shoulder and at you, you watch him intently. You rub the back of his head where your hand rests at the nape of his neck,

The buzzing of your phone pulls your attention from him. Though you didn’t want to focus on anything or anyone else at the moment. It’s your mom calling, probably to check in on you if you’ve made it to the bus station alright and are ready for the lengthy commute, “Hey Ma...” You step away and pace talking to her. 

After a quick chat, you hang up and sigh shoving your phone in the back pocket on your jeans. It takes all the strength you had to turn back around to face your boyfriend as you hear the bus approaching. God, this sucks. Oscar stands and holds your backpack in his hands, waiting for you to put it on. You do so and turn around, looking at him and studying his features, reaching out to feel his face. 

“I love you.” Your voice but a whisper as he slides his hands over your hips and onto the top of your ass. The two of you with your bodies pressed together for a moment where everything around you melts away. You aren’t standing in a crowd of people, there are no buses or rancid smell of exhaust. It’s just the two of you. Oscar leans down just as you lean up to connect your lips. Even after many kisses you’ve shared you always smile into it as his facial hair pokes at you.

The chaste kiss is held as you want this moment to last forever, all you want to hear is him to tell you to stay. Fuck all this and stay. Or even forget all this and let’s run away together. Oscar has thought of that one too many times but you can’t run from your problems, it’ll only create more. So you kiss each other and forget that you have to board a bus for just a second longer. You have your hands pressed to the sides of his neck.

He sighs as your lips break apart, his eyes filled with tears. And for this moment he doesn’t even try to hide that he is crying. That only adds to your worries.”I love you, bebecita. Mi vida y mi alma. With everything, mamas. I’ll see you soon okay, first in your dreams and then soon after.”

Your cheeks hurt with how hard you’re smiling. One more chaste kiss and he walks you to the entrance of the bus, you take step up and look back at him. He gives you a side smile as you ascend up the last few steps and the doors close together. It feels like a goodbye, a real one. The one that meant it’s the last goodbye. But you tell yourself to stop thinking the worst as you see him get smaller and smaller when the bus begins its trek.

The cool air gives you chills almost immediately when you settle into your seat. The next stop isn’t for another hour and a half, with the lack of people, there is no body heat making it colder than it would be if more were on. Thankful you took on his flannels so you reach in your bag to get it when your heart stops. The long pause before it takes it next beat. 

His cross chain. 

In all your time knowing Oscar he has always had it on. It’s almost as if it were apart of him. He didn’t even take it off when you, him and Cesar would go to the beach. Or when he’d shower yet here it is in your bag headed 4 hours away from him. You hold it to your lips and close your eyes. 

“What are you doing, babe?” You whisper to yourself.

It takes all your will power, all your self preservation to not ask the driver to stop the bus. To not call Oscar and frantically demand him to tell you what the hell is going on that he needed to send you away with his chain. This just confirms that something is going down, something big. 

Of course, Oscar is a smart man. He knows what he is doing. Hell, he’s been in this lifestyle since he was a young boy. And he has the Santos. This is the same man that walked into Prophet$ territory with 200k to trade for his brothers life. Even then he wasn’t certain he or Cesar would walk out alive. But he did it. 

But he didn’t ask you to lay low then, so what the hell is he doing that he had to ask you to this time?

You take your chances and ring Cesar. Though you are certain that either his brother has told him to keep quiet of the situation or he’s already learned that the rucas shouldn’t be involved. The echo of the ringing is haunting.

“Y/N! Have you left already? Sorry I haven’t been home the last couple of days.” He answers cheerfully, you miss the kid already.

The ease in his voice allows to you ease into your seat, “I did, just left the station awhile ago. I know I shouldn’t being asking, but do you know what’s going on with your brother? He’s told me very little, which again I know it’s how it is but.. should I be worried?”

“Oscar is fine, everything is fine, Y/N. Just as it always is. No need to be worrying.” He reassures you, you body beginning to relax more as you looking down to your hand that is holding the gold and silver chain.

Perhaps Oscar left it with you because he knows how worried you are about him. This being a way to have him with you always even though the little spooky tattoo that rest below your left breast is a permanent reminder of him. You clutch the chain a little tighter, bringing it to your chest.

“Okay, I’ll try to. Just be careful, please? The both of you, okay? I’m trying not to bother him so can you tell him thank you for his chain, it’ll be nice to have with me while I’m at my moms.” 

But Cesar doesn’t reply or laugh and Cesar is the type to be engaged in conversation. As you sit there with the phone pressed to your ear and no response from him, you shoot up from your seat. Your heart begins to race. “Cesar? Wha- why aren’t you saying anything? What?”

“His chain? He gave it to you?” He asks you.

Now your heart is beating triple time, “Uh yeah, well he didn’t hand it to me. He must of slipped it into my bag while we were at the station. I didn’t even notice he didn’t have it on when we kissed goodbye... Cesar, please tell me again that I have nothing to worry about.”

“Just trust that I’ll handle it. I’ll make sure that he is fine, he has me. And the Santos won’t let him get into something he can’t handle. Don’t worry, o-okay?” And for mere second you hadn’t but when he’s voice cracked. You knew that you couldn’t go,you couldn’t leave him.

“Stop the bus!”

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n​ @fairygardenss​ @firebenderwolf​ @spookysnena​ @princesstiffxoxo​

[just-jordie-things]

Could u do 8 and 61 for Sokka?

prompt 8: seductive kiss prompt 61: hands on the other person’s back, fingertips pressing under their top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of skin that makes them break the kiss with a gasp ___

** takes place during Tales of Ba Sing Se **

You weren’t exactly sure about spending the entire day with Sokka, you didn’t often have alone time with him, and that’s how you liked it.  Too much time alone and you would say something goofy and let your feelings slip out, and you simply couldn’t have that, could you?

However, the other options weren’t all too enticing either.

You could have had a girl’s day with Katara and Toph, go to a spa, get all done up, but you weren’t the type.  Neither was Toph- but she hadn’t gotten the choice.  You were the lucky one.

You could have joined Aang in his hunt for Appa, and you truly had considered it, but the young Avatar was so worked up about it that you didn’t want to get in the way.

And so that left you with Sokka, alone, in the apartment.

“Let’s go out!” The boy declared.

You looked up from where you’d been intently focused on a book you’d picked up- you’d planned on reading it front to cover tonight, just to keep some distance- and you found Sokka standing before you, grinning ear to ear.

“Um, out?” You mumble, weakly, unsurely.

“Yeah! Let’s just get out of here and find something cool to do,” Sokka suggested, waving his hands in hopes of getting you to put your book down and come with him.  “We can go wherever you want...?”

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to think of a good excuse, a justified reason as to why you couldn’t do that.  But none came to mind, and you only ended up stammering.

“I- I don’t know, I’m in pajamas and the others will be home soon I think-” 

“So? Get dressed!” Sokka said, and you winced a little, realizing it was a terrible excuse.

“Sokka... I just don’t know about-” 

“Alright, enough of this,” He stepped forward, taking your book and being sure to mark your page before tossing it aside.  “Come on! You need to liven up a little!”

He reached out, taking your hands and tugging until you stood, gaping even more.

“Sokka-” 

“Come on, please? Please (y/n/n)? Can we just go do one fun stupid thing together?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was begging you, and the puppy dog look in his eyes was impossible to reject.

So you sighed, and headed towards your room.

“Just let me change into some normal clothes, I’ll be right out” 

Sokka cheered silently and fist pumped the air a couple times while your back was turned. ___

“You clean up nice when you’re not moping!” 

You roll your eyes, although you’re blushing, and stuff your hands into your pockets.

“I wasn’t moping,” You argued.  “I just really wanted to finish my book” 

“You can finish it anytime!” Sokka retorted, gazing down at you fondly although he was scolding you.

He couldn’t help it, you looked so pretty in the Earth-Kingdom-green outfit you wore, even when you were pouting up at him.

“We don’t have all the time in the world to just explore the city, you know?” He asks, and you duck your head down, knowing you can’t disagree with that.

It’s quiet between the two of you as you wander along the streets in search of something to do.  And if you weren’t so lost in your thoughts, you probably would have felt awkward being alone with him like this.

Sokka, on the other hand, thought his heart was going to explode from the nerves.

“Are you hungry? We could get dinner,” He offered, desperate to fill the silence between you.  “Oh! Or we could go see a show or something?”

“A show?” You ask, quirking a brow up at him and fighting he urge to smirk.  “Like... a musical? Like a performance show?” You began to giggle.

“Sure! Why are you laughing?” Sokka asked, confused.  “Wouldn’t that be... fun?”

“I mean, isn’t that kind of.. a date?” You asked, your face burning up at the word alone.  “Dinner and a show?”

“So?” 

Upon his simple rebuttal, you were blushing harder, your wide is locking on his while you walked, but your pace significantly slowed.

“So...?” You repeated, shaking your head slightly.  “So this isn’t a date,” You tell him, shrugging your shoulders.  “We’re just getting something to eat”  ___

“I mean, it’s kind of a date” 

You glanced up at him from across the small table you were sat at.  The flame of the candle between you flickering for a moment before going still again.

“No, it really isn't” You remind him for what felt like the tenth time that night, before looking back down at your food, picking around at it.

A few minutes later, the waitress came back with a dessert on the house.

“For the lovebirds to share” She’d said.

Sokka gave you a look, before grinning and helping himself to the sweet treat.

“Don’t even say it” You muttered.

He didn’t, but he was still wearing that dopey smile of his. ___

“You really don’t think so, huh?” He brought it up again as you sat at the fountain in the town center.

“Sokka, if you bring up the date thing again-” 

“I’m just saying, you can admit it, (y/n)” He tells you, but you shake your head.

“Nothing to admit,” You shook your head, before leaning back on your hands and looking up at the stars.  “Now, would you just enjoy this one stupid fun thing?” You repeated his words back at him, smiling to yourself as you traced constellations with your eyes.

Sokka smiled as well, his gaze set on you, wearing the same fond look you had when you stargazed.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you were turning to him suddenly, raising a brow.

“What?” You mumbled, a blush creeping up your neck as you met his gaze.

He’s silent, his smile stretching, only making the rosy hue in your face darken.

You wonder if he’s doing this on purpose, if he’s messing with you.  Maybe he likes to see you flustered, maybe he knows you’re harboring a crush on him and he just wants to see you suffer.

You’re not sure why exactly he’s looking at you like that.

But he doesn’t say anything, just mimics your position and looks up at the sky. ___

The rest of the night went smoothly, at least you thought it did, because you didn't feel like you were on the verge of throwing up butterflies.

As the pair of you walked home, laughing, talking more than you ever had before, you felt relieved that you’d let Sokka drag you out tonight.

“Thank you,” You told him as you reached the apartment.  “I was just gonna hole myself up all night-” 

“I know,” Sokka chuckles, opening the door and letting you in first.  “You do it all the time” 

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but you don’t know what to say, so you close it again, but Sokka can read the expression on your face well.

“I mean, that’s why we’ve never hung out before” He says, turning away from you as he walks further inside.

“It’s not personal” You say, quickly, before he can think you’ve been avoiding him for the wrong reasons.

You follow him into the kitchen, wringing your hands together.

He laughs at your reply, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Really? Cause we just spent the entire night together and you can barely look at me- you’re not even looking at me now-” 

“Sokka its not that-” 

“Then what is it?”

Your eyes shoot up to his then, glossy, and worried.  He doesn’t understand why, but your nerves are eating away at you.

“Sokka, I- I just...” 

You’re shaking your head, shutting your eyes, trying to find the right words, but you can’t, your anxiety is closing up your throat.

“To be honest (y/n) I like you,” 

His words make your eyes open again, your lips parting in shock.

“A lot, actually, but you just always push me away, and I don’t get why either-” 

“You like me?” You ask him, stepping closer.  “Like- as in you have feelings for me?”

It takes him a second, but he nods back.

A breathless laugh escapes you.

“I like you too,” You reply, a soft smile playing on your lips.  “That’s why I.... I didn’t want to hang out too much... you know?” 

He pauses for a moment, before walking in closer to you, taking you by surprise as his hands reached out for your jaw.

“That’s so stupid” He sighs.

You have no time to retaliate, before his lips are covering yours, and your knees almost give out beneath you.

You melt into him before you can think otherwise- like maybe your friends would be home soon- and you kiss him back fervently.

You’d been waiting for this for a while now, might as well make the most of it.

So you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you even further, properly deepening the kiss.

Sokka’s lips were warm, and soft, and it shouldn’t have surprised you, but he was a really good kisser.

His hands dropped from your face, grabbing at our hips and pulling you closer to him.  Unintentionally, or so you thought, his his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt.

But as you small sound of pleasure died in the back of your throat, he grew more confident, and suddenly both of his hands were sliding around the dip in your back, drawing small shapes into your skin and delighting in the way you gasped against his mouth, before stealing another kiss.

“We, should, um,” You panted, having a hard time collecting your words.  “We should go upstairs,” You said, taking him by surprise.  “They’re gonna be back soon” 

As he started to smirk at you, you were quick to stand on the tips of your toes, and capture a few more kisses, just because you could, and you felt like it.

“It was totally a date by the way” 

“Oh my spirits- no, it wasn’t!” You giggled, before he was picking you up and bringing you towards the stairs.

“It was,” He mumbled, sealing your lips in a kiss, holding it a few seconds longer than before.  “Just stop trying to deny it” 

You sigh, resting your forehead against his as he takes you up the stairs.

“Never,” You giggle.  “I just like to see you suffer” 

“Clearly” He mutters, leaning down and kissing you again as he made it to the top of the stairs.

Just as you were heading into his room, you could hear the front door opening downstairs, Katara and Toph waltzing in laughing and calling into the apartment that they were home.

Sokka kicked his door shut behind him. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: language)

Words: ~3K

Summary: Lars has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him in the middle of the night to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

Set mid SUF.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to write Lars’ POV before this, but it was really fun! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Besides the quiet lull of the TV and the electric hum of the attic’s rickety old heater, all is silent in the Barriga household. The nighttime streets outside are vacant. Not a soul roams through his section of town, not even the newer Gem arrivals, who thankfully have been informed of humanity’s biologically mandated curfew by now. Sheesh, it’s about time.

After all, silence is peace. And in this day and age, in a world where the barriers between human and intergalactic politics are becoming increasingly blurred by the hour, peace is a gift.

Which is why having free time to play whatever old video games he wants in complete and total solitude at one AM is probably the single thing keeping him sane at this moment.

Lars’ fingers expertly flick at the joysticks of the controller as if by innate memory. It genuinely feels like forever since he’s been able to lose himself for hours in a solo campaign like this, and quite honestly, if given a choice he prefers it to any other leisurely activity. Chatting with his online friends or with that Gem gang of his is fun, sure, and working the counter at his bake shop can often be emotionally satisfying, but pushed too long and any kind of social interaction feels draining. He shifts on his bed, paying little to no attention to the slight chill against his bare chest. He’s pretty sure it’s like, near freezing outside and yet somehow it’s no more an annoyance to him than having to pause to reload an ammo clip in this game. It’s weird. Really weird. But then, at this point everything about his dumb life is.

It’s the Steven effect, he thinks with a soft scoff. Weird practically orbits him and his moms, and inevitably, every person he comes in contact with is brought into the fold. He’s a good kid, though. Don’t get him wrong. Steven always tries his best to be thoughtful when dealing with people he doesn’t understand— even when initially those people just act like dicks in return— and he for one is grateful for that, for the gift of a... a second chance. He knows full well he didn’t deserve it, (he still doesn’t), but he’s grateful.

The kid’s still on his mind when his phone lights up on the nightstand beside him, like the now familiar glow of Gems synchronizing to fuse.

(And goddamnit, does a part of him still balk almost two years later that it’s so normal to be casually relating everyday things to outer space Gem stuff anyways. What is he, with his pink hair and alien friends, the main character of an anime?)

Eyes skirt away from the grainy television set he’s been playing his favorite Immortal Combat on, and glance at the new notification.

Steven, the name at the top of the text reads. Well, lo and behold. The true shounen protagonist himself. Somebody’s ears must have been burning. Though, hmm. Come to think of it, that’s actually unusual. They pass bullshit memes back and forth sometimes, yes, but he never sends him anything this late at night.

Lars frowns, failing to obscure that annoying, instinctual worry that seizes him like the long lost sensation of hunger rising from the pit of his stomach, and scoots forward on his bed to grab his phone. What’s he want at this hour, anyways?

Steven: hey, sorry i know its late but can i come over ?

His frown deepens as he glances down at himself, clad in only a pair of boxers. He doesn’t mind having an unexpected visitor— after all, it’s not like he requires sleep anymore— but he’s not exactly dressed for company, here.

yeah but gimme a mo, he types back. kinda need to put on a shirt

Steven: k

Yawning out of sheer habit, he leans over the other side of the bed and grabs the first decent smelling tee he can find off the floor. It’s got an overlapping triangular emblem on it, a symbol from one of the game series he used to be obsessed with as a kid. He quickly shrugs it and a stray pair of sweatpants on, then returns to his phone.

decent now, he updates him.

The response is almost immediate.

Steven: be there soon

With a heavy inhale, he leans back against the headboard and begins to mentally prepare himself for the passage of One Whole Teenage Boy through the portal in his hair. For the most part he’s grown used to the changes caused by Steven’s literal magic resurrection, but not this. Who the hell knows how his pet lion puts up with it all the time. Quite frankly, how that creature has remained so docile and patient after years of interloping within Steven’s chaotic world of Gems eludes him, ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t a side effect of all the death-defying space voodoo.

Also, he’s like, 97% sure that “docile” and “patient” aren’t words anyone would pick to describe him at any stage of his life, ever.

And yet, yawning in his boredom, Lars waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

And when eventually he breaks his stubborn streak and dares to check the time on his phone to see how many minutes have elapsed, how many minutes of his thrice-damned maybe infinite lifespan he’s wasted sitting up against the far wall of his room waiting for that kid to tumble right out of the literal inter-dimensional door hidden amidst the curls atop his head, he’s mildly surprised that his first emotional response to this delay is... dare he admits... disappointment.

It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. For whatever unknown reason, it seems as if Steven may not be coming over after all. Huh. He wonders what changed his mind. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lars decides to check his texts. It’s possible the guy wrote something else and he just didn’t see it. But when he pulls up his latest conversation, all that comes up are the last messages they sent to each other. Be there soon, he said.

He hovers hesitant fingers over the keyboard, caught in the midst of trying to decide whether or not it’s too invasive and prying to send some sort of casual check-in, when he picks up on a very timid knock on the front door downstairs. And given the lateness of the hour, there’s really only one person it could be. He blinks for a moment, his mind still doing somersaults in order to process the mere concept of Steven not gleefully taking the opportunity to explode out of his hair for once in his life, and then drags himself up to his feet. Walks out of his attic room and down the stairs, being careful not to disturb his slumbering parents. Unlatches the locks on the door.

Truth be told he has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him at one fucking AM to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

He struggles not to stumble backwards at the initial force of the teen’s silent yet yearning embrace, eventually regaining his stability and... slowly, delicately... hugging him back. Honestly, he’s never been much of a hugger himself, but eh. He’ll give the guy this one. After a brief moment Lars gives him a few awkward pats, clearing his throat.

“Uh, Steven? You good to let go, now?” he asks quietly, still keeping his voice in a whisper for his parents’ benefit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, yeah,” his younger friend stammers, immediately pulling himself away. His eyes are drawn to the floor as he wrings his hands together. Timid. “Sorry, I just— I just needed somewhere I could clear my head tonight. Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem,” he throws back, gesturing for him to follow up the stairs. “‘S not like I ever sleep a wink now anyways. So I might as well have company.”

The two of them tiptoe towards the attic, a familiar setting for both. Steven’s been in here quite a few times before, so— already knowing the lay of the land— he plops himself down in the beanbag chair Lars keeps at the foot of his bed. They don’t talk about much of anything at first, merely passing back and forth brief updates about their lives. Small talk, nothing more. As expected though, Steven’s update is infinitely more interesting than his. Apparently he went on some mission to an alien planet with that Lapis friend of his the other day and had to deal with the attitude of some stubborn terraformers who didn’t want to stop working on their shitty old Homeworld assignment. (Meanwhile, the only update he has to offer is how he’s teaching Blue Lace Agate the art of bad baking puns while at work. Gotta leave behind some sort of legacy before he leaves with his fellow Off-Colors, of course.)

When the small talk finally dries up, (which seems... uncharacteristic, given the typical enthusiasm of his current visitor), Lars offers him a second controller.

“We can play the go-kart one, if you want,” he says, knowing full well that his friend isn’t a huge fan of all his war-themed combat games. Still, he figures the guy could probably stand to blow off a little steam. He looks super stressed, with his brow all creased and his stare unnervingly glassy.

The sixteen-year-old nods, adjusting his hands around the grips of the controller as Lars switches out the disk.

They race a few rounds in relative quiet, wholly insulated by the reassuring stillness of the night all around them, before Steven decides to open up again.

“Where do you think the line is?” he asks when they finish their current course.

His whole face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?”

“Between like, doing bad things, and outright being bad?” he continues, seemingly unaware of the comedic pulse of Lars’ initial response.

Lars blinks.

Considers these words deeply and thoroughly for a moment, as any good friend should.

And then...

“Where the heck did you pull that question from?”

Steven merely shrugs, his shoulders drooping a bit lower than they had been when he first entered his house a while back. “I dunno, just musing, ‘s all.”

The edges of his mouth curl downwards as he lets this corker of a conversation starter wash over him, not so much intended as a frown at Steven, but a frown at... whatever force of this universe would lead his friend to start musing about such depressing philosophical quandaries in the first place. Acting numb and brooding at the rest of the world is supposed to be his job, not this kid’s! And sure, yes, yes, yes, he knows he can’t exactly call him a kid anymore— at least not to his face— and that he’s been a teenager for a good three years now. It’s just that... well. For all his complaints about it earlier in life, Lars kinda grew to respect and feel uplifted by his cheery, upbeat, never-give-up-hope outlook. Dare he says, he kinda misses it.

(And for Steven’s sake, he kinda hoped he’d never discover the burnout and cynicism waiting on the other side. Alas, he fears that ship has probably sailed.)

“Sorry,” the sixteen-year-old mumbles upon noting his extended silence, his cheeks flushed with shame. “Probably not something anyone wants to think about at two in the morning. Just- forget I said anything, okay? Let’s play one more round, and then I can lea—“

Eyes widening, he holds up a hand to intercept that train of thought. “No, that’s— you asked an interesting question. Deep, but interesting. It’s fine, I don’t mind. I...”

He inhales deep, collecting his wits and whatever years of wisdom he may or may not have accumulated ever since dying and coming back to life.

“I suppose in my mind, people aren’t truly bad unless they intend to cause harm, y’know?” he begins, meeting Steven’s eyes. “You can still hurt others without meaning it, and like... that’s still not great, and you should still try and make up for it however you can, but... life’s complicated. People are complicated. It’s all a huge mess of emotions and ethics and beliefs all the time.”

He pauses, a twinge of melancholy rising within his chest as he catches a glimpse of a photograph hung on one of the wooden support beams at the far wall. It’s a selfie of him and Sadie he printed out a few years back when they were still low-key dating, one that— for the life of him— he can’t bear to take down. She’s kissing his cheek. He’s caught in the middle of laughter, playfully trying to nudge her away. They look... so young.

So naive.

(So human.)

“And sometimes it can be so, so easy to convince yourself that you’re always in the right,” he continues, quieter, “that people feeling hurt because of something you did is just their problem. In that case, it’s not that you wanted to harm anyone, it’s just... that you were blind to it, I guess.”

(And he was blind for a long, long time.)

“Like I said, it’s messy.”

Lars sighs, willfully averting his glance from the photographic reminder of all the ways he ignorantly fucked up with Sadie as a friend and partner, and with everyone in his life, making the same stupid mistakes over and over with nearly no improvement until he literally died to his old self.

“So, yeah. There. I guess that’s my opinion,” he mumbles, absentmindedly fiddling with the collar of his graphic tee. “Everyone makes bad choices sometimes, but you’re not actually a bad person unless you literally want to harm others. I don’t think people are bad once and bad forever, though,” he adds, pulling his hand away from his shirt.

Inhaling deep, he splays his palm wide, admiring those same old loops and whorls at the tips of his fingers, identical in every detail to his old, living, human self... but now pink. It's haunting, sometimes.

“People can change, y’know? If they make the effort to.”

When he finally glances back at Steven, he seems thoroughly spaced out by all his impassioned rambling, his gaze walleyed and void of any identifiable emotion. He scowls, unsure whether or not he should feel offended, and gives an exaggerated shrug to defuse the sickeningly earnest atmosphere out of this room.

“But hey, I’m biased,” he mutters, letting that instinctual, age-old self-depreciation coat his tone once more. “For all I know, everything I said could be absolute bunk, and I’m still just an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Lars,” Steven finally speaks up, his expression still perplexingly unreadable.

“I—“ His eyes blow wider, the sheer frankness of this comment catching him entirely off guard, overturning all of his once-impenetrable defenses. “...Thank you. I’m trying not to be.”

The conversation doesn’t advance any further from there, both parties content to fade back into the understated comfort of silent companionship. They play a few more rounds of their racing game, Lars beating Steven handily each time. (Truth be told, he’s not confident he’s bringing his A-game, though.) Then, sometime around three AM, his friend drags himself out of the beanbag chair and announces that he should probably head home and get some rest. Apparently he’s got a lot of planning to do for Little Homeschool's graduation ceremony that’s happening in a few days, or whatever. Which, is fair. Not everyone is blessed enough to be a sleepless zombie like him.

“Y’know, it’s been nice, getting to hang out, just us,” Steven says— quiet, but genuine— as Lars leads him back down the stairs. “We should do this more often.”

Purposefully, given the unusual emotional atmosphere of this whole visit, he decides not to mention the fact that he's planning to leave Earth again when his all Gem friends finally graduate. Later, he thinks, when everyone's in a better place.

“Well, if you’re ever bored, you know where to reach me,” he replies as they reach the bottom step, fondly rolling his eyes. “The good ol’ inter-hair-mensional express. Just, y’know— text me. And not during work hours.”

The teen gives his thanks once again, and then exits out the front, making sure to be extra gentle shutting the door on his way out for his parents’ sake. Huh. Seems that even when he’s (seemingly) in a funk, he’s capable of being uber courteous like that. Goodness, how does he do it?

Lars stands motionless at the entryway for a few moments after he’s gone, staring blankly at the now empty space the sixteen-year-old just occupied. His brow furrows, his fingers curling in perplexion at his side. He doesn’t have enough insight into Steven’s inner life to claim anything for sure, but he can’t help but feel like something with that boy was... off, tonight. Like, beyond your standard teenage moodiness. His demeanor, his bizarre and specific question, his relative silence... it all seems to be pointing towards something, lurking in the background. Still, there’s little he can do for a person who’s not volunteering information. And it ain’t his job to drag it out of him, either. He always hated when his parents tried to do that when he was younger, and it almost ruined their relationship entirely. That’s the last sorta scenario he’d want to force upon Steven. He’ll open up when he’s ready, in the end.

And until then... well.

He just hopes that the kid knows that— beyond the bizarre magic portal in that pink lion’s mane— he’s always got a brother on the other side who’s willing to at least listen. To be but a small source of support.

If he wants him to be.

[sign-from-god-complex]

Summary: The two of them were friendly now—the days of hurtful nicknames and angrily putting each other down had long since passed—but even still Virgil was hesitant to open up to Roman. And it seemed as if Roman felt the same.

Pairing: Platonic prinxiety.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil wandered down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes and only catching each step with his foot on sheer luck alone. He was barely even conscious—having woken up from a nightmare not more than a few hours after he'd gone to bed—and in his vaguely uncomfortable and jittery state, Virgil had decided that maybe a snack would make him feel better and started his move down to the kitchen.

The light was already on, he noticed vaguely, but it didn't really seem important until he came to the door of the kitchen and was greeted with a sight that woke him up entirely.

"You're crying."

Roman spun around abruptly, wiping at his eyes like Virgil was earlier but in less of an I'm-tired-and-trying-to-wake-myself-up way and more of a trying-to-hide-the-consequences-of-a-3-am-mental-breakdown way. Virgil would know; he had plenty of experience with both.

"I'm not crying, Charlie Frown," Roman insisted, "Your brain is playing tricks on you. Just go back to bed."

"Low blow, blaming a man's faulty brain for something you didn't want me to see," Virgil said, dropping into the chair across from Roman and ignoring the way he let out a sigh as he averted his gaze.

The two of them were friendly now—banter was easy and they were able to discuss things without it heating up to an argument every time—but there was still a layer of hesitancy when it came to being vulnerable. It wasn't just Roman either. Virgil had more than once entirely played off his anxiety or insecurities so that he could go deal with it himself or, if it got too bad, go bother Logan or Patton with it. It was stupid because they were friends and logically, he knew there was nothing to worry about. Even still, he was afraid. And he had a feeling Roman felt the same way.

"Do you want a hot chocolate?"

Roman blinked at him. "What?"

"I said, do you want a hot chocolate?" Virgil repeated, getting up from his chair. He threw open a few of the kitchen cabinets, rifling through it to grab the chocolate. "I mean, mine are nowhere near as good as Patton's—I really don't know how he does that—but they're still okay, you know?"

He glanced back at Roman to see him staring at him blankly and raised an eyebrow, prompting Roman to clear his throat.

"Uh, I mean, if you want to."

Virgil nodded, switching on the element and grabbing out a saucepan and milk, not bothering to measure any particular amount as he poured it into the pot.

"So... you wanna tell me what's going on?" Virgil asked, keeping his back firmly to Roman.

It's what he'd want, he thinks, to know that someone's listening without the pressure of having them stare you directly in the face—like, he loves Patton, but sometimes that earnest gaze can be a bit overwhelming.

"I promise, it's nothing. I'm just a bit tired-"

"Roman."

There's a long silence and if Virgil hadn't been listening intently for any sound, he would have thought that Roman had just up and left.

Then, there was a shaky inhale from behind him, let out all at once. "I'm... overwhelmed."

Roman paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts and as he did so, Virgil grabbed a rubber spatula from the jar on the counter, stirring the milk. He wasn't actually sure if it was necessary but it was something to do with his hands that wasn't simply wringing them or biting at the nails.

"Our fans expect a lot from us, you know? And the production value keeps getting bigger and we keep coming up with these new ideas but if we don't execute them perfectly it's going to seem like it was ridiculous for us to even try. And there's deadlines and short videos to keep up with and-" He heaved out a sigh. "There's just so much to do."

"There's always so much to do," Virgil interjected, breaking the chocolate into the boiling milk, "I think that's what life is."

Roman laughed but it wasn't particularly joyful, almost more like a sob than a laugh. "Maybe. I don't know. I just... I want everything to go perfectly but I know that's impossible."

There was something in that statement, some underlying insecurity that Virgil couldn't help but pull apart. With all his years being the literal embodiment of a person’s deepest fears, he’d become fairly well versed in feelings of inadequacy and leaving them alone to fester certainly wasn’t gonna do Roman any good.

"You're right. It is impossible," Virgil replied casually, "But why exactly do you think it needs to be perfect?"

"So that people will like it! People need to like-"

"You." Virgil switched off the element, turning around to look at Roman with something soft and sad in his eyes. "Is that right? You think that if the work we produce isn't perfect, if you don't make things that people love then you can't be loved."

Roman stared wide-eyed at Virgil, lips parted ever so slightly. "I- I just-"

And with a sob, he broke off, face crumpling as he failed to hold in his tears. Virgil winced, suddenly flooded with need to shield Roman from anything that could make him look so devastated.

"Roman, come here."

He opened himself up for a hug and Roman dove forward, gripping at Virgil's hoodie and shaking in his arms as they wrapped around him.

"We love you," Virgil spoke insistently but quiet, as if were he to speak any louder something inside him would break, "We will love you the same if you never create another thing ever again or if you create something new every day for the rest of your life. You don't need to do anything to be loved. You're here. That's enough."

Roman nodded into his shoulder. "I- I know that. I do. And you all keep telling me that's it's fine but-"

"I get it. It's hard. It took me a while to accept that you all love me too, you know? But you'll get there. And we'll be happy to remind you of it any time you need."

Virgil pulled away from the hug, leaving Roman blinking at the ground with still watery eyes. He seemed... more solid, somehow—less like he would shatter if Virgil looked at him wrong—and the relief he felt at that was almost palpable.

"And, Ro?" Virgil asked, prompting Roman to drag his gaze back up to him, "Yeah, the stuff you create may not be perfect but I haven't seen a single thing you accomplished that you haven't done a pretty fucking great job of."

Roman smiled—slight but real and filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Virgil."

"Anytime, princey."

Virgil turned to grab a few mugs from the hooks under the cabinet, placing them on the counter. A quick test of the milk revealed it to be plenty warm still and with a great deal of care, Virgil poured the hot chocolate into the cups, having apparently made more than enough for just the two of them.

The silence as Virgil moved wasn't uncomfortable—much more akin to the kind of silence you expect from two people alone in the kitchen at the early hours of the morning—and Virgil was immeasurably glad for it.

Eventually, he passed one of the mugs over to Roman. He hadn’t really put much thought into which ones he’d grabbed but he noticed now that it was one of Roman’s personal ones and written on it, in curling font, read the words, “Imagine. Create. Repeat.”. Virgil tried not to find the irony in that.

"So, uh, how about we finish this hot chocolate and then we head back to bed, yeah?" Virgil asked, picking up his own mug from the counter and taking a sip.

Roman didn't react for a moment except to rotate the mug he gripped tightly in his hands, holding it up by his face so the steam still coming off it warmed his cheeks. Then, he nodded, a smile barely turning the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, Virge, that sounds great."

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @autism-goblin @camcam774 @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @primaryyblogg @localtransgrape​ @fandomsofrandom​ @gattonero17​ @airiervessel​ @ollyollyoxinfree​ @tired-and-probably-crying​ .

[deputytrash]

Shotgunning

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)

Relationship: Javier Escuella/Female Reader

Words: 3898

Summary: Javier teaches you about how good smoking marijuana feels, among other things

Featuring period accurate underwear, the historically accurate spelling of marijuana and some inclusions of how I felt the first time I smoked weed (which was 100% less saucy than this reader's first time smoking).

Read on AO3

It was quiet around the camp. Darkness had long since rolled in as everyone settled in for the night, finished with their drinking and chatting. You'd drawn the short end of the stick on chores earlier in the day so you were just finally wrapping up. When you'd gone to Miss Grimshaw to bring her the mended and washed clothes, she had taken them and told you to "go on and do as you please then." You fully intended to do just that.

You stopped by your bedroll, stripping off your day clothes down to your underthings, a simple off-white slip of fabric over your bloomers, and made your way to Pearson's wagon. You were determined to spend what little was left of the night relaxing with a bottle and a book. You'd more than earned the lazy time, after all. You managed to find a bottle of whiskey in acceptable condition and made your way to the scout campfire. It was always quieter just a bit outside of camp, and you were eager to get away from the bustle of it all for a moment.

You started that way, noticed Javier lounging in the area. Nervous butterflies fluttered in your gut and you paused, considering turning back, if only for the sake of your nerves. You certainly weren't unhappy to see him. Honestly, you quite liked the man. Your instantaneous friendly affections had quickly developed into a pesky crush that had been frustratingly unyielding in your attempts to suppress it. His smooth words and warm smiles always managed to pull you back and get you terribly flustered.

Javier was settled with his back against one of the logs circling the fire. He'd slipped down to his union suit and pants, suspenders hanging off his hips and falling in the dirt. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle as he smoked. His movements were slow and languid as he glanced over at your approaching figure and gave you a lazy little smile. You smiled back.

Your grin faltered as you came closer, though, your nose picking up a strong, unfamiliar scent. You looked around searching for the source. "Javier, what the fuck is that smell?" Your eyes settled on the twisted cigarette between his fingers. It looked hand-rolled. Had he run out of regular cigarettes? "Are you sure that tobacco's still good? It seriously smells like rotten shit."

"Hey, that's not nice," Javier laughed, eyes red-tinged and mirthful. "And that's 'cause it's not tobacco," he said, cryptically.

"What the fuck is it then?" You wrinkled your nose, but you were already noticing the smell less as the smoke drifted off with the wind. He laughed again, shaking his head.

"Hosea is gonna give you a lecture on bad language if you keep that up," He teased. You blushed and rolled your eyes, but he wasn't wrong. "It's marihuana. I used to smoke it all the time back in Mexico. You want to try it?" He raised his eyebrows, offering you the twisted up cigarette with one blackened end.

"Marihuana?" You tested the word in your mouth. It sounded a lot weirder without Javier's smooth accent. "I've never heard of it." When you don't take the cigarette from him, Javier shrugs, bringing his arm back down to rest on his lap.

"Same thing as cannabis. It's in some medicines around here," he explained.

You shifted on your feet, embarrassed at your sheer ignorance on the topic at hand. "Sorry, I don't really know medicine stuff." You sat down on the other half of the log he was leaned against, movements somewhat stiff and awkward. "Been meaning to learn, but it's hard to know what's real and what's snake oil these days…Anyway, if it's medicine why are you smokin' it?" You hoped Javier wasn't sick or something.

"Well, It's not always medicine. It also just…feels good. Kinda like when you smoke too much tobacco, but a lot better and without the sick feeling," he said with a pointed smirk. You let out an embarrassed laugh, knowing he was thinking of the first time you'd smoked tobacco. It was a few years ago when you had, foolishly, tried to keep pace with Dutch's smoking and had ended up dizzy and green. You'd tried to play it off, making some excuse to shuffle away, but Javier had caught on. He'd stepped away from the group, making you promise not to throw up on him as he led you to your bedroll. Once there, Mary Beth had promptly shooed him away and insisted on taking care of you, herself; God bless the woman.

Javier brought a swiftly lit match back up to the cigarette at his lips. He inhaled, pausing and coughing on the exhale as he shook out the match, throwing the little wooden stick into the sandy dirt.

"Are you okay?" His cough worried you. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no." He coughed again, tried and failed to pass it off as clearing his throat. "Just…been a while since I've done this." He gave you a goofy grin that you couldn't help but return.

You looked down to take a drink of your whiskey. Was that too long of eye contact just then? You hoped you hadn't weirded him out. God, was a quick smile really all it took to muss up the entirety of your composure?

Javier called your name, breaking you from your thoughts. You looked over to find him with a curious smile on his face. "I've got an idea if you want to try this." He waved the cigarette in his hand. "Just to ease you into it. Don't have to, but I think you'd like it."

You thought for a moment, some nervousness building again before saying fuck it and nodding. You knew Javier would never rope you into something that might hurt you. "Yeah, alright. I'll give it a try."

"Come over here and sit next to me, then." You hesitated before gathering your bravery to settle down beside him. He smiled at you, noticing your tenseness. "Don't have to be nervous, I promise. It'll be fun."

You nodded, but you were more nervous about the proximity than the drug.

"Okay, so, what I'm going to do is get some smoke and breathe it out to you. You just breathe in, hold it for a little, and let it out, okay? And if you want to stop, just tell me." You nodded again, dizzy at the inherent intimacy of the proposal.

Javier took a deep breath off of the cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment and motioned for you to move in closer to him. He managed to maintain a just on this side of platonic distance from you as he gently blew smoke to your lips. You breathed in as deeply as you could before, twisting away to hack out the smoke, forgetting about the holding it in part entirely. He laughed, patting your back as you relearned how to breathe.

"Sorry," you muttered, coughing, feeling embarrassed.

Javier was nonplussed. "'S no problem. You want to try again?"

"Gimme a minute," you replied. He nodded.

Your mouth was bone-dry and desperate for liquid. "Fuck, where's my whiskey?" Javier grabbed it, taking a swig for himself before moving to hand it to you.

"Here," he said, handing it to you. "Don't drink too much. I know you've got a good tolerance, but marihuana makes alcohol a lot stronger." You coughed again, taking a drink. You were really wishing that you'd brought some water up here.

It took a moment before your breathing settled down, lungs thankful for the return of regular old oxygen. You took another moment, preparing yourself. "Okay, I'm ready."

He followed the same series of steps as before, but this time you managed to hold it for a few seconds before hacking it back out. He patted your back again, settling his arm to stretch out on the log behind you afterward.

You felt yourself relax. Something distinctly not alcohol was working through your blood, plying your muscles and calming your mind. You blinked. Your eyes felt swollen and heavy. Everything felt like it was moving just a bit more slowly.

You looked over at Javier and he gave you a conspiratorial smile. "You starting to feel it? You look like you are."

You nodded, the simple movement spurring a heady, dizzy feeling. "Shit, I think so."

"Good. Let it settle in for a minute and I can give you some more." You nodded, again, eyes settling on the fire. It was beautiful. The chaotic pattern of the flames shifting and licking at the sky entranced you and, as you glanced at Javier again, you felt how absolutely beautiful he was as well.

He smiled lazily as he met your gaze. "You having fun? Feel good?"

"Y-yeah," You breathed, suddenly recognizing your staring for what it was and looking down at your hands wringing them together, embarrassed.

"Do you want some more?" He asked.

Did you? You felt good, better than you had felt in a while, despite the nervous thrumming of your heart in your rib cage. You nodded and watched him as he effortlessly worked through the same routine again.

He inhaled the smoke into his lungs and leaned in to breathe it out to you again. His eyes were heavy as he watched your lips drink it in. Fuck, was he closer? Your tongue was dry and sticky in your mouth as you tried to lick your lips, holding the smoke in your lungs. Your eyes fell closed on the exhale, mind wrapped in a warm swirling haze before you pulled away and coughed out the smoke into your hand.

His palm was rubbing your back now, cooing at you, softly working you through your hacking. Your inability to smoke without coughing was starting to feel more amusing than embarrassing and you choked out a laugh.

It was starting to get cold outside, now, as the night fully rolled in. The cool night air soothed your burning throat and chilled your flesh, the breeze raising goosebumps on your skin. Javier noticed, beckoned you closer. "Come here. You can lean against me if you're cold."

You shifted to move closer, dizziness hitting again as you fell into a fit of giggles. Your face felt ridiculous, like little bugs were dancing along the outline of every feature. You didn't want him to think you were laughing at him, but you couldn't hold it back. Everything felt hilarious.

"Hey, hey what's so funny?" He laughed nervously, ducking his head to meet your eyes.

You laughed again. You felt bizarre and goofy and light all at the same time. "I'm sorry, Javier. I ain't laughin' at you, but…I-I can feel my eyebrows." He gave you an amused but confused look as you bust out laughing again. "That sounds so stupid but they feel fuzzy." You reached up to scratch at your eyebrows, failing to hold back another giggle when the feeling stubbornly returned. You knew you were acting like a fool, but you couldn't seem to help it.

He laughed as well, shaking his head with a smile. "God, come here and get warm, giggles. You're ridiculous."

You shifted over obediently, laughter fading into a smile as you let your body melt into his side. He was warm and comfortable. He smelled like the smoke that still coated your throat mixed with something indescribable, but so distinctly him.

The weight of his arm settled strongly against your shoulders as his warm palm gently smoothed down the little bumps scattered across the skin of your arm. The texture of his hands against your skin was almost overwhelming as your hair follicles relaxed into the heat. Was this cuddling? Holy shit, you were cuddling Javier, you realized, belatedly.

"You're so soft," he murmured, fingers still brushing over your skin. Your cheeks flushed. Were you? You brushed your own fingers against your skin experimentally and found yourself strangely fascinated by the smooth texture.

"Oh shit, I am," you laughed and he raised his eyebrows, grinning down at you like you were the most lovely, silly, little thing he'd ever seen. You couldn't handle it. You pressed your face into his shirt, feeling sleepy and giddy and warm in too many ways.

"Look at me," he whispered. You peeked up at him with dazed, reddened eyes. "You're beautiful."

You hid your face again, picking at the skin of your fingers. "God, Javier you're not fair."

He chuckled, fingertips dancing lightly over your arm. Your skin momentarily pinched back up into little goosebumps before fading again "How am I not fair?" he laughed. "I'm sharing my marihuana with you. I'm warming you up. I even complimented you. I think I'm being very fair."

Goddammit. Your head was spinning. Where the fuck did he learn to be so charming? You wanted to tamp down this nervous energy bubbling inside you, get brave again. "Can I have some more?"

"Of course," he smiled. Flicking another match against the box, he readied the dwindling cigarette.

You were mere inches away this time. Javier's fingers moved to play with the soft hairs against your neck, rough thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Anticipation coiled in your belly, the thumping of heart louder than normal. Somehow, you managed not to cough this time, breathing the smoke back out to mix with his exhale. You met his eyes, felt the heat in them as he watched you. If your mouth felt dry before, it was the Sahara Desert now.

He leaned forward and kissed you. It was brief, quick, and chaste, but you felt like your world shifted, opening up before you. You stared at him before quickly kissing him again, the touch just as fleeting as the first. You stared at him, breathless, eyes searching his face, simultaneously frozen and utterly desperate for more.

He pulled you onto his lap, legs side-saddled, meeting your lips again. You were still riding an amazing high, body light and airy. He was warm against you as you deepened the kiss before pulling back for air. "I feel real good, Javier," you mumbled, breathless.

"I can make you feel even better if you want," he murmured, shifting to kiss down your jawline as his palm settled on the bare skin of your thigh. "Just say the word." Fuck, was this really happening?

"Please," you breathed, your voice knowing what you wanted before your thoughts had even caught up.

His teeth nipped at the flesh of your ear lobe as his palms felt over your body, his hands warm enough to feel even where your skin was still covered with cloth. He took his time, exploring you, slipping his fingers under the edges of your clothing to swipe over your skin, brief and teasing.

"God, Javier, I already said please," you breathed, overwhelmed and desperate.

"Patience. I want to savor you," he murmured against your cheek, kissing it. He worked your nightgown up until the bottom stitching fell around your thighs. "Spread your legs for me."

You shivered when the cold air rushed into the open crotch of your knickers as you shifted your legs. His fingers played with the fabric there momentarily, before lightly brushing over the hair covering your core. You stared at his every movement, fighting the urge to shove his hand further, press his fingers into you.

You looked up to find his eyes studying your face. Had he been watching your reactions this whole time? "I meant it when I said you're beautiful." You felt overwhelmed, tried to impress your feelings back with your lips against his.

You pulled back, hand resting on his cheek before pinching it lightly. He gave you a look.

"And I meant it when I said you're not fair," you complained, squirming in his lap, attempting to goad him into action. "Come on, Javier." You started to undo the line of buttons on his union suit, kissing his neck.

"Ay, I'm not fair, she says." he grinned, rolling his eyes, pulling your hand and mouth away from himself. "So impatient. I'll show you unfair."

He continued his gentle ministrations, escalating even more slowly than before. His palms worked over your breasts, squeezed over your thighs, fingers just barely brushing over your dripping slit. The frustrating heat in your belly grew heavier with every passing moment. Maybe you should've just kept your mouth shut.

"Javier," you groaned in exasperation.

"Yes?" he asked, mirthful and teasing.

What did he want? You were ready to do just about anything at this point, promise the man anything he wanted.

"Fuck, okay. You win. I'm sorry, Javier. You've been real nice to me; I mean it. Please touch me. Please," you begged, making no effort to hide your frustration.

Javier laughed. "Yeah? Where do you want me to touch you?" He spoke softly back to you. You resisted rolling your eyes. Of course, he was going to make you say it.

"My c-cunt," you squeaked out, lips embarrassingly falling over the word.

"Can't believe there's a word you're shy about saying," Javier laughed. "Come on, lift yourself up." He tapped against your butt. You raised up slightly as he worked your nightgown up past your hips. His fingers pulled at the tie on your knickers, loosening it and working them off as well.

"Shit," he hissed, palms immediately feeling over the revealed skin. "So good, you're so beautiful."

The warmth of his hands felt wonderful, but it wasn't what you wanted right now. "God, Javier, ain't I begged enough?"

His laugh shook against you. "You're so fussy." His fingertips shifted down to slip between the lips of your pussy as he groaned out a curse. You were soaked. You opened yourself wider for him, arm moving to grip behind his shoulder for balance. His fingers dragged the slick up to your clit and back down to your entrance before finally, finally pushing inside you.

"Oh, God, Javier," you whispered, more breath than words.

You clenched around his fingers, momentary relief at the stretch flooding your mind before he began fucking them into you, building you back up to desperation. The heel of his palm hit at the hood of your clit perfectly with each thrust as he quickly found the spot that made your legs shake.

"Never would've thought you'd be this needy," he laughed. "Always act so tough with everybody. You're real cute. I love it."

You buried your face against his shoulder, doing your best to stifle your whimpers and ragged groans. You gripped his shirt between your fingers, hips pressing back against his hand as wet noises echoed in your ears.

He shifted underneath you and you felt his cock, firmly pressed against your hip. He ground himself against you, hissing out a moan. "You make me fucking crazy."

"Fuck, Javier, I want you inside me," you whimpered, any resistance to begging left behind in the dirt. "Please fuck me. I'll do anything."

His teasing patience seemed to break at your words. He made a broken sound, hissing out a "shit" before pulling away to desperately wrestle with his belt buckle and the remaining buttons on his underclothes. "You have no idea what you do to me. You have no fucking idea how many times I've thought about you saying those words."

You lifted up, giving him room as he tugged his pants down just enough to pull his cock out. He shifted his body to a slightly more stretched out angle as you straddled his legs. His heated eyes jumped from your dripping pussy to your face. He looked dazed and desperate and you felt the same as you kissed him.

His hands gripped at your hips, tugging at you to move closer. "Come here, let me feel you."

"You sure I shouldn't show you some unfairness now?" you teased, palm wrapping around his cock to drag his foreskin over his tip.

The withering look he gave you was priceless. You didn't have any more patience in you either, admittedly, and, after a kiss on his frown, you clambered up his thighs, holding him at your entrance. He pulled you down to himself and you let him, sinking down to wrap yourself around him.

The fact that you were still a dizzy, inebriated mess really hit you once you tried to move in any cohesive way. Your rhythm was sloppy and unrefined as you ground your hips against his, hands gripping his shoulders for balance. The pleasant, heavy drag of him against you was building you back up, regardless.

You grew impatient, though, and quickly became frustrated with the nagging complaints of your muscles, already tired from the day. Javier must have noticed as he gripped your hips into the right position before planting his feet in the dirt to thrust up into you, hitting you at the perfect angle. He fucked into you with a far better rhythm than you had managed, hard and fast. The sudden change of pace had you whimpering out a throaty moan. He kissed you, drinking down the sound with a shushing noise.

"Gotta be quiet," he whispered, chuckling and obviously damn proud of himself. "Still got people on guard duty." You sobered up a fraction of an inch at the thought. You'd forgotten your surroundings, wrapped safely in your addled mind.

A well-aimed thrust from Javier had your attention snapping back to him and slipping back into your own foggy world. You struggled not to let out another noise, only somewhat successful. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hooded eyes focused on you, tracking every twitch and show of ecstasy that slipped over your face.

The tug in your core was becoming more and more insistent with every perfect hit Javier landed. You knew what you needed as you slipped two of your fingers into your mouth. You moved them to your clit, pressing against it and massaging it in rough, hurried circles. It wasn't long before you felt your body tensing and clamoring for the release Javier was pounding you towards.

Your lips stumbled over his name, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to add visual stimuli. "I'm-" was all you managed to skip out before your mouth fell open in a breathy, too-loud moan. Your pussy clenched tightly around him, falling into trembling aftershocks as he kept pace, chasing his own end.

"Fuck, yes, you're so good. You did so good. Feel so good," Javier mumbled, praise slipping out of his mouth mindlessly. His thrusts became deeper, less coordinated. He hissed out a final "fuck," fingers digging into your hips desperately before pulling out and jerking himself onto your thighs.

The pair of you fell to the dirt, exhausted and boneless and feeling so fucking good.

Javier picked up the cigarette from wherever it had landed, wagging it in front of you. "Still have a tiny bit more. You want to finish it with me?"

You grinned. "Fuck yeah, I do."

You wiped your thighs off with your knickers, settling in his lap as you breathed down the last of the cigarette with him, inhales interspersed with kisses and laughter.

Yeah, you were gonna have to find some more of this marihuana shit.

[lsvdw-blog]

Okay (Alternate Ending)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 2k

Warnings; Rating: Angst; General

Premise: The aftermath of MC and Ethan's fight about their date night debacle, with an alternate ending.

Author’s Note: This is Part III of the "Already Here" series with an alternate, very angsty, ending. If you want the happy ending... this is not it 😅 The happy ending can be found here. Thank you to @choiceskatie for helping me bounce ideas and pre-reading!! I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

She struggles to unlock her front door, vision blurry from the tears. She hopes to any and every deity that the apartment is empty as she stumbles through the entrance.

“Serena, you’re home! How did it go?”

Sienna is at the dining room table, jumping excitedly in her seat. Her face falls as she takes in her roommate’s running mascara.

"It didn't go."

“What?"

Serena staggers to the couch, falling face first onto the cushions. "He didn't show…"

"Oh sweetie�� " Sienna stands and makes her way to the couch. Sitting on the unoccupied end, she strokes her best friend’s hair.

“Then, I went to his apartment and we had this huge fight and he called us a mistake," she says through her sobs as she sits up and puts her head on Sienna’s shoulder.

"Do you want to stuff our faces with takeout and junk food and binge watch Marvel movies?"

Serena just sniffs and nods her head.

Two hours later, the television is playing a soft melody as they share their second pint of Ben & Jerry's.

"Even after everything… Steve is Peggy's Lobster, just like Ethan is yours."

Serena looks to her left with incredulity.

"You know! Lobster! They fall in love and mate for life!"

Serena snorts. "Have you seen the claws on those things? Ever been pinched by one? Shit hurts," she says as she puts another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Serena’s dejected voice rings out. “Why does he keep doing this to me?”

Sienna scrunches her nose. "Lobsters always were finicky."

~~~ One Week Later ~~~

“Here are the test results you requested, Dr. Ramsey.”

She places the manila folder in front of him and takes a step back, keeping her head down.

Ethan stares at her for a long moment, willing her to look at him. It’s been like this for the past few days: she only speaks to him when absolutely necessary and avoids eye contact at all costs. When she continues to evade his gaze, he sighs, and opens the folder.

His brows furrow. “This isn’t the test we decided to order.”

“Oh. I'll go fix that right now.” She finally meets his eyes and says, “I must have made a mistake.”

His chest tightens: Did she make a mistake with the test… or with me?

~~~~~~

She approaches the office and knocks softly.

“Come in.”

She slowly pushes open the door and sees Naveen look up.

“Ah, Serena! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my grand-mentee?”

She gives a small smile as she shuts the door behind her. “I was hoping you would have some time to talk.”

“What did he do?”

She spills the story, only stopping halfway through to take the tissue Naveen hands her. After she finishes, she wipes her eyes, and reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out something folded. “And I was hoping you would approve this.”

Naveen unfolds the paper, skimming over it. “A leave of absence?”

She nods. "I'm not asking for this solely because of what happened. I've been homesick for a while now; it was my first holiday season without my family and I haven't seen them since I moved here… and I don't know, I guess what happened with Eth—” she clears her throat, “Dr. Ramsey, was the last straw. It all feels like it's too much: Edenbrook, Boston.” She shakes her head before continuing. “I just… need a break. Please."

Naveen sits back and takes her in. She’s slightly hunched over, strands of hair falling out of her topknot, the concealer no longer hiding her dark circles, and she’s been wringing her hands since she sat down. The woman in front of him is a shell of the usually confident and exuberant young lady he is used to seeing and his heart breaks for her.

“I will grant you this leave of absence.”

She perks up at his words.

“On one condition.”

She eyes him warily.

“When you feel like you have reset, you must return and talk to him. I am not saying you have to make up with him, or even forgive him. Just talk to him about what happened.”

She is unmoving for a few seconds, then nods soberly. “You’re right, I know.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a grand-mentor if I wasn’t, now would I?” He says with a smile.

~~~~~~

Ethan is walking down the corridor to his office, trying to comprehend the words on the file in his hand, but his mind is elsewhere. The sun has long set, but he refuses to go home. To the place where, everywhere he looks, he's reminded of her. It's not like he'll be able to sleep anyways; he's lost count of how many sleepless nights he's had since their argument, tossing and turning for hours, as her side of the bed remains tucked and cold.

Not only has he been unable to sleep, he's been unable to focus on anything but her: her melodic laugh lilting through the hospital corridors, her sweet perfume lingering in the office, her animated way of chatting with anybody but him.

He opens the office door and a voice in the back of his head reminds him: You miss her, you idiot.

He rubs his bleary eyes and looks at his watch. 8:09pm.

He groans and goes to sit at his desk when a purple sticky note catches his eye. There, scrawled in her loopy half-cursive is a note: Need some space.

He immediately grabs his bag and rushes to the parking garage, hoping he's not too late.

~~~~~~

He knocks urgently, stepping backwards as the door swings open.

"Dr. Trinh, hello. Is Serena here? I really need to speak with her."

Sienna stands there, unblinking.

He awkwardly clears his throat and begins to try and look into and around the apartment.

Sienna follows his movements, trying, and failing, to block his line of sight.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that Dr. Ramsey."

Before he can speak, she continues: “Even if she hadn’t left yet, she wouldn’t want to speak with you anyways.”

His blue eyes turn a shade stormier at this information. “What do you mean ‘if she hadn’t left—”

“Nothing!” Sienna goes to close the door, but is stopped by Ethan’s hand.

“Dr. Trinh. Sienna… please.”

His eyes are conveying a plethora of unspoken pleas, and after a few beats, she sighs.

“She’s at the airport.”

“What? Where is she going? For how long?”

“She’s going home and she didn’t say.” She shrugs.

Ethan immediately turns on his heel.

"Flight 936!" Sienna yells after him as he sprints back to his car.

He hurriedly weaves between the leisurely drivers and dodges through the lackadaisical travelers in the airport lobby, stopping in front of an information screen. His eyes scan the monitor furiously until he sees it.

Flight 936: Boarding Now.

He bolts to the nearest desk, buying the next available flight, and rushes through security.

He's running like a madman, frantically looking for her, hoping that she hasn't boarded yet.

He arrives at the designated gate area, but she's nowhere to be found. He's about to approach the help desk when a familiar voice rings out from behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

It’s not lost on him that she utters the same words he so callously said to her in front of his apartment that night.

He heaves a sigh of relief. He turns towards her, taking a step forward, only for her to take a step back, and the small smile on his face fades.

“I need to explain myself.”

“It’s a little too late for that.” She begins to walk around him.

Ethan lightly catches her wrist, stopping her. “Rookie… I know I've hurt you, innumerable times, and I am so sorry. Please hear me out and if you still want to leave afterwards, I will buy you a new ticket home.”

She looks into his imploring orbs and sees nothing but honesty. She continues to stare at him silently.

“I didn’t mean it, I—"

She gives a dry laugh. “Oh, come on. Surely you know that phrase not only disregards your behavior, but also dismisses the pain it has caused.”

He shakes his head in disagreement and opens his mouth to refute when she removes her wrist from his hold.

“Ethan, you have always been brutally honest. With interns when they’ve made a mistake, pharmaceutical reps when they’re trying to schmooze you, and with me, concerning the nature of our relationship. So I believe you. I believe that you know you’ve hurt me. I believe that you’re sorry. I believe that you want to make things right.”

He’s unsure of where she’s going with this and his palms are sweaty from the anticipation.

“But I also believed you the other night. Why wouldn’t I when you’ve never shied away from delivering the truth? No matter how painful.”

Her voice gets smaller at the end of her statement.

“But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? You are honest to a fault and that’s wounded me more times than I can count anymore.”

His breathing is shallow, heart feeling like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“There is a grain of truth in every joke, Ethan, and although I know you weren't joking that night, the sentiment still stands: we mean what we say."

"I made a grave error that night, but I'm here now.” He takes a step towards her. “I ran through the airport to find you before you left and I'm here, in front of you, and I mean it when I say that I want you to stay." His eyes are pleading with her.

"What would you have done? If I had chased you through the airport when you left for the Amazon? Would you still have abandoned me?* Abandoned us?"

His jaw goes slack at her challenge. He wills himself to speak, say anything, but his mouth is dry. Overflowing with guilt, he looks away.

She was sure her heart couldn’t break any further, but it splinters just a bit more at his silence.

She nods in resignation.

"I thought so," she whispers.

She takes a shuddering breath, steeling herself for what she is about to say next.

“It’s clear now, Ethan. I respect you and your feelings, but it’s obvious the same can’t be said for you about me. I keep waiting and hoping that someday, you’ll give me the same effort I have given to you, to us. But I am so exhausted from getting my hopes up, only to have them crash back down each and every time. I fell for you, slowly at first, then all at once. But each time that I fell a bit further, the cuts got deeper, and you were never there to pick or patch me up until the scars had already formed."

He's panicking now, eyes frantically searching her face.

She sighs. "I just… I am always the one getting my heart ripped out. Down this road? I won't survive." She shakes her head. "I can't do it anymore."

Tears are pooling in his eyes. No. No no no.

"I can't do this," she motions between them, "anymore."

The intercom sputters to life. "This is the final boarding call for flight 936 to Kansas City."

She grabs her suitcase.

"Serena," he places his hand on top of hers, momentarily stopping her. "Please don't leave me. Please don't leave us," his voice breaks and his eyes shine with unshed tears.

She shakes her head slowly. "There is no us. Not anymore." 

She moves her hand and suitcase out from under his, and turns around, showing her plane ticket to be scanned. Ethan watches her disappear down the jetway, with a single tear sliding down his face, as he's left standing there, alone.

~~~~~~

*Disclaimer: Huge thank you to @choiceskatie for this line!!!