#jean: i’ve got to live now

[codename-adler]

neil josten:

i survived despite

they tried to kill me and they failed

i never thought i’d escape

i outlived my fate

I’m A Survivor (‘This Is A Dream Come True’ Version)

jean moreau:

i survived despite

they tried to kill me and they failed

i never thought i’d escape

i outlived my fate

I’m A Survivor (‘This Is A Living Nightmare’ Version)

can you hear the difference now?

P.S.:

[skinreflectsthesun]

.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

unpopular opinion maybe, but personally I think it is WAY past time for the Super Tight Butt Jeans thing to fade into obscurity.

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[hashtagcigarette]

Lisa Frank

summary: joel doesn't like you poking fun at his age. you make it your mission to prove to him that his age isn't a point against him.

warnings: unprotected piv, lil makeout sesh, reader is afab & able bodied but otherwise not described, pet names (angel, little girl, kid (once... dont look at me), baby, etc.), joel smokes, lowkey sub!joel for a second before he finds his voice lol, creampie, im probably forgetting some sorry folks

word count: 3k

note: this is truly just pure filth and a very small teenie weenie bit of plot surrounding joel's insecurity about his age. im horny for old peepaw joel what can i say. also i havent posted fic on tumblr in like 6 years so,,,, hello? ++ no beta we die like men or whatever they're saying now.

The ground between the small, square plots in your neighborhood became soft and jagged with fresh grass in the late spring, absent only in the shadows of the trailers and in the places where kiddie pools filled with hose water flattened the growth against the earth. You had a kiddie pool against your will– when your air conditioning had gone out, Joel had dropped a pink, plastic one at your front door with a sticky note inside that read, “DON’T DIE OF HEAT STROKE”.

And as trashy as it looked in your front yard between the orange picnic table and the rusted wire clothesline, you couldn’t help but stumble into it most mornings when you woke up sweating. You liked it even more when you had the willpower to drive to the liquor store and get a bag of ice to dump into it. This morning in particular, you’d even grabbed yourself an ice cream sandwich.

The freshly risen sun projected a yellow-orange hue through the high grass and onto the soles of your bare feet as they poked from the edge of the pool, the angle at which it shone reminiscent of six-ish-AM. Joel would be leaving for work soon, you knew, and your eyes rested on his front door as you slid your ice cream sandwich out of its wrapper.

He was one of the only neighbors you (sometimes) got along with. There was something about a stranger in town that gave folks the creeps, he had said, though you’d lived there a year already and no one seemed to be getting any friendlier.

As if you’d made it happen with your mind, a few seconds after you’d glanced in the direction of Joel’s trailer, the door swung open and smacked against the wall. His work shirt waved through the air like a flag as he tossed it over his shoulder, descending the steps in only a white undershirt and a pair of jeans that had absolutely seen better days. The jingle of his keys as he shoved them into his pocket was the only sound, save for the soft trickle of the hose into your pool.

You grinned as he stepped out from beneath the overhang and into the light. He put a cigarette into his mouth, looking you over.

“This is gluttony if I’ve ever seen it,” he said, fishing a lighter out of his pocket.

You forced a frown, flicking water onto his pant leg with your toe. “You bought the pool.”

“Yeah. Just didn’t expect the ice cream sandwich.” His lighter was red and dented, glinting in the sun as he flicked it beneath his thumb. Bending at the waist, he shielded his smoke from the breeze with a broad hand and rolled the sparkwheel in a continuous tempo, clicking and clicking and clicking as the sound of the hose dripping into the pool droned on.

You huffed, pushing yourself up on your arms. “C’mere. I got one.”

And boy, did you. It was a gaudy thing encrusted with purple rhinestones and a ripoff-Lisa-Frank decal, and it reflected the sunlight from the green, metal table that sat beside the kiddie pool. He knelt in the grass as you reached for it, watching your nearly bare body stretch and your wet hand tighten around the lighter’s bedazzled surface.

Resting his arm over his knee, he offered his hand, palm-up, and you placed the lighter into it with a grin.

“I think it’s your style,” you chirped, biting your ice cream sandwich as he looked the thing over.

He shook his head and lit his smoke, biting down on the filter like an amputee would bite down on a scrap of leather. “How’d you know? Think it goes with my outfit?”

“Oh, yeah. Pink brings out yer eyes. Makes you look younger.”

“Younger?” Joel wiggled his eyebrows, puffing out a ring of smoke and placing the lighter back into your hand. “How much younger, you reckon?”

Mocking thought, you pressed your finger to your chin, looking him over through your eyebrows. “You could pass for seventy five, give or take a couple’a years.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, little girl.”

“Okay, fine. Sixty.”

He shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder as the sun rose steadily over the hill behind the parking lot. It must’ve been nearly seven by then, making him nearly late to work.

You wiggled your toes, thumbing ice cream from the corner of your mouth and then licking it off. “Maybe fifty nine, if you’re lucky.”

“I am fifty nine.”

“Yeowch. Sorry.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched, sweat reflecting the morning light and accentuating the nearly invisible motion as he suckled the filter of his cigarette. When he glanced back at you, brown eyes blinking slowly in true kicked-puppy fashion, you giggled.

“‘M sorry. Didn’t know your age was a sore subject.”

“‘S not a sore subject.”

“Seems like it is.”

Joel exaggerated his pout, batting his eyes as he took a slow drag and blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “You’re just kickin’ an old man when he’s down, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you poor baby.” You cupped his jaw with your wet hand, soothing the coase facial hair beneath your thumb as a faux sob fell from his lips. His acting was a little sub-par (and he was much less funny than he realized, carrying on like he was) but Joel knew how to pull on your heart strings. Clicking your tongue, you said, “I don’t think you’re too old, honey. You’re just right.”

The pretend look of devastation remained on his face even as his eyes opened, both sides of his mouth contorting downwards into a pathetic glower. “Just right for what?”

But then you were too close to him, and his face was in your palm, and he was realizing that you hadn’t really touched him before this as you took a slow bite of your ice cream sandwich with your free hand. He could feel the bit falling away for a moment, face falling as you inched closer, heat pressing down on the both of you from all sides as the sun continued to rise.

You clicked your tongue again, grinning. “For a Lisa Frank lighter.”

Joel’s face faltered yet again, wide eyes blinking at you as you started to laugh. He cleared his throat, blinking. “Oh. Real funny.”

Your shoulders vibrated and you hung your head as you giggled, tossing the half-eaten ice cream sandwich into the grass beside the pool. “Wait–” you said with a smile in your voice as he started to stand, the hand on his face trailing down to his collar to pull him back down.

Joel, who had stopped thinking this was funny several moments ago, swallowed hard, watching as you flicked your sticky fingers in the water. He met your eyes again sheepishly when you said his name, sweat reflecting the blinding sun at his temple.

“Joel,” you said, still smiling. “I’m kidding. I’m sorry.”

And as needlessly embarrassed as he felt, he still couldn’t help but relish the feeling of you cupping his face, holding him with one hand as, with the other, you fidgeted and flicked beads of water into the air. You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Let me show you what I think you’re just right for, hm?”

And that was how he ended up in your trailer, sitting on the edge of your bed, becoming more and more late to work as the minutes crawled by. You straddled his lap, facing him, holding his jaw in your hands and looking him over with exaggerated admiration.

Joel was sweating, and he was sure that even if your air conditioning hadn’t been broken and even if it hadn’t been over a hundred out that day, he still would’ve felt feverish. His hands held your hips in a vice grip, nervous twitch entirely evident as his left wrist vibrated against you.

You gnawed on your lower lip, fingers moving up to thread into his hair.

When you breathed out a hushed “You’re so pretty”, it elicited from him the smallest of chuckles, only slightly audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. As if testing the waters, he slid his hand from your hip to your waist, squeezing you there instead.

“Oh yeah?” He dug the tips of his fingers into your damp skin, blunt nails and calluses pressing just a bit too hard, surely leaving marks.

Your bathing suit was an old red one, something you’d bought for yourself before you’d moved to Austin, something loose and outrageously easy to untie. Joel’s tremor was the only thing keeping you from tearing it from your body and tossing it to the floor– you didn’t want to scare him off. “Yeah,” you parotted, petting the scruff on his cheek with the gentlest pressure. Then, impatiently: “You wanna kiss me, cowboy?”

Joel swallowed, body becoming tense again beneath you. His face warmed beneath your fingers as he nodded, fingers drumming at your side. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, meeting your gaze. “Yes. Please.”

You’d pictured kissing him before– it was something you did in secret, watching him from the window beside your bed in the evenings when he’d get home late from work, waiting for him to come back out with a beer and sit on his front steps. It was something you were embarrassed of and something you would never ever tell him about, but your fantasies stirred in the back of your mind as you finally did kiss him, pressing up onto your knees with his face in your hands.

He was more timid than you’d imagined, but you weren’t surprised by this. Anyone would seem timid compared to the way you’d pictured him– rugged, aggressive, uncaring as he took what he needed. That was the Joel you made up in your head when you touched yourself at night.

This Joel was visibly nervous, hand still trembling against your waist as he returned the kiss, soft lips drinking you in. This Joel pressed you against him like you might fall away, kissed you back unsteadily at first, but quickly gained confidence. This Joel, as the moments dragged on, brought his shaking hands up to hold your head, to steady the both of you.

You could feel him relaxing as you licked into his mouth and pride swelled in your chest, pressing out of you like steam escaping a whistling kettle. Your hands found his shoulders and, breaking away, you squeezed them, ensuring he was entirely real.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed against his lips, eyes flicking open, searching his features for any hint of hesitation.

He met your gaze with a small smile and, to your surprise, gripped the back of your neck with an unyielding fervor, pressing you towards him again and laying a wet kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Oh yeah?” he said again with a grin seeping through his features.

The tremor in his wrist had calmed somewhat, you noticed as you reached back and took his free hand from your waist, threading your fingers together. He guided you with this hand, pushing you gently off of him and onto your bed where you landed flat on your back. Your wet bathing suit surely left spots of water on the quilt beneath you, but no part of you cared enough to pay it any mind.

As Joel crawled over you, callused hands running over your bare stomach, you smiled at him.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” you asked, reaching for his face again as he dipped down to kiss you.

His fingers ran down your middle, gingerly dancing over your bikini bottoms. “Been thinkin’ about you since the day you moved in, darlin’.” The tips of his fingers dragged tortuously lower, splitting the seam of your cunt with his knuckles through the fabric. Gently, he cupped your mound, pressing his palm against you as he buried his face in your neck. “Spread your legs, angel. Be good f’me.”

You did as he said, even as a smirk crossed your face. It took everything in you to mutter “Be good?” as he pressed his thick fingers against your slit again, bikini bottoms digging against your little nub with the most delicious friction. Attempting to regain your composure as he worked you, you continued: “Don’t get cocky, old man.”

“Oh, none’a that,” said Joel as one finger ventured beneath the fabric, exploring your slick. The timid Joel seemed to have disappeared completely, having been replaced by whoever the hell this was. “You speak to your elders with respect, you understand?”

You keened, partly at his words and partly at the feeling of his callused fingertip brushing over your clit, pressing the bud in what seemed to be an experimental manner. As he began to prod your button, movements jerky and desperate, his free hand gripped the back of your neck.

“Come on,” he said, meeting your eyes with a self-satisfied grin. “Tell me you understand. Say ‘yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” you complied immediately.

“That’s what I wanna hear, kid. That’s it.”

He worked you for a minute or so, enjoying the feel of your little bud beneath his fingertips, and a frankly pitiful whimper escaped you when his hand retreated from between your legs. Squirming, you brought your knees to your chest, watching as his hands found his belt.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked as he slid the leather from the loops on his jeans, discarding it on the dirty carpet and fishing for his zipper.

“Please, Joel.” Your voice was nothing more than a harsh whisper, floating from you as you watched him jerk his jeans down his hips.

He was leaning over you again before you could get a glimpse of his cock, pulling himself out of his boxers as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it– slipping between your wet lips, bulbous head pressing against your clit. “So polite,” he said, trembling as he ran himself up and down your slit. “Say it again.”

“Please.”

You must’ve asked nicely enough because then he was inching forward, pressing the fat head of his cock into you with no regard for the painful stretch, relishing in the pull of your little hole around him. A strangled sound left his mouth, whimpers pouring out of him like water from a broken tap.

You winced at the stretch, gripping his shirt in two closed fists. He gave you a distracted glare when a “fuck” escaped you, leaning over you and caging you in with both broad arms.

“Language,” he said, though as close as he was to bottoming out, your curses didn’t deter him.

When he was fully inside, pulsing length filling you entirely and stretching your poor hole to oblivion, he only paused for a moment before he began to move. Sweat gleamed off his forehead, reflecting the morning light from your bedroom window like soft, slick glitter and accentuating the concentrated twitch of the muscles in his jaw.

The pull of his cock dragging slowly out of your hole had you scrambling for purchase, arms looping around the back of his neck. “Joel. Jesus–”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, shushing you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You can take it. Just ease into it.”

“Want it so bad,” you panted as he moved back in, feeling his tip rip its way through you again on its trajectory to your cervix. You shook, feeling his lips trail down your jaw. “Want you to force it in, Joel.”

This made him laugh under his breath, a deep chuckle that reverberated against the low ceiling. He met your eyes with a grin as he pressed himself deeper, enjoying the way your face contorted. “You’re real fucked up, you know that, baby?”

“You like it,” you breathed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Yeah, I do.”

As you relaxed around him, Joel found a pace somewhere between painfully slow and forcefully ragged, something steady that made you keen and squirm beneath his broad form. He pumped himself into you like every stroke was the most important one, brows knit together in concentration, feeling every bit of you drag up and down his massive length.

“So tight, angel. Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. The big arms that pressed the mattress down on either side of your head tightened and relaxed, pulsing in time with his strokes. “Not gonna last too long, little girl.”

The look that you gave him made him shake his head, gritting his back teeth. “Not gonna cum in you,” he said sternly, though the slam of his hips said otherwise.

You bit the inside of your cheek, brows knitting together. “How come?”

“What do you mean, how come, girl?”

“‘M on the pill.”

“‘S the principal of the thing, kid,” he hissed through his teeth, hanging his head as he fucked into you. His strokes were becoming sloppy and forceful, body slapping against yours with reckless, cacophonous abandon. “Fuck, ‘m close. Where do you want it?”

“In me.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not bein’ funny.”

Each time he thrust into your little hole, a whine left you, fingers threading uncoordinatedly through his hair. Meeting his eyes, you craned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, tongue darting out to lick into his mouth. “Please, Joel,” you whimpered, watching as his face lost any look of composure. “Want your cum in me.”

“Angel.” A warning.

“Please.”

Joel hung his head once more, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck, hands coming to grip your waist so tightly that his fingers would leave faint bruises. His resolve was slipping; his hips twitched, jerking as he pressed into you.

“Fuck. Okay, baby. Okay.”

And then his orgasm was ripping through him, making his muscles spasm and his face go slack. His cum was thick and hot, shooting from his cock like a medication drip and filling your hole to the point of overflow. Each time you thought he was done, another spurt hit your insides, ripping a low whine from deep in his chest.

When he finally collapsed on top of you, cock softening, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. His grip on your waist still hadn't loosened, still holding you in place as he panted.

You watched the muscles in his back rise and fall, moving with his rapid breath, heart hammering against you. His greying hair caught the morning light, compelling you to put your fingers in it, to brush it back tenderly from his face.

“Thought you had work,” you said quietly, fingers dancing at the base of his neck.

Joel snorted. His eyes were closed. “Thought you thought I was too old.”

“You know I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

[softspokendove]

Sit on my lap

parings: innocent!reader x rafe cameron

summary: you’ve always had a thing for Rafes thighs, but you can’t control it anymore.

warnings: smut, thigh riding, hickeys, reader is super horny, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, pretty girl), and a lot of wetness.

a/n: this is my first time writing anything like this so hopefully you enjoy!

“Hey baby.” You feel Rafes arms wrap around your waist and pull you towards him, the rest of his body spread out and sitting down on your white couch. “I’ve missed you.” He mumbles his words into your tummy as he presses his face into your shirt, inhaling your smell.

You’ve been out all day running your errands, which Rafe had practically begged you to allow him to come. you just responded with it being a girls day and you wanted some time alone with your girls. He reluctantly agreed and has been waiting alone at your house all day. To say he was excited when he heard your key turning in the keyhole was an understatement. He felt like a dog.

You run your fingers through his hair feeling him sigh against you, “I’ve missed you too. I got a new dress.” He lifts his head slightly so his blue eyes can meet yours. A small smile appears on his face, “really? let me see it baby, go try it on.”

You happily agree and run into the bathroom to step out of your shirt and shorts, into the newly bought clothing. You look into the mirror at the white dress with colorful designs splattered onto it. The dress ends right before your mid thigh and has an open back. The straps being very thin.

You walk back into your living room and see Rafe comfortably leaning back into the couch with his legs spread apart, causing your eyes to stare at his thighs for a little too long. His face lights up at the scene of you in a pretty dress all for his view.

“You look so pretty.” He gestures with his finger to do twirl, you listen and move swiftly around in a circle giving him everything to see. When you stand still again straight in front of him his eyes wander everywhere before they land back on your face.

“My pretty girl, come here.” He pats his right thigh and opens his arms, welcoming you onto his body. You put one leg on either side of his, now straddling his thigh. He rests his right hand on your hip to keep you steady and his left hand comes up to your face, caressing your cheek.

“Do you like it?” You could tell from his face as soon as you walked in the room that he loved it, but there’s nothing you love more than hearing your boyfriend approve of you and praise you.

“It’s beautiful, you have good taste.” His hand drops from your face and fiddles with the material of the dress. Moving his pointing finger and thumb in a circle motion around it.

Your gaze drops down again and onto his thighs that are strained against the confinements of his jeans. There’s always been something with you and your boyfriend’s thighs. Your tummy would get twisted every time Rafe would ask you to sit on his lap. Whenever he wore shorts you couldn’t help but stare, especially when he’d sit down and they would expand. You’ve never told him about the attraction, too embarrassed of it.

You move to adjust your spot on his lap to get more comfortable, but feel your panties cling to your cunt. Your folds and panties already being covered in your slick. You feel your face get hot at the thought of Rafe finding out about your little secret, but he picks up on your behavior.

“hey sweetheart, look at me.”

You hear him and you do want to listen, but your eyes can’t pull away from his thigh being trapped between yours. You know that if you look him in the eye he’ll know something’s up. He knows you too well.

You feel his hand cup your chin and tilt your face up himself. You look away for a moment but give in to the need to look at him. His eyes are already piercing into yours. He sees the state that you’re in. Your rosy cheeks, dilated eyes, lips open a gap as your breathing is uneven.

“Rafe.”

The need in your stomach starting to become too much to handle, you rock yourself slightly upward and let out a sigh at the friction. Rafe moves the bottom of your dress away from where your pussy meets his thigh, getting a perfect view of your drenched pink underwear.

“Fuck baby you’ve ruined your underwear.” His voice is now a tone deeper and that mixed with his words make you let out a small moan. “Here let’s get you out of these.” Rafe hooks his fingers into the waistband of your undies and starts to pull them down, you lift your body off of his to help.

“There we go.” He tosses the pink clothing to the floor and try’s to place you higher up near his waist but you whine and push against his strength, moving back to his right thigh when he loosens up. The feeling of his jeans touching your bare cunt gives you a rush of euphoria. Rafe gives you a confused look until you start subtly rocking back and forth on his thigh. Trying to keep it as unnoticeable as possible but having no luck when Rafe starts to feel the dampness moving on his leg.

A smirk then plays on his face, “do you like rubbing yourself on my thigh?” A whine escapes your throat at his dirty words.

“Please.” You didn’t know what exactly you were begging for, all you know is that you need him. You need to feel his thigh harder against your pussy. You need to cum.

“Please what baby? What do you want?”

You huff out, “you. I need you, Rafe. Please.”

You feel his hand that’s on your waist move down to your hip and tighten, he then starts helping you move yourself back and forth. You moan at the new feeling. Your clit being rubbed back and forth by the material of his pants. “Hold your dress up for me sweetheart, I wanna see the mess you’re making.” You oblige and hold up the bottom of your dress, giving your boyfriend the show that he wanted.

Rafe wets his lips at the sight of your pussy leaving a dark stain on his pants, starting to feel it go through the jeans and onto his skin. He brings up his other hand to the other side of your hip and pushes you further down onto his thigh. This causes you to squeal and put a hand on his bicep to stabilize you, the other hand still holding up your dress.

“God you look so good.” He increases the speed, dragging you from the top of his thigh to the bottom then back to the top. You feel your eyes roll back into your head as your moans become more and more desperate. You crane your neck back towards the ceiling and Rafe takes this to his advantage and brings his lips to your neck. He gives you a few light kisses before applying more pressure and then sucking slightly before moving on to the next spot.

He goes further down to the neck of your dress, pulling down the material with his teeth, still keeping you moving on his thigh. Your tits fall freely and he takes one nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirly his tongue around. You moan in response to the abuse he applies to one nipple and then moves to the next doing the same thing. “R-Rafe, ‘feels so good.”

He moans against your boob as a reply before moving back up and marking your neck. When he feels you have enough hickeys he sits back in his spot and feels his dick pulse rapidly by seeing the look of bliss on your face. Your eyes are dark, cheeks even more red than earlier, and you’re biting your lip trying to reduce how loud you are. “Baby what did I say about doing that?” He pulls your lip down and out of your reach to bite down on it, “I want to hear all the noises you make. Tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

Your mouth drops open as you hit your clit just right and let moans slip past your lips. “Faster, please.” Rafe follows your command and helps guide you faster on his body. The couch creaking with each move. His whole thigh now covered in your slick. “Look at that, you like this baby?” You nod your head rapidly. Your mind turning blank all you can think about is your boyfriend’s thigh and how good it’s making you feel.

“I love it. I’ve always wanted to do this. feels so good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at your honesty. “You’ve been wanting to ride my thigh like this? Do you like my thighs?” You whine loudly and nod your head again. Unable to respond with words at the increasing feeling in your lower stomach.

“Such a needy girl.”

Rafe can tell you’re getting close, he starts shaking his thigh up and down to match your movement. “Please, please, I’m gonna cum.” Your grip tightens on Rafes bicep and your eyes drop down onto the mess you’re making on your boyfriend. “Cum on my thigh pretty girl, I wanna feel your cum drip all over me.” The sight alone pushes you closer to the edge but that mixed with Rafes deep voice and the constant pleasure being applied to your clit sends you falling off of it hard. You scream out in pleasure as your orgasm rips through you, making your body tremble as you ride out the high.

The room gets quiet the only noise to be heard is your heaving breathing as you come down. Rafe lifts you up and sees strings of your release clinging to his pants and your cunt. His pants are horribly ruined but he doesn’t even care, “holy shit. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“More.”

He furrows his eyebrows, “what baby?”

“I want more of you.” You bend down and start to undo his jeans.

He sighs in satisfaction of his cock not being restrained anymore. Fuck is he thankful that he waited for you to come home.

[sincerelyneo]

golden hour | l.mk

“i’ve got a really big problem…”

💿now playing: golden hour by mark

❯ summary: Mark’s got a really big problem; you. The pretty neighbour that shares a bedroom wall with him. You’re a night owl and you’re so loud and are you…listening to his music whilst masturbating…? Fuck now he’s hard. Guess he’s got two really big problems.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: neighbours, smut

❯ words: 2.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, masturbation, mark’s a loser for the plot, very explicit details of sexual fantasies, reader uses she/her pronouns and female gendered terms, literally just mark being horny whilst reader gets off to his song.

Mark needs to move out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take the old run-down building his apartment is located in having no working elevator. If you’d have told him two years ago when he signed his dream music contract with a real record label that he’d be climbing six flights of stairs after a long week of work he’d have called you a liar. But that’s what happens when people aren’t listening to your music. 

Maybe he's overreacting; the building isn’t that terrible. It has its perks—like the pretty view. And it’s usually quiet—well, it was until his lively new neighbor moved in. Mark might have thought of you as a perk when he first saw you, considering you’re exactly his type, so fucking beautiful. But you’re also so fucking loud.

You always seem to have something going on—plans, hobbies, parties, meetings, friends. Mark knows because the walls between you and him are thin, and you’re never quiet, never still. At first, he thought it was kind of cute, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he’s been so distracted by how attracted he is to you, he’s been letting your noisy lifestyle slide.

It’s not like he wants to knock on your door and ask you to keep it down; he’s too worried you’d think he’s some kind of loser. Even at twenty-five, he still craves female validation like he’s a high schooler—so he’s been putting up with the sleepless nights. Another reason why he needs to move asap. 

The lack of sleep, combined with the endless stairs, has left Mark drained this past month. He can practically hear his sofa calling his name, can taste the cold bottles of beer that sit in his fridge as he reaches the top step. He may be a tad out of breath and a little sweaty but he’s got the weekend off and that’s all he can think about. But unlike you, Mark’s life is boring. The most exciting thing about his weekend is the idea of not having to climb his complex’s stairs until Monday. 

Meh. He could dwell on the mundane schedule of his life for hours but he gets distracted. Distracted by his pretty little nightmare neighbour. 

You're all dressed up in a tight gold dress that clings to every inch of your body. Your hair falls down your back as you lock your door, tucking the keys into the tiny clutch hanging from your shoulder.

That’s when you notice him too.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him softly, offering a bright and friendly smile. 

Mark returns it, his chest swelling. There's no denying you’re a beautiful girl. And although he’s overheard your phone calls about parties through the thin walls, and the hum of your hair dryer as you get ready for nights out, he’s never actually seen you in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. He’s never been given the opportunity to see you so dolled up, to notice the little love handles he can all of a sudden imagine himself gripping. He clears his throat and smiles wider.

“Hi Y/N…you look nice!” He compliments kindly, fingers fiddling with his own keys. 

Nice? 

The word replays in his mind. He’s spent endless nights thinking about how beautiful you are and now he’s finally got to feed his craving of seeing you in tight clothes but the only word he can muster up is nice? Oh he hates himself. 

But then he sees you blush at the comment, and he loves the way you purse your lips, trying to hide a shy smile. A part of him is annoyed that you’re blushing over something so simple—he thinks every man should be showering you with compliments, and you should expect more than nice. Still, there’s something about the way you squirm from his words that has his cock throbbing.

He wonders if it’s because you’re attracted to him too. It’s not completely out of the question. You know who he is, of course you do. You see each other in passing a lot but you’ve also spoken on the day you moved in. Mark remembers it like it was yesterday. 

He could hear you panting and cursing in the hall, hauling boxes up and down the stairs before he came out to help. You didn’t recognise him at first, not until he was in your apartment setting boxes down.

That’s when you turned to him with wide eyes and a breathy, “oh wow, aren’t you the dude that sang ‘Golden Hour’?”

Mark started blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. He’d never encountered a fan in person before, he had a small community online, but his music hadn’t exactly been taking off like he planned. So you can imagine his surprise when his new (extremely attractive) neighbour knew one of his songs. 

“Thank you,” your soft voice breaks him from his memory, and moves his focus. “Just a night out with the girls, been a long week,” you sigh. 

He wants to hear all about your long week, wants to be the one to make it better—maybe convince you to skip the girls’ night and spend it with him instead. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even let the thought linger for more than a moment before he’s nervously tapping his key against his thumb.

“Well have fun, and be safe,” he settles on tenderly. 

You nod with a small smile, giving a gentle wave before turning to leave. He watches you until you’ve rounded the corner, only then unlocking his door and kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

Mark grabs a bottle of beer from the kitchen, kicking the fridge door closed behind him. His entire apartment is dark and it reminds him of the loneliness he’s been feeling for the last six months. Mark never really thought about love and relationships before he met you. Sure, he likes to fool around as much as the next person, but he’s always been fine with being on his own. But you remind him of the lonely. 

He’s never longed for love and friendships but a secret part of him craves a woman by his side… craves the woman next door.

He wonders what it’d be like for you to be cuddled into his side as you watch a movie. Wonders if you’d laugh at certain parts and crane your neck up to pepper tender kisses to his soft lips. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tries to rid the thoughts of you from his mind.

But it’s proven a little more difficult when he moves from the couch to take a shower and the water is running down his tense and naked body. He struggles to not think about you on your knees, touching his thick cock and kissing up his thighs.

He has to swallow back the lump in his throat and blinks away the urge to touch himself to the thought of you. He refuses to be that kind of guy. He’s not that kind of guy. So he gets out the shower and does the only thing he likes doing — music. 

Mark tries out new melodies on his guitar, humming broken lyrics and soft tunes he’ll be sure to show his producer on Monday. After a while he catches sight of the clock on the wall and it’s already a little past midnight. After locking his doors he’s crawling into bed and ready to sleep; but then he hears something. 

A soft giggle muffled from the wall behind his head. 

Mark’s fully aware the two of you share the same wall for your beds, rooms mirroring each other, but he’s never heard this kind of sweet giggle fall from your lips so late at night. He tries not to let the sound affect him, but there’s only one reason why a girl like you could be giggling at this hour after a night out. 

You’ve brought someone home? But Mark can’t hear a man’s voice, not even the slightest grunt or groan of male muttering. He can only hear soft giggling slipping from his favourite pair of lips.

And then he hears a robotic voice announcing that the Bluetooth is successfully connected and he knows he’s about to hear your fuck playlist. The thought sends a thrill through his body and he knows he’s unlikely going to get any sleep tonight.

He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to you getting off, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.

“Give me my A course, ice is so big like a glacier” 

You’re giggling again and he can hear your body fall against the sheets of the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall his is. It creaks under your weight, and Mark feels the wall tremble slightly as your bed frame knocks against his wall.

He’s tried so hard not to be that guy, but his hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he takes off his boxers, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.

He hears your soft whimpers, can hear you hum in appreciation even over the buzzing of your vibrator and the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more; the fact that he can hear you getting off and moaning out, or that you’re listening to him while trying to cum. 

Either way, his hand is wrapped tight around his thick length, thumbing over his oozing tip. He thinks of how you must be, how you’d look completely whilst naked and sprawled out on the bed for him. Mark imagines himself on top of you, kissing your perky tits he loves to think about and wrapping his lips around your swollen nipples. His mind feels like it can taste you on his tongue, can feel your dainty fingers tugging at his hair as he laps you.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp loud enough for him to hear.  

It makes him imagine your eyes rolling back when he finally fucks himself inside your tight little cunt, he visions the look of ecstasy on your face when your jaw would become completely slack and your body quivers for him. He knows you’d feel him deep in your stomach. He knows he’d be so big for you. 

“Fuck,” he slips out in a desperate pant.

He’s completely breathless, tugging at his dick, spitting down on it to get it all wet for you. He knows you’re so much wetter on the other side of the damn wall, and that he’d rather be sinking into your wet pussy but his spit would have to do. 

He throws his head back in his pillow, eyes shut tight, allowing his mind to work over time. 

“Fuck, Mark… I need it.”

Everything feels surreal, like he’s in his own personal heaven with a touch of hell. You’re crying out for more, for him, begging for it deeper, harder, and he finds himself fucking into his fist just as desperately. Like his soft palm is your silky pussy.

Mark can’t focus on anything other than your sweet fucking cries that sound otherwordly against his song. It makes him think about how much he’d love to record your moans, use them in his next song. But then he’d never be able to release it — because they’re his to hear. 

It’s when the bridge starts that you really let yourself go, filthy fucking moans, the speed of the vibrator increasing, and God he wishes he could watch you right now. See you trembling and begging as the instrumental plays out loud and hard. 

He can’t handle it.

Gruff moans are slipping past his lips and he does nothing to try and conceal them. The muscles in his arm are burning but he fucks his cock harder, imaging what it’d be like to feel his balls slap against your ass as he pounds into you.

He can feel the coil tightening in his stomach, the way his cock starts to twitch. His imagination grows wild and filthy, every single fantasy he’s tried locking away to not be that guy now flooding his mind because you’re that girl. 

That girl that’s using his music to cum. That girl that wants to hear his voice as she gets off. That girl who’s doing it with no shame, no guilt. That girl that’s using him. 

The thought takes Mark’s mind to sinful places. “Take it,” he can hear himself seeth through gritted teeth. He imagines you begging for his cum, taking it like the good fucking girl you are.

“Ugh, fuuckk I’m cumming!” Mark cries out gruffly through strangled moans and he hears your screams follow.

Your bed is creaking louder than before and he knows your thighs have got to be trembling as you cum around your vibrator. Mark’s hand and thighs are covered in thick ribbons of white arousal and when his eyes flutter open, through his blotched vision, he imagines seeing you kneeling between his thighs and licking it up.

He’s completely fucked as he hears his song mellow out and you aren’t moaning anymore. Instead, he can hear  breathless little pants. He stays where he is for a second, eager to see what else he can hear. But there’s nothing — only complete and utter silence.

Mark doesn’t sleep the entire night. He can’t. He’s kept awake with the guilt of listening to his pretty neighbour. Or is it with the thrill of knowing it was his voice that got you off that's making him so restless? 

[vunblr]

The Price of Silence (Blue-collar Bucky #1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk.

Summary: Porn with a little plot, what can I say.

Word Count: 9k.

notes: None. Just filth.

The world had shifted after the Blip, mutated into something unrecognizable. Bucky had learned to survive in chaos, but survival wasn’t the same as living. His government-mandated therapy sessions had been a performance. A carefully crafted facade to prove he was “reformed,” that the Winter Soldier was no longer a threat. It worked. The government gave him the pardon he’d been promised and promptly forgot about him.

Finding a job had been the first hurdle. The Blip had flooded the workforce, and employers weren’t keen on hiring a man with his history, no matter how clean his record now appeared on paper. The rejection became a pattern, confirming what he already suspected, there was no place for him here.

But the construction site didn’t care who he was. They didn’t ask questions when he showed up looking for work. His enhanced strength made him an asset. Moving steel beams, hauling concrete, cutting down hours of labor with what he could do in minutes. He worked silently, head down, invisible among the noise of drills and heavy machinery. On Fridays, he got his paycheck and a little extra for the tasks only he could do.

The city still treated him like a ghost. People stared, whispered, or crossed the street when they recognized him. He didn’t hide his arm anymore; he let the matte black vibranium gleam under the sun. Let them look, let them flinch. It didn’t matter anymore.

The tattoos had started as a cruel inner joke. The red star below his clavicle had been his first, an ironic reminder of the weight he carried. It hurt like hell, his serum-enhanced skin required tebori, the old Japanese hand-poking technique, to get the ink to stick. The pain didn’t bother him. If anything, it made him feel alive, comforting him in ways the therapy never had. Over time, more tattoos joined the collection, sprawling over his arms, chest, and back. A physical map of what he’d endured, what he wanted to forget, and what he knew he never could.

The nose piercing came on a whim. A flicker of rebellion against expectations, though no one had any for him anymore.

The monotony of construction work became his new routine. It was predictable. Safe, in a way. Until one Monday, the foreman sent him to pick up the crew’s lunch order, a task usually assigned to Stephen, who was out sick. A small errand, a minor inconvenience.

He didn’t expect it to change anything. But then again, nothing ever went as planned.

----

The bell above the door jingled softly as Bucky stepped inside. The smell hit him first: fresh bread, sugar, and butter mingling in the warm air. It was... comforting. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light of the bakery after the bright glare of the sun outside.

The place was small but welcoming, with neatly arranged baskets of bread on shelves and a glass display case showcasing pastries that looked too delicate for his rough hands. He pulled off the working gloves he’d forgotten he was still wearing, shoving them into the back pocket of his worn jeans. His vibranium fingers glinted faintly in the soft light, but he didn’t care who noticed.

Behind the counter, she looked up from where she was restocking some pastries, offering a bright smile the moment she saw him. “Hi there! What can I get for you?”

He froze for half a second. People didn’t usually smile at him like that. Don’t usually smile at him at all. Period. He cleared his throat and glanced around, suddenly unsure of how to navigate this. “I’m here for the construction crew’s order.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Right, the sandwiches,” she said, moving behind the counter to grab the large paper bag already packed and ready. “Stephen’s usual pick-up, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the countertop. “He’s out sick. They sent me instead.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, sliding the bag onto the counter. “You’re working on that new apartment building, right?” Her tone was bright and conversational. “Big project”

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. People avoided small talk with him, and he was usually glad. His appearance purposely did much of the trick but she was treating him like a normal customer, with no hesitation, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want anything for yourself?” she asked suddenly, leaning her hands on the counter. “Coffee, maybe a juice? It’s on the house for you guys, you are spiking out incomes.” She winked.

He blinked, caught off guard. “No. I’m fine.”

Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, like she could sense his discomfort but didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “You sure? You look like you’ve been out in the sun all day. Hydration’s important, you know.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he didn’t let it form. “I’m fine,” he repeated, less harsh this time.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a small shrug. “If you change your mind, let me know. No rush.”

That threw him even more. No rush. No expectation for him to hurry up and leave. He picked up the bag, mumbling a gruff, “Thanks,” before turning to go.

But something made him glance back before stepping outside.

Fuck it. He wanted juice, and she offered. Also, she was nice to look at. “Actually, yeah. I could drink some juice before heading back if the offer’s still on,” he half-smiled.

Her head tilted slightly, and a playful look flashed in her eyes. “Of course! What kind of juice do you like? Orange, apple, maybe something else?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand. The hoop in his nose glinted under the bakery’s light as he shifted slightly. “Uh… orange?”

She set the bottle in front of him. “There you go.

He nodded, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. The cold, tangy juice was a welcomed sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside, and he found himself relaxing just a fraction.

“You guys must be working like crazy out there in this heat,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning casually on the counter. “I mean, you’re probably used to it, but still, it can’t be fun.”

“It’s work,” Bucky replied simply, glancing at her. He expected her to press and ask more questions, but instead, she nodded like she understood.

“Well, here’s hoping Stephen feels better soon,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But if they send you back, I wouldn’t mind. You’re a lot less grumpy than him.”

That caught him off guard, and his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a grin. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

Her eyes widened in mock horror, and she let out a warm, easy laugh. “Oh, no, don’t you dare! I can’t handle more of his attitude. He’s bad enough already.”

Bucky tilted his head, leaning one elbow on the counter, the edge of a smirk ghosting across his face. “Maybe you could persuade me to stay silent,” he said, dropping his voice slightly.

She froze for half a second, her brows shooting up as the teasing in her expression turned to something a bit more curious. Then she leaned forward, resting her hands on the counter, playfully. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that take?”

Shit. His brain stalled. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was waiting for him to respond. His mouth opened, then closed again, his thoughts scrambling for something -anything- that wouldn’t sound like the mess of half-baked flirting swirling in his head. Finally, he muttered, “Uh… garlic bread. That might do the trick.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a second, she just stared at him like she was trying to decide if he was serious. Then, she burst into laughter again, her head tilting back slightly as the sound filled the space between them. “Garlic bread, huh? That’s the bribe of choice?”

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the tips of his ears burned, pretending to fuss with the juice bottle. Yeah, maybe he really did need to work on his social skills.

The thing was, he usually didn’t have problems getting laid. A bold woman with a venturous streak might approach him at a bar or whatever dimly lit hole-in-the-wall he happened to be in, probably looking for an anecdote to share later: I hooked up with the Winter Soldier. And he didn’t care. He wasn’t a monk. If a touch on the arm, a whispered suggestion, or a couple of drinks got him laid, he went with it. The bar’s bathroom, a dark alley, it didn’t matter. It was impersonal, and mechanical.

Was he a manwhore? Probably. But after everything they did to him, every time his body had been used for someone else’s agenda, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Sex, when it happened, was more transaction than connection. An itch scratched, and nothing more.

This was different. This wasn’t the haze of dim lights and alcohol. It wasn’t the brazen touch of someone who wanted something from him in a questionable pub. It was broad daylight, with no pretense, and she wasn’t throwing herself at him or giving him a shortcut to the finish line. She was throwing the ball back in his court, expecting him to make an effort, to do the work.

And his brain? It shut down. Completely.

He stared at her, watching the way her laughter softened into a teasing smile, and her hands rested lightly on the counter as if she didn’t realize she’d just short-circuited every social skill he thought he had left. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze or putting on a mask of bravery. If anything, she was waiting. Waiting for him to say something, to do something.

Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, gripping the juice bottle like a lifeline. Luckily -or not- the bell above the door jingled, cutting through the charged silence as another customer entered.

Her eyes flicked to the door, and her expression shifted quickly. “Duty calls,” she said lightly, tilting her head toward the counter as if to excuse herself. And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing there like a misplaced piece of furniture near the small counter where the juice bottles were displayed.

The man who walked in looked like he belonged somewhere with air conditioning and private elevators. His tailored suit practically screamed money, and the glossy sheen of his expensive shoes didn’t have so much as a speck of dust on them. He pivoted past Bucky without sparing him a second glance, as if he didn’t even register the scruffy guy in worn jeans and a tank top standing there.

“Muffin,” the man greeted her with a tone that was just a hair too familiar.

Bucky noticed the subtle shift in her body language instantly. The confidence she’d carried moments ago was gone, replaced by stiffness in her shoulders and a forced smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Matt,” she replied, politely but devoid of warmth. “The usual?”

‘Matt’ smiled -a smarmy, self-satisfied smirk that made Bucky’s fingers tighten on the juice. “I’d add your delicious buns, but usually…”

Wait. Was this asshole actually implying-?

Her response was immediate, cutting him off before he could finish. “Yeah, as per usual, they’re not for sale,” she said, deflecting with a practiced ease. “Anything else, Matt?”

“I’ve been thinking, Muffin,” he drawled, leaning casually on the counter like he owned the place. “Maybe one of these days, you and I could share a coffee. I’m sure there’s more to you than just your delicious baking skills.” He smirked, trailing his eyes just a little too long to be anything but suggestive.

Something in Bucky snapped. Maybe it was the fact that she was uncomfortable, or perhaps because he was -horrendously- flirting with her first, maybe it was his stupid confidence, the heat, or just his crappy week. So he stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Hey,” he said in a low tone, looking directly at the man in a suit. “You holding up the line or something?”

Matt blinked, caught off guard by the interruption. His eyes flicked to Bucky, narrowing slightly as he took in the scruffy man standing there, all broad shoulders and quiet menace. “Excuse me?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, and his gaze became cold and unwavering. “Just saying, some of us have places to be. Thought maybe you’d want to keep it moving.”

Matt scoffed, straightening his tie like it would help him regain some sense of control. “Maybe you should mind your own business, pal,”

Bucky didn’t even blink. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver, but the edge on it sharpened. “See, that’s the thing. You embarrassing yourself in front of the clerk here is my business since I’ve got an order to pick up, and you’re wasting my time.”

The room felt smaller somehow, the tension thickened the air as Matt stared at him, clearly debating whether or not to push his luck.

Bucky just stood there, unflinching, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was daring him to try.

“Fine,” Matt muttered, grabbing his order from the counter with a sharp motion. He threw a glance at her, his tone clipped. “I’ll see you around, Muffin.”

“Sure thing, Matt.”

The bell jingled sharply as he stormed out, leaving the tension lingering in the air like a bad aftertaste.

Bucky turned his gaze to her, and his expression softened slightly. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he said gruffly, holding her gaze for a moment longer than he intended.

She exhaled, easing the tightness in her shoulders as she offered him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. He’s been like that for years; he is the owner’s cousin.” Then, with a hint of humor, she added, “Thank you. That was... satisfying to watch.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, dryly but with the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Now I can brag I’ve been saved by the Winter Soldier,” she teased, playfully.

He froze, and the smirk vanished instantly as his eyes darted to hers, startled. “What?”.

She shrugged, utterly unbothered by his reaction. “It’s hard not to notice. You’re not exactly hiding it.” She said, looking towards his vibranium arm. Then she nodded toward his shoulder, where the red star tattoo was starkly visible against his skin. “Nice touch, by the way.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Well, yes, he’d never intended to hide it. Hell, he wanted people to see it. But hearing her point it out so openly about that, caught him off guard. “Thanks,” he muttered, in almost a grumble, absently brushing his hand over his foreshoulder.

He shifted the bag of sandwiches in his grip, glancing toward the door. “I should probably get back,” he commented gruffly, as the air suddenly felt too tight for him.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck saving anyone else today.”

That earned her a faint twitch of his lips, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “See you around,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

-----

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. She served the usual customers, greeted the familiar faces, and kept herself busy with the daily rush. But in the quiet moments when she was restocking shelves or wiping down the counter, her thoughts drifted to him. He was barely recognizable under the layers of tattoos, the nose piercing, and the rough, scruffy demeanor. Nothing like the man she vaguely remembered seeing on TV years ago. Yet, the arm was unmistakable.

She found herself daydreaming about their brief encounter more than once, imagining the sharp blue of his eyes focused on her, like a storm always brewing just beneath the surface.

---

By Thursday, Bucky couldn’t resist the pull. He’d spent most of his life denying himself anything remotely indulgent, always practical, always keeping his head down. But this time, he decided he could allow himself a little something, a treat from the bakery.

Well, if he was being honest, it wasn’t really about the pastries. The thought of seeing her again crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. There was something about the way she spoke to him, the way she smiled like he was just another guy standing at her counter, not a former assassin with blood on his hands. It unnerved him, but it also intrigued him.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. She was at the counter, chatting with a customer who was just leaving. When she glanced up and saw him, her expression brightened.

He felt his chest tighten slightly at the sight. Damn it, what the hell was he even doing here?

“Hi! Already coming to collect your bribe?” she teased, her tone laced with playful mischief, a brow arched as she leaned her elbows on the counter.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, caught off guard. Right. The garlic bread. His pathetic excuse at flirting. He shifted his weight while his mind scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. Manning up, he found his voice.

“Yeah,” he said in a lower, rougher tone. “Came to collect what’s mine.” He let the words hung in the air, deliberately, with unmistakable implication.

Her eyes widened slightly, but not with hesitation. No, she didn’t back down. Instead, she quirked a brow, twitching her lips like she was fighting back a smirk. “Well,” she began, “I was just about to take my break. Perhaps…” She leaned forward just slightly, resting her forearms on the counter, “we can discuss the terms of your payment in the back? You know, the bread and... whatever you have in mind to assure your cooperation.”

For a moment, he froze, caught completely off guard. There was no way he was reading this wrong. Was there?

She tilted her head, waiting, the amusement flickered in her eyes as if daring him to make the next move.

Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of himself and his surroundings. The way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter, how his tanktop clung to his sweated skin, the hum of the refrigerator behind him, even the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the bakery air. “That so?” he managed, trying to sound unfazed, though he wasn’t sure he pulled it off entirely.

Her half smile widened, and she straightened, grabbing a small set of keys from behind the counter. “It is,” she replied simply. “Back door’s that way.” She gestured toward the far end of the shop, where a narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the staff area.

He hesitated, trying to gauge if this was really happening or if she was just messing with him. But there was no sign of mockery, no indication she was about to laugh at his expense. Instead, she turned and walked toward the back, throwing him a glance over her shoulder that felt like a challenge.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, following her lead. Whatever was about to happen, he figured he’d see it through.

After the door closed behind him with a soft click, Bucky became painfully aware of the contrast between them. She stood there in her neat uniform, the pale beige fabric brushing just above her knees, paired with the frilly brown apron tied snugly around her waist. Her scent hit him, something warm and sweet, like vanilla and sugar, mingling faintly with a subtle hint of floral perfume.

And then there was him. Sweaty from the day’s work, his tank top clinging in spots, jeans dusty from the site, boots worn and scuffed. His hair was slightly damp from the heat, sticking to his neck in unruly strands, and the only thing remotely clean were his hands. He always made a point of washing them before leaving work, some ingrained habit of not wanting to spread the grime of his life any more than necessary.

He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight as she set the keys on a small table by the wall, looking entirely at ease, like this wasn’t strange at all. Meanwhile, his heart was thudding against his ribs, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t fazed by the walking disaster in front of her.

“So,” she began, leaning against the edge of a small table, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone was light and playful. “Shall we discuss the terms of your so-called payment?”

He cleared his throat. “You sure about this?” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to himself. She tilted her head, and a spark of amusement flashed across her face. “You mean to tell me you braved the heat, the dust, and possibly your dignity to come in here, and now you’re getting shy?”

His lips twitched despite himself, and the ghost of a smirk formed on his lips. “Not shy. Just... considerate.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” she teased. “But if I had a problem with the way you look, I wouldn’t have let you back here, now would I?”

That threw him for a loop, and he found himself momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the side as if searching for something to say. “Guess not,” he finally muttered.

“Good,” she said, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “Because I don’t mind sweaty construction workers who like garlic bread.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “That right?”

She nodded. “That’s right. Now, tell me. What’s the real reason you came back here?”

Her boldness disarmed him, but in a way that made him want to keep going, to see where this would lead. “Figured I’d try my luck,” he admitted, meeting her gaze.

“Well,” she said, softening her tone “seems like your luck might not be so bad after all.”

The way she looked at him then, confident, like she saw right through him and wasn’t the least bit fazed left Bucky feeling more exposed than any of his tattoos or scars ever could. He wasn’t used to this, to someone holding his gaze without hesitation, without fear or judgment. It stirred something deep in his chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

“Guess not,” he muttered, rougher than he intended, and he stepped closer without even realizing it. She didn’t back away.

She tilted her head, a playful quirk to her brow. “So, does this mean we’re negotiating now? Or are you just going to keep brooding at me until I hand over the garlic bread?”

That pulled a chuckle out of him, low and brief, but genuine. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to getting what I want,” she said simply.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away, focusing on a random spot on the wall instead. “You’re bold,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Hmmm I’d say you like that,” she countered, her tone light but her eyes sharp, like she was testing him.

And she wasn’t wrong. He did like it. Maybe too much. It was the kind of boldness he wasn’t used to anymore, the kind that didn’t come with an ulterior motive or veiled fear. It was just... her, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it had him drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. She didn’t look away, didn’t fidget or try to fill the gap with empty chatter. She just waited, giving him space to make the next move.

“I’m not good at this,” he finally said.

“At what?” she asked like she could sense he wasn’t just talking about their little back-and-forth.

“Any of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Talking. People. This.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t need you to be good at anything. Just honest.”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken.

“Well,” she said after a beat, stepping just a little closer, “if it helps, I think you’re doing fine so far.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there a little longer than he should have. The temptation to lean in, to close the distance was maddening and he swallowed hard.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, teasing and sharp. “Deciding your price?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. For a moment, he was thrown, like she’d read his mind and decided to call him out for it. Her expression wasn’t mocking, though. “Maybe I am.” the words left his mouth before he could overthink them.

She leaned a little closer, just enough to shrink the space between them. “And? What’s the verdict?”

For a second, all he could do was stare at her, at the way the corner of her mouth tilted up, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. His brain scrambled for something to say, anything that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“You’re making it hard to think,” he admitted finally, a dry edge to his tone that made her laugh softly.

“Good,” she shot back, tilting her head. “Means I’m doing my part in this negotiation. And you still haven’t named your price,” she said, dropping her voice just a fraction.

That did something to him, something that made his chest tighten and his palms itch. She was bold, fearless, not afraid to meet him where he was. Hell, maybe even a step ahead of him.

“Maybe it’s not something I can name,” he muttered, almost testing the waters as he took a slow step closer to her.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the playful glint in them softened. She didn’t move back, didn’t shy away. Instead, she held her ground. “Oh?” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his. “Then how are we supposed to settle this… negotiation?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “I guess that depends on what you’re willing to offer.” he said, noting neither of them was willing to break the tension first.

Her answer came in the form of a step forward, closing the remaining gap between them. She tilted her up, and her voice dropped as she said, “I think you’re the one who needs to make the offer. After all, you’re the one collecting a bribe.”

That knocked him off balance for a fraction of a second, and he just stared at her.

Her laugh was soft, almost a hum, as she leaned back slightly, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “You don’t seem like the type to play coy,” she teased.

He felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, though he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m not.”

"So?" she asked, flicking her gaze to his lips, her tone was challenging but soft, like she already knew the answer and just wanted to hear him say it.

That did it. His resolve snapped like a taut wire. Slowly, deliberately, he cradled the side of her neck with his vibranium hand, firm but careful, while his other hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"So," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, "I think I'll just take the rest of my payment. And then... maybe some more."

He closed the remaining distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither tentative nor tender. It was demanding and unapologetic. Everything he couldn’t say in words poured into the connection.

She let out a small gasp, and her hands instinctively found their way to his chest clutching his tanktop. He took that as permission, deepening the kiss. The faint scent of flour and sugar mixed with something distinctly hers, made him a little dizzy, a little reckless. And for once, he let himself take what he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead lightly against hers, he caught the sight of her lips, slightly swollen, and her uneven breathing as she looked up at him. He wondered if he should stop there.

Then she did it. Her hand slid upward, fingers threading through his hair before fisting it lightly, pulling him closer with a confidence that sent a spark down his spine. She pressed herself against him, soft curves meeting the unyielding hardness of his chest, and that was it, he lost it.

A low, guttural sound escaped him as he claimed her lips again, this time with less restraint. The backroom faded away. No shelves, no counter, no lingering scent of baked goods. Just her. Her body, her warmth, her lips moving against his like she was just as lost in this as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, her eyes were half-lidded as she stared up at him. She wetted her bottom lip. “Not bad.” she managed to breath.

“Still think I’m underpaid,” he shot back.

"Oh, I don’t take advantage of hard workers, sir," she said, low and teasing as her lips skimmed along his stubbled cheek. Her teeth nipped at the rough skin there, sending a sharp jolt through his body that went straight to his cock.

Her hands moved to the buckle of his belt, working the leather with an almost infuriating slowness, like she was daring him to stop her, or daring him not to. “By no means are you going to be left underpaid,” she murmured with mock formality as her gaze flicked up to meet his.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. “That so?” he rasped as he let his hands slide from her waist to her hips, gripping just tight enough to feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her uniform. “You always this generous?”

Her fingers hovered just above the waistband of his lowering jeans, brushing the bare skin with a maddening lightness. Then she smiled at him, slow and deliberate. “Only with hot sergeants who gave a lot to this country.”

Something snapped. His hand darted down, grabbing hers where they lingered teasing his skin. His fingers closed over hers. Not harsh, but firm, the rough calluses of his palm contrasting with her softness. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he growled low in her ear, rougher now, deeper, his restraint fraying with every word.

“Why not?” she whispered, with a tone laced with defiance, though her breath hitched ever so slightly as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head, trailing slow kisses on the curve of her neck. Her breath shuddered as he worked his mouth thoroughly, and his stubble scraped along her sensitive skin. His free hand slid lower, gliding over the fabric of her uniform until it reached the curve of her ass. Without hesitation, he squeezed, digging his fingers just enough to pull her flush against him.

Her hands, now pinned between her body and his waistband, flexed slightly, testing like she was still daring him to see how far he’d go.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her neck, as he pressed her harder against him.

She tilted her head slightly, giving him more access, curling her fingers into the hem of his tank top. “Good thing I don’t scare easy,” she replied breathlessly, and his grip on her tightened, molding his vibranium hand to the curve of her ass as he pressed her harder against him.

Without breaking their connection, he moved with fluid determination, gripping her hips and spinning her so that she faced an old counter. The sudden shift elicited a breathy laugh from her, laced with surprise and excitement.

He leaned in, brushing his chest on her back as his lips found her neck again, suckling and nipping her skin. She arched instinctively pressing herself against him, bracing her hands on the surface counter. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His flesh hand slid down her side, curving over her hip before venturing beneath the fabric of her uniform. His fingers splayed against her bare thigh, pushing the hem up inch by inch, grazing her skin with agonizing slowness.

Her breathing hitched as his hand roamed further, the metal of his fingers creating a stark contrast against her heated skin. He squeezed her again, this time directly over her bare flesh, eliciting a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.

As his hand traveled upward from her hip along her spine, her dress bunched around her waist, exposing her to him. He relished the sensation of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, trailing higher to the small of her back. Her shiver told him everything he needed to know.

Her head tilted back, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. “James” she whispered, half warning, half plea.

His lips curved into a smirk as he bent closer. “Bucky” he rasped, his stubble brushing her ear. “What’s it gonna be, doll? Should I stop?”

Her answer came in the way she pushed herself back against him, reaching behind to tangle her hands on his hair. He grinned darkly against her skin, sliding his hand along her back as his lips continued their descent, tasting every inch of her exposed neck and shoulder.

Bucky’s hands continued their ascent, his fingers trailing over her heated skin until they slid under the fabric of her bra. He cupped her breasts, his palms rough and warm, squeezing with a pressure that made her gasp: firm enough to send a thrill through her body, but not enough to hurt. She arched into his touch, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escaped her lips spurring him on.

“Like that, huh?” he muttered, as he pressed himself harder against her back. Her hands gripped his hair tighter for balance as he shifted closer and his solid, muscled frame blanketed hers. Then, with deliberate intent, he slid one thick thigh between her legs, pressing it firmly against her pussy. The friction made her knees weaken, and she let out a breathy moan, rolling her hips against him instinctively.

He growled low in his throat. “You’re making it real hard to keep this...civil,” he rasped, though the way his hands kneaded her and his thigh pressed against her left little room for civility.

She turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, eyes dark with need and amusement. “You know, if you keep things civil like this, I might... stain your pants. How are you going to present yourself tomorrow to work, all messy?”

Bucky froze for half a second at her words, tightening his grip on her hips as her teasing tone penetrated his brain. His gaze darkened, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk that was anything but innocent.

“You think I care about that?” he murmured, roughly, sending shivers down her spine.

Her head tilted slightly, exposing the curve of her neck to him. “Mhm,” she hummed, her breath hitching when he shifted his stance, pressing her harder against him. “Just trying to save you the trouble of explaining… why your responsible worker pants are a mess.”

Bucky let out a low growl, dipping his head to her neck. His stubble scrapped deliciously against her skin as he nipped at her pulse point, making her gasp. "Luckily for you, muffin, it's been a long time since I give a fuck about other people's opinions, let alone explaining myself. So you can get my damn pants wet like the naughty girl you are to your pussy's content.

The brazen bluntness of his words sent a pang directly to her needy clit. “Oh,” she exhaled, with a trembling voice. “Is that so, Sergeant?”

He leaned in closer, as his vibranium hand tightened on her hip, grinding her harder against his thigh. “Damn right, it is,” he growled, and the deep rasp of his voice vibrated against her skin. “Now stop stalling and show me how messy you can get me.”

She let out a soft moan as she pressed harder against him, and her movements became more erratic, more needy. “You mister-” she gasped, her words catching in her throat as a wave of pleasure made her pussy clench deliciously, “are a fucking tease.”

“And yet,” he muttered, curving his lips into a wicked grin against her skin, “here you are, soaking my damn pants just like I told you to.”

Her laugh came out breathless and broken, “Cocky bastard,” she managed to say before nearing the precipice. "F-fuck, Sarge," she mewled, as her voice broke on a high, desperate pitch while her hands gripped at the counter for dear life. "I’m gonna-"

Bucky’s grip on her tightened, and his vibranium hand slid up to press flat against her tummy, anchoring her firmly against him. “Do it,” he growled into her ear, in a hot and ragged breath. “Let go for me, muffin. Make a mess, cream my fucking pants.”

Her body tensed, and her thighs trembled as she ground herself harder against his thigh, chasing that final push over the edge. “God, Bucky,” she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as he coaxed her along, keeping her steady with his hands as she fell apart. "Good girl."

The sound she made was half a sob, half a moan as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing through her in waves that left her gasping and shaking in his arms. She clung to the counter as her body jerked uncontrollably, and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

He didn’t let go, keeping her firmly against him, grounding her body as she rode out every last second of her orgasm. When her movements slowed, and her body went slack against him, he pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of her neck.

“You okay?” he murmured, with a mix of roughness and softness as his hands remained firm on her hips.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder with a dazed, dopey smile that made something inside him twist. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, languid and satisfied. “That was such a nice ride, Sarge.”

A soft squeeze at her hips reminded her where his hands still were, and she placed hers over them, giving them a light, playful press. Then, with an ease that made his pulse quicken, she turned around to face him.

Her fingers grasped the hem of his tank top, deliberate but unhurried as she tugged it upward. “But,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I still owe you the price of your silence.”

As she pulled his tank top up and over his head, her eyes immediately fell to his chest, and her gaze widened for a beat. The light from the room caught the silver gleam of the bars piercing through his nipples, hard to miss against the expanse of ink and scars that marked his skin.

Her lips parted slightly, and a playful grin broke across her face. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she murmured teasingly. She reached out without hesitation, grazing her fingers over one of the piercings. “Naughty, Sarge. Very naughty.”

He let out a short huff of laughter. “Don’t act so shocked,” he muttered. “Thought you’d figured out by now I’m not exactly by-the-book.”

She tilted her head as she thumbed over the cool metal, sending a shiver through his body that he didn’t bother to hide. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you,” she mused, tracing her fingers over the lines of his chest, pausing now and then to admire the ink and scars.

His smirk deepened, and he tugged her closer “Plenty of time for that, Muffin.” He conceded.

Her hands roamed freely now, mapping the hard planes of his chest, alternating her touch between featherlight and deliberate. She flicked the tip of one of the piercings with her thumb, earning a sharp inhale from his lips.

“Sensitive?” she teased, glancing up to meet his gaze.

His jaw tightened, and the way his hands gripped her hips told her she’d struck a nerve. “You tell me,” he rumbled, edged with a warning that didn’t quite mask the rough undertone of arousal.

She laughed softly, a low, breathy sound that made his cock twitch. “You’re full of contradictions, Sarge. All gruff and serious, but with these…” she said, lightly tugging on one bar with a wicked grin.

“Careful,” he warned, tightening his grip as his eyes darkened.

“Or what?,” she quipped, with a sultry voice, her confidence growing with every reaction she pulled from him.

His patience snapped. In one smooth motion, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter behind her. She gasped, bracing her hands against his shoulders as he stepped between her thighs, crowding her.

The edge of the counter bit into her legs, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the heat between them, the way his hands gripped her.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her dress, deliberate but unhurried, each undone clasp exposing more of her soft, skin. She shivered beneath his touch, and a quiet hum escaped her lips as her hands slid down his sides, tracing the lines of his ribs before settling at his hips.

The dress slipped further down her body, pooling at her waist, leaving her exposed to his piercing gaze. His eyes darkened as they swept over the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight tremble in her thighs.

"Damn," he murmured, roughly, almost reverent.

Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze with a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "What, you don't see this every day?"

"Not like this," he growled back, deftly unhooking her bra with a kind of precision that made her blink in surprise. The garment slid down her arms, and he caught it in one hand, tossing it over his shoulder without so much as a glance. It landed somewhere behind him with a soft thud, but he didn’t care. His gaze flicked down, lingering on her newly exposed skin.

He leaned down and trailed his lips through the curve of her neck, gifting heated kisses downward her skin until his lips latched one of her nipples. His tongue flicked, quick and teasing, as his hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of her uniform skirt and gripping her bare thighs.

Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance before sliding up to tangle them in his hair. Her body was already pliant, sensitive from her release, but he wasn’t slowing down. His teeth scraped lightly, sending a shock through her system, and she arched instinctively against his mouth.

"Turn around," he murmured against her skin, almost a growling. His hands gripped her hips, spinning her gently but firmly until she was braced against the counter. She barely had time to catch her breath before she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her drenched panties, tugging them down and letting them pool at her feet.

His jeans had already been shoved low enough to free his aching cock, and she could feel it, hard and insistent, pressing against her rear. “This okay?” he rasped against her ear, as his length drenching her buttocks with precum spoke volumes about his intent.

She nodded quickly, breathlessly.

Bucky didn’t waste time and his vibranium hand gripped her hip, as his flesh one guided himself inside her in one smooth, deliberate thrust. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as her tight heat clenched around him, and her gasp of pleasure sounded like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Muffin,” he muttered, leaning over her, breathing hot against her ear. “So tight. Feels like you’re made for my cock.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter, instinctively pushing her body back to meet his thrusts. He set a slow, grinding pace at first, making her feel every inch of his thick cock, savoring how she trembled beneath him at every drag. One of his hands slid from her hip, trailing down her thigh before slipping between her legs.

“You’re dripping for me,” he observed roughly as his fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, lazy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Such a greedy pussy, doll. Pulling me in like you can’t get enough.”

She let out a breathless moan, her body arching against him as his words sent a rush of heat through her system. “Bucky-”

“That’s right,” he cut her off, almost mockingly as his fingers pressed harder against her swollen clit. “Say my name. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

Her response was a broken cry, her hips bucking against his hand as he picked up his pace. He grinned, sharp and wolfish, sliding his free hand up her back to fist her hair, pulling her head back so he could press his lips to her ear.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped, as his thrusts turned harder, sharper. “I can feel it. This pussy’s squeezing me so tight. You gonna come all over my cock, Muffin? You gonna soak me, cream my dick like the good girl you are?”

She could barely think, the pressure building inside her reaching a fever pitch as his filthy words and relentless touch unraveled her completely. Her moans grew louder, and her body trembled as her release washed over her, clenching her walls around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he growled, as the sensation tipped him over the edge. His hand tightened on her hip, and his thrusts turned erratic as he followed her into bliss, spilling inside her with a low, drawn-out groan.

He stayed buried inside her for a moment, resting his forehead against her shoulder as they both caught their breath. His fingers gave her clit one last, gentle stroke, making her shudder before he finally pulled back, steadying her with his hands as her legs wobbled.

“You okay?” he asked, rough but laced with an unmistakable note of satisfaction.

She nodded, glancing at him over her shoulder with a blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He smirked, brushing his hand over her lower back as he stepped away. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not done yet, little Muffin.”

She turned slightly, lifting her brows in surprise as a sly grin curled her lips. “Not done yet?” she asked, breathless but laced with intrigue.

Bucky’s smirk deepened as he took her hand, gently turning her around to face him. His eyes roamed over her glistening skin, mussed hair, and the marks his lips and teeth had left trailing down her neck. He loved how wrecked she looked, and knowing it was all because of him, sent a thrill coursing through his veins.

“Not even close,” he murmured, sliding his hands to her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter.

She gasped as the cold surface met her bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by a soft moan when he stepped between her legs, spreading them wide. His cock, still hard and wet, pressed against her slick heat, teasing her entrance.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he muttered, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “But I think you’ve got one more in you, Muffin. Don’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, desperate for more. “You really think I can take it?” she asked, playfully.

Bucky chuckled darkly, ghosting his lips over her jawline as he pressed the head of his cock against her pussy, not pushing in just yet. “Oh, you’ll take it,” he purred, gripping her hips firmly to hold her in place. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

He surged forward without waiting for a reply, parting her inner wallsin one deep thrust. Her back arched, and a loud moan spilled from her lips as he set a brutal pace right from the start, holding nothing back this time.

His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to knead a breast while the other dipped down to find her clit again. “Feel that, doll?” he growled, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Feel how perfectly you take me?”

She nodded frantically, digging her nails into his shoulders as her body rocked against him, the counter beneath her creaking slightly with the force of his movements. “F-fuck, Sarge, I-”

“You gonna come for me again?” he interrupted as he worked her clit with expert precision. “Gonna soak me like the naughty little thing you are?”

Her answer came in the form of a choked cry as her body tensed, her third climax hitting her harder than the previous ones. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and deeper, and he groaned low in his throat, thrusting erratically as he chased his own release.

“Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, gripping the back of her thighs and spreading them wider as he buried himself one last time to the root, erupting in long spurts of hot cum that filled her up and overflowed between them, pooling on the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breaths being the only sound in the room. Slowly, he pulled back, steadying on her hips as he helped her sit upright, locking his eyes on the mess between her legs. His jaw tensed as he drank in the sight of her pussy, utterly wrecked and glistening from everything they’d done. He reached out, parting her swollen, slick folds with his thumbs with a deliberate, almost reverent care.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, thick with desire. “Look at you.”

Her cheeks heated, and the burn rose fast as she felt his gaze fixed on her. Her instinct was to press her thighs together, but his firm grip on her leg stopped her before she could move.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, brushing his vibranium thumb against her inner thigh as his other hand traced the outline of her puffy, sensitive lips. “Let me see you.”

She whimpered softly, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself as his fingers continued to explore, brushing over her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Fuck, this pretty little pussy of yours, completely ruined… because of me.”

She inhaled deeply, with embarrassment and lingering arousal. “Bucky,” she managed, her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in his name.

He glanced up at her, quirking his lips into a cocky smirk. “What? Embarrassed?” His thumbs teased her again, pressing lightly on either side of her clit, enough to make her tremble. “Don’t be. You’re perfect. And you’re mine to mess up like this.”

His? Her thighs shook at his words, the low growl in his voice sparking something deep inside her chest.

Bucky leaned in, and his stubble grazed her inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, lingering his lips as he muttered, “Maybe I should take a picture, so you know how fucking incredible you look right now.”

Her head fell back with a strangled, embarrassed moan. “Don’t you dare,” She protested, without much conviction.

He chuckled, finally easing up on her overstimulated nerves. Then, he pulled back, standing tall as he licked his bottom lip. “Good thing I’ve got a photographic memory. I’ll be thinking about how fucking incredible you look dripping my cum on the floor when I’m at home later, getting all needy.”

The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest. “My god, Sarge, you say your prayers with that mouth?” she asked, her tone trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he pulled back to meet her gaze. “It’s been a long time since I stopped doing that,” he admitted, carrying an edge of cynicism that matched the wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

He couldn’t help but admire the sight before his eyes. Her disheveled state, the pristine uniform now wrinkled, pushed up and open, her lips swollen and glossy from everything they’d just done. For almost a second, a pang of guilt flared in his chest. Almost.

The notion of her going back to work in this state, dripping with his cum while she smiled and served customers, stirred something deliciously darker in him. The guilt was quickly overtaken by the way his cock twitched again, the lingering pull of need frustrating him as much as it excited him. He muttered a low curse under his breath.

“Here,” he said after a moment, offering his hand for her to stand up. “Let me help you look all pretty so you can carry on with your day.”

He grabbed her crumpled uniform and smoothed it down over her thighs, brushing his fingers on the soft skin under it as he worked to put her back together. When he reached her collar, he buttoned the top slowly, deliberately taking his time.

“You’re gonna walk out there,” he said, adjusting her apron with a hum of satisfaction, “looking just like you did before I got my hands on you.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words didn’t come out. He leaned close, brushing his pierced nose against hers, mingling his minty breath with hers, before stepping back with a low chuckle. “So much better than the garlic bread.”

He stepped back, bending to retrieve his tank top from the floor. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt over his head, dragging it down on the hard lines of his inked chest. When the fabric caught over his pierced nipples, he hissed through his teeth. He adjusted it with a slight tug, smoothing it over his abs, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t in any rush to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to her form and a dark glint sparked in his eyes. His tone dropped into something deeper, more dangerous, as he added, “If anyone gives you trouble...”

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger between them. “You know where to find me.” It wasn’t just a statement; it was a subtle reminder of where he worked, down at the construction site.

Before she could gather herself enough to respond, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. As his hand rested on the handle, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his blue eyes filled with a hint of satisfaction.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift, Muffin,” he drawled, before disappearing out the door leaving her breathless and utterly wrecked.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[valeisaslut]

Hey I know you said your inbox is so full right now but I can't get this idea out of my head.

Imagine rockstar!ellie and popstar!reader going to the short and sweet tour and sabrina arresting reader for juno

Plus ellie definitely told reader they are trying the Juno pose later that night!

oh paris. PARIS. you’ve activated something ancient and unspeakable in me with this idea. i’m writing this like i’m on deadline and sabrina herself is standing behind me with a glitter gun. okay so—

IMAGINE COLLIDE'S ROCKSTAR!ELLIE AND POPSTAR!READER GOING TO THE SHORT N' SWEET TOUR!

the short n’ sweet tour. madison square garden. sold out. the air tastes like glitter and overpriced lip gloss. everyone is either wearing little bows or little nothings. sabrina’s deep in her pink glittery bodysuit, hair curled to oblivion, heels high enough to be a safety hazard, walking the stage like it owes her money.

you and ellie are in the VIP section, but it’s not chill. nothing about you two is ever chill. you’re center-left, full view, already clocked by all of the arena. ellie’s in her feral dyke uniform: worn leather jacket. white wife pleaser, low-rise jeans hanging on by a belt and a prayer. sunglasses indoors. gave a shit about the sn's tour dress code. chewing gum like it’s a personality. muttering, “this is gay propaganda” every few minutes.

you, meanwhile, showed up looking like a slutty disco ball. tiny rhinestone corset spelling out “SWEET?” in cursive, miniskirt that keeps riding up, platforms that technically qualify as a weapon. your hair’s perfect, your makeup’s evil. the fans know who you both are. everyone knows.

and sabrina knows who you are.

you’re friends. talk everytime you're in the same award show. follows each other on instagram. she reposted your “please stream short 'n sweet or i’ll cry” story. you reposted her "OMG I LOVED BETTER LIES GO STREAM RN" story. it’s borderline cinematic.

and then—then—the lights go gold. the stage fogs up like a dream. first few chords of “juno” hit like a religious event. sabrina does that slow dramatic hair flip she’s legally required to do before every slutty song, and every single girl in the arena dies at the exact same time. like cardiac arrest, mass gay fainting, someone in section 212 is literally sobbing into her cowboy hat.

and then sabrina starts scanning the crowd, doing her little “juno” hunt. she’s smirking. pacing. absolutely villain-coded. but the second she sees you—she breaks. stops mid-step. flicks her hair, nearly trips over her. looks directly at you.

"omg guys… i got really distracted… this girl is like–so hot i’m going actually insane right now."

the camera cuts to you and it’s over. the entire arena SCREAMS. and you’re mid-scream too, waving your arms, yelling “OMG WHAT THE HELL!! I LOVE YOU SAB!!” like it’s the fucking hunger games and your name just got drawn.

sabrina is cackling. fully turning red. “you guys i think i’ve never fallen in love but... you know... a popstar and popstar relationship goes hard.”

"oh my! my clothes are falling OFF!" then—her long pink glittery skirt drops. unprompted. sabrina just stands there in sparkly miniskirt and boots, shaking her head.

the crowd goes absolutely feral. ellie grabs your thigh like she’s about to restrain you physically. sabrina recovers, smirks at ellie’s direction, and goes:

"i’m sorry to do this in front of you, ellie williams—who is looking extremely hot too, by the way—but... y/n... you’re under arrest for being too hot."

YOU DIE. CROWD DIES. security splits like the red sea. sabrina has the crowd hand-deliver a set of fuzzy pink cuffs to you and winks. you are standing there visibly malfunctioning. like gay windows XP shutting down.

ellie, meanwhile, is recording the entire thing on her phone. she zooms in 800%. breathless. “oh my god. oh my god. my girl just got arrested for being too hot. i love live music. this is my woodstock.”

you take the cuffs and lift them like a trophy. the arena fucking erupts. someone faints. people are sobbing. someone on TikTok is already posting “when your fav popstar arrests your other fav popstar in front of your fav rockstar” with a Lana track in the background.

the camera pans back to Sabrina and ellie’s hands are IMMEDIATELY everywhere. whispering “you’re so hot when you’re legally apprehended.” you try to sip water and she full-on licks your shoulder. “ellie please.” “no. i’m in heat.”

backstage, you and sabrina take selfies with the cuffs, and she’s holding your face like she just discovered sapphic joy for the first time. ellie photobombs looking like the devil.

you post: “sabrina carpenter arrested me. ellie’s gonna finish the sentence.” ellie posts: “i support hot women’s rights and wrongs.”

and later, in her place, ellie has the video playing on a loop, full volume. she’s sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but her boxers and a chain around her neck, hair messy, looking like she just survived a riot (which, spiritually, she did). she’s gripping her phone like it’s sacred scripture, eyes locked on the part where sabrina does the pose—you know the one. all fours, ass arched, head tossed back in slow motion. the camera caught it in 4K.

"baby. baby, pause it. go back. right there. RIGHT THERE."

you’re standing at the foot of the bed, fully naked, hair wild, lipstick smudged. ellie looks up at you like she’s witnessing divinity. you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically, but you’re already dropping to your hands and knees on the mattress, arching your back, biting your lip.

"have you ever tried... this one?"

ellie groans so loud it echoes. drops her phone like it’s been made irrelevant by your existence. leans forward slowly, eyes dark, voice low:

"you know what comes next."

and what happens next that is technically classified, probably illegal in three states, and definitely a public safety hazard. but just know: the cuffs stay on.

and somewhere in New York, sabrina carpenter wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, with no idea why.

unhinged. legendary. historic queer moment. you win the internet for the night.

thank you paris for your contribution to global gay culture.

[hopelesslonelyghost]

has anyone seen those tiktoks where it goes “if i die don’t look for me i’ll come to you?” and it’s like a cat or a puppy….

yall know where this is going …..

:)

what if you spoke about that with your boys. just randomly one afternoon when all five of you are chilling in the living room watching a movie and you’re just like, “if i die i’ll come back as a cat” and they all just whip their heads towards you and you’re like “what?”

the only one who bites the bullet is simon, who snorts and asks, “wha’ type o’ cat would you be, love?” and price is lowkey highkey glaring at him because why the fuck is he encouraging this?

you just shrug, “i think maybe a black cat. i’ve always had a soft spot for them.” and that was the end of the conversation because the movie got to the good part and you shushed everyone.

what if you died on a mission. ambushed and shot dead in front of your squad. just like that, you’re gone.

what if one day a couple of months later when your boys are visiting your grave they’re all sat on the grass when all of a sudden a black kitty comes meowing up to kyle and immediately jumps in his lap and begins to purr and knead at his jeans.

what if all of them just freeze because they remembered that conversation you all had years ago about you coming back as a cat. a black cat.

what if kyle picks the kitten up, staring at it with tears in his eyes and just holds the tiny feline up to his face and whispers, “you really came back.”

what if they take the kitty home, bathe her and cuddle her until she falls asleep.

what if they all cry themselves to sleep that night because they just miss you so much but you really kept your word because even in the afterlife you’re right there in the form of a rambunctious kitten that loves to sun gaze just like you did. that loves to sit on their laps just like you did. that loves to nap at all hours of the day just like you did. that loves to sometimes spend time alone just like you did. that loves to leave wet kisses on their cheeks just like you did. that is just as clumsy just like you were.

what if one day they all come home to their fur baby staring at a framed picture they have of you. smiling and trying to cover your face from the camera. they remember you weren’t fast enough, and that flick of you is now one of their most precious memories.

what if the little void looks back at the boys and chirps a soft greeting. happy to see them back and running over to them and rubbing themselves against their feet, welcoming them back home.

WHAT IFFFFFFFFF

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐲 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ you saw Abby almost killing Joel, ran through the frozen woods, believing he was dead, your get attacked by infected, only to wake up to a much worse scenario, Joel was taking care of you, with no mobility in one leg, a deformed face and the need to never let go of his wife.

warnings_ age gap (implied late 20s but you can ignore that), GORE, HEAVY ANGST, reader vomits and faints, fallacy references, canon divergence, medical inaccuracies in the following parts, anxiety, overthinking, trauma, panic attack, short part and no proofreading.

Notes_ JOEL IS NOT DEAD, HE GOT UP FOR HIS WIFE AND KIDS

「 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐲: 𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 」 (part one)

「 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 」 (part two, which this fic belongs to)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ

In the morning, after breakfast, Joel and you went out on patrol. Since the moment you woke up, your heart was pounding already.

Your hand was placed near your heart, as the other was doing everything to keep riding your beloved horse; star.

“Is everything okay?” Joel asks, riding beside you.

“I think I’ve been feeling some arrhythmia since I woke up…”

“Do you think your anemia is back?” He asks, worriedly.

“I don’t know, love” your voice showed some defeat for some reason.

Your health had improved since you arrived in Jackson five years ago. You looked healthy, even in shape after many patrols, hunting, and escapades with your family. Maria had been strict about you going to a doctor each year to check on your blood tests and cross out any anomalies. You would live with many issues, but you doubted you’d ever touch base like you did almost a decade ago in Boston.

After giving birth to Cerise, you promised to be healthy for your baby. And each time you had to leave her, your heart ached.

You constantly look back at Jackson. Worried and hoping that the drill was over.

“Cerise is going to be fine, baby,” Joel says, knowing you were worried about the little girl.

Joel loved his daughter, he was beyond overprotective with her. But he trusted Tommy, Maria, and his friends. Dina swore to take care of Cerise during the drill and that relieved both you and Joel.

“Yeah, she’s safe no matter what…” you say trying to convince yourself.

But your face demonstrated you were not pleased at all. Joel also knew his wife was protective of her family. So the best he could attempt to do was to distract you.

“You look very pretty today,” Joel said with a playful smile. He was trying to get you in a calm mood despite the worry of the drill, the snowstorm, and Ellie likely in a different patrol.

“You think so?” There was nothing special about your look that day.

Loose jeans, boots, a black turtleneck top with a heavy jacket, and earmuffs.

“Yeah, baby” The way he eye fucked you set your cheeks on fire.

As the years passed, Joel grew confused. When Ellie distanced from him, you and him separated for two months. After getting back together, he had been debating whether to return to his usual loving self he grew out to be after couple therapy or not. But you had proven him to be willing to be just as doting as he could be.

“Love you!” You said, blowing a kiss to him.

“I love you too, dear,” Joel said back.

It didn’t matter how much your body changed over the years if you grew your hair long or decided to cut it short. Whether it was summer or winter, Joel Miller would cherish you every single day. Even on the worst possible day, your husband would always come back to you.

…

Joel had grown trustful. It wasn’t a coincidence that the moment he took the hand of the random woman about to be eaten by the infected, your heart started pounding faster.

You said no when she offered to take you both to the place she had spent the night, but Joel made you a sign with his head that it was okay.

Now, you are being held by two people, looking at Joel and his bleeding knee, fearing the worst.

Who the fuck was Abby? And why she was so mad at your husband?

“She’s the wife? Attractive too” she says eyeing you with a fake smirk.

“Aren’t you a little too young for an old man like him?” You could kill her, but she was a stranger, whom you couldn’t feel anything towards.

But she revealed the truth, giving you flashbacks of Salt Lake City. And how the fireflies were going to experiment with you and your unborn child.

You don’t say anything, you barely eye her, the only thing that made you have some click with her was that she also lost her family at a young age.

“How could you marry a cruel man like him? Let alone let him give you a child?” Your eyes snapped open at the mention of Cerise. “Your daughter is not of my concern”

Joel wants to run and tell you it’s going to be fine, but seeing your bloody face and fingers purple and swollen, he started to feel like that was it.

“Answer me. Why him?” Abby asked, standing in front of you. She was taller than you; just a few years younger.

“He unfairly ruined your life. But he saved mine…” her bitter smile turned into a chuckle full of hate.

“I bet he did,” she said before turning back to Joel.

You could understand her pain, but she would never know all the things you endured.

You don’t give a fuck whatever the woman is saying, you just exchange looks with Joel and he was trying to calm you, but you couldn’t feel anything but panic.

To her, Joel ruined her life, but he saved yours. Joel was your savior and the reason why you had everything you always wanted. You refused to let her take that away from you.

But there wasn’t much you could do to stop it. You couldn’t do anything and that was killing you. Time was passing so rapidly and so slowly at the same time.

Her hand touched his forehead like she was trying to prove one last time that it was real, that she would get her desired revenge. You started squirming when the woman started beating Joel.

“I sympathize with your daughter, Joel” she whispered in his ear. “She will also know what it feels to lose her father”

His screams and groans of pain started mixing with your sobs. He tried to crawl away but it was useless. You turned to see Ellie entering the room, soon a man throws her to the floor and you yelp.

“ELLIE!” The girl looks at you horrified, even terrified of the sight. Her head starts rambling, trying to do something, but she can’t.

The woman and man holding at you were failing to keep you still. Nothing had prepared you to see the horrific sight of Joel covered in blood, his face swollen and barely breathing.

Your screams were bothering everyone, giving them heartache for the future widow and single mother you were gonna be.

“JOEL!” You yell his name over and over. Your heart, mind and soul breaking each time more and more.

“PLEASE! HE’S MY HUSBAND!” You begged over and over as more blood pooled around the man you loved. “STOP! PLEASE, JUST STOP!”

“We should’ve sedated her,” said one of the girls in the group, but nobody answered her.

One guy entered the room panicked and everyone turned to look at him.

“The horde is coming this way” everyone panicked.

But Abby hadn’t finished until the same guy went to grab her by the waist.

“ABBY, IT’S OVER! HE’S DEAD” He screamed at her. “WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW!”

“RUN, Y/N!” you heard Ellie screaming at you. Then you realize they’ve let you go, probably because they got scared after the news of the horde.

Your tears didn’t let you give Joel one last glance before you started running towards the door after the man and woman holding you flickered in panic due to the situation.

“Let her go. She will live to tell the tragedy of her husband” Abby said to her mates after they tried to go after you. “Let’s go!”

Your boots were sinking in the snow, it was nearly impossible to run.

You started hearing the screams and grunts of the infected. Your hands clumsily pull out your walkie talkie and you try to reach out for somebody.

“TOMMY?” nothing, not a single glitchy sound of hope. “TOMMY! Do you copy me? Please…”

It was too much to handle. Your tears couldn’t stop, blinding your vision, the beating of your heart pounded and you could hear it.

As you ran, the pain of having just lost your husband assaulted you. You couldn’t say goodbye. You couldn’t grab his corpse to give him a proper funeral.

If Jackson was alive, you’d return to an empty house, where you’d raise Cerise… without his father.

You ran away without looking back for Cerise and Ellie. For them and only them.

You started hearing a ringing in your ears, your arms felt heavy and before you could control your body, you fell on your knees to vomit, with your eyes hurting and still squeezing more tears.

You scream.

Everything you wished for had been taken away from you twice.

You sob loud enough to draw the attention of some infected. What was once a pair of two women a teenager run after you. But you aren’t able to run so far.

They tackle you and start biting your body as you scream and cry. You feel them sinking their teeth in your skin, wounding like sharp knives. You feel how two of your fingernails are pulled off and how the fingers begin to go numb.

At that moment, you started closing your eyes. You swore your life flashed before your eyes. Every moment of happiness in your life appeared in your eyes. Your family made you happy. The one that brought you the world and the one you started on your own. You thank having the chance to experience being a mother with Cerise and Ellie and you thank life for pairing you with Joel.

And the last thought that ran through your head before losing consciousness, was that you despised death, but you weren’t afraid of it.

…

Your eyes snap open and you are blinded by the sun. You want to move but you can’t. As your vision starts gaining light, your head also gains sense.

You can’t breathe, it hurts to fill your lungs with air. You don’t feel your left hand and all of your extremities burn.

You are at the entrance of the gold club. But how did you get there if you ran down the hill the day before?

You hear a pair of boots and your head turns alert.

A figure gets closer, limping and taking a very long time to sit beside you.

You force your eyes to focus, but when a pair of hands start caressing your face, tears start running through your cheeks.

“Oh my god! Joel!” you can barely focus your mind and gaze on him.

“We’re alive…” it’s all he said, with a dry voice. You feel his hands holding yours but you are very disoriented to properly identify his touch.

His face is swollen. There was a lot of dry blood across his face, some of his hair frozen along more blood, his under eye purple and black.

He had broken his skull.

More tears pool in your eyes as you try to reach his face to touch it. He gently pushed your hand away. The air wasn’t enough after doing that movement.

“Joel… I think my ribs are broken” you said, noticing it’s taking a lot of strength to breathe and talk.

“Breathe slowly,” Joel says.

Tears start flowing down your cheeks as rage invades you.

Your husband was hurt, you were hurt. Your babies were gone from your side.

You can’t understand what’s happening.

“I can’t do this,” you say between sobs, feeling like your ribs are going to explode. “Not again…” you start mumbling, feeling exhausted even though you had just opened your eyes.

“We’re alive, Ellie and Cerise are alive too” Joel repeats. “It’s all that matters…”

You see Joel’s deformed face because of the swollen areas covered in blood, his left eye barely visible and his hair a mess of blood and frozen sweat. You cry harder, feeling an unbearable pain flowing all across your body, shattering your soul.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere” you sob harder at his words, ignoring the excruciating pain in your ribs.

Once again, you have been traumatized. Just like the time you woke up after having to kill your family when they got infected. You feel your legs are bandaged and you wonder how long had passed since you were bitten and had fainted. You have so many questions. And you can’t wait to feel better to have a proper conversation. Although it would only make knowledge of the tragedy that had happened.

You have lost your family. Your husband was barely alive, you were nearly dying.

You never thought you would experience so much misery since you killed your family. You feared this time was worse. Your husband was excruciatingly wounded, you were dying if you didn’t stop crying.

And that would be a problem. The waves of agony were taking you, threatening to drown you to death. Even if Joel was alive, breathing by your side, the image of him being hit and punched would never leave your mind, the image of Jackson in flames, knowing Cerise was there and knowing Ellie was somewhere else, it was more than enough to shatter you once again.

The days would pass and you knew the tears would not stop. But the thought of Joel being alive and breathing made you realize, you could bear it.

Your agony would not kill your hopes of restoring your family. At that point, nothing could be worse.

“Stop crying or I’m losing you, y/n”

“Never,” you say through sobs and huffs of pain. “You’re not losing me, Joel”

Joel can’t articulate any expression on his face. But you know he tried to smile.

He was breaking your heart by being alive.

______________

I cried the whole time I was taking a shower after watching episode two 🚬

Taglist: @just-mj-or-not @mmkkzz @hiroikegawa @nosebeers @glitterspark (tell me if u want to be added or removed from masterlist)

[moonlightdreamzz]

Moments of Praise — Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon.

bangchan and felix

GENRE. pureeeeee smut. freaky hours. 18+

AUTHORS NOTE. i am ovulating, so either im sorry or you’re welcome :)

Good girls get whatever they want—and you’re the greatest.

jungwon

you love so many things. you love tequila, you love cool sheets, you love the spring—the list goes on and on. but recently, someone asked you what do you love most? in the moment, you couldn’t make a decision because how could you choose? but right now, as jungwon’s hands are gripped around your neck—not tight enough to hurt you, but strong enough to remind you he owns you, and he’s stroking in and out of you—refusing the break eye contact not even for a second, you realize this is what you love most in this world.

he’s always so damn cocky when he’s fucking you, because he knows how amazing he makes you feel, everytime. he knows what you want—but he cares more about what you need. and you earned the di*k you’re getting right now.

he’s so drunk off your p*ssy, but that’ll never wipe the sly smirk off his face. all this, because you were so patient all day, and the cherry on top was you helping an elderly woman carry her groceries to her car. because that’s the kind of boyfriend you have—one that got so turned on at you being good.

you can’t form a proper sentence. that’s how good it feels. and he’s loving every second of it. you’re trying so hard, and all he can do is mock you—mimicking every expression you make to verbally tell him thank you. and he’s going exactly how you love it,—love him. slow and steady.

“i know baby, i know.” he utters. “daddy is fucking you so good, isn’t he? mhm.” a whimper slips out of his pretty lips, which only adds onto your incoming orgasm.

“baby—“ you finally manage to get our “why do you—always—fuck me so goooood. oh my—“ you wanted so badly to finish, but he clearly likes you like this. slutted out and unable to focus. only able to feel him and everything he’s doing to you. his free hand places itself on your clit, rubbing gentle circles around it. as if the pleasure you were already feeling wasn’t good enough for jungwon.

“good girls, deserve good dick. and you, baby?” he chuckles before biting his lip and looking at you as if your hole is the best thing since sliced bread, “you’re such a good fucking good girl. so fucking patient. so kind. this pussy is everything I’ve ever wanted in life. you’re so fucking wet. so fucking good—ah.”

“its too good, daddy. i can’t take it. i can’t.” you’re practically hyperventilating. you didn’t know anything could feel this good. you’re seeing stars and he’s living for it.

“who can’t take it? hm? you baby? because my girl can do anything she puts her mind to. so take this fucking dick.”

are his last words before you both cum all over the each-other.

jake

his members lay asleep, their faces—as well as his and yours glowing from the tv that’s still playing the movie jungwon chose earlier. to the naked eye, you and jake look like two people utterly in love, making deep eye contact because you’re so infatuated with each other. this isn’t wrong, but it also isn’t the reason why the two of you are staring at eachother in the dark.

the real reason, is because jake’s hands are buried deep in your panties, and he’s determined to make you cum in your jeans, infront of everyone. you knew at some point tonight he’d sneak you away to be inside you, but like this? but at the same time, you’d be lying if you said this isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever done. and you weren’t rude. you were raised to always be grateful for gifts.

he’s so fucking focused. and he’s doing so good. your eyes can’t figure out if they want to be open or closed and you wish you could grind in his hand, but that would wake somebody up. there’s a part of you that wants to stop him because of the way your body reacts when you or**sm, but as always, your boyfriend is two steps ahead of you.

“i need you to.” he utters, nothing short of desperation resting on his eyes. “I won’t stop until you do.”

all you can do is nod, because you’re so close. that doesn’t stop his mouth from running.

“yeah.” he assures you—his aussie accent thick. “you’re so wet, baby. and that makes me so happy.” he places your hand on his length, that is rock solid. “you like the fact that they can see you if they wanted, don’t you? i know i do.” “can’t wait to make you lick it off my fingers.” “wake em up baby. wake em up baby.” he grunts, resting his forehead on yours but eyes refusing to disconnect. you practically burst all over his fingers, your body is shaking, and you can’t help but hit his arm over and over because fuck you, jake. now.

sunghoon

sunghoon is so full of himself. he does what he wants, when he wants, and if the world isn’t revolving around him? then the world must’ve vanished. and he’s no different right now—arms tucked cockily behind his head while you bounce up and down on his length. the only thing he’s wearing is a smug look on his face, as if to say—of course the second I called, you answered. and of course, the minute I told you to strip and cum all over me, you went straight to work. because I own you and everyone else.

“i fucking hate you.” you moan loudly. but you don’t. and he knows you don’t too. that’s why all he does he chuckle in a seductive tone before whispering, “i love you too, baby.”

when he confesses his love for you, whether it’s real love behind the words or not, it always puts you in a mode. like you have to show him that if he doesn’t, he’s about to. “you love me?” you whisper, your pleading eyes turning into something much more devious. your bouncing turns for his pleasure and his eyes widen in disbelief of how amazing you feel and look right now.

“mhm.” he nods aggressively. you increase your speed and the intensity of each movement.

“you fucking love me?” you question again—laughing at him now.

it was like he was losing consciousness the way his eyes couldn’t hold still but his body was frozen from the pleasure. “yesss—oh, baby. ugh.”

“tell me why you love me.” you demand.

“becau—because you’re so pretty. and you always make daddy feel so good! your pu**y—baby please. mmm always so wet and—tight. make me cum please please please. i love you so much. please I’ll do anything for it please don’t stop!” he squeals out, before shooting his seed inside you.

[freaktoru]

summary: plug!eren yeager x fem!reader -finding a plug was hard these days—let alone a reliable one, so you took matters into your own hands and found yourself in the hands of eren yeager. warnings: drug use (marijuana), unhealthy drug habits (using it to cope), plug!eren yeager, big dick eren, use of pet names, size difference, praise, dirty talk, degradation, cunnilingus, literal filth, unprotected sex, spanking, pnv, porn with a little bit of plot, do not try this at home. wc; 4.8k authors note: having severe plug!eren brainrot.

you unlocked the door to your apartment, finally stepping inside its warmth after a long, rainy, miserable day. you were greeted by your roommate, sasha, who you found sitting on the couch in your shared living room. as a broke university student, you couldn’t afford to have your own place so you lived with your childhood best friend. she was a pretty good roommate, a little messy at times but a great cook. she loved baking, especially when the two of you got high together, a habit you both developed earlier this year in an effort to battle the stress of school. usually, you were the one responsible for getting the weed—sasha claimed that she didn’t trust herself to get a good deal but in reality you knew she was just too shy to go pick it up herself.

and that's exactly how you found yourself going to jean kirstein every week, to get your shared weekly stash of weed. jean however, was a terrible plug. he was the first one you had found and it turns out that he was known for his inconsistency and terrible attitude. and that’s also why last week was the last time you ever picked up weed from jean kirstein. 

“and what are we supposed to do now?” sasha exclaimed, eyes wide with confusion after you told her that you were finally done with jean’s bullshit. 

“i’m going to find a new plug. connie told me his roommate eren yeager sells” you replied, joining her on the couch with a steaming cup of tea. you and connie were friends, having went to high school together. apparently, eren was one of his 4 roommates but you hadn't actually been to connie's new place since he moved in so you’ve never seen any of the guys he lived with.

“i’ve heard of that guy. apparently he picks and chooses his clients, and doesn’t deal to just anyone. good luck getting on his list” she answered, clearly annoyed with your news. 

“don’t worry. i already texted him, connie gave me his number. i’m sure he put in a good word for me” you explained, taking slow, small sips of your tea in an effort to warm up from the rain you got caught under on your way home.

“okay, whatever you say. i still think you shoulda just stuck with jean though. so what if he’s flakey? at least his weed is good” she responded, her eyes fixed on some stupid show that was playing on the tv. 

“of course you’d say that sasha, his weed is the only weed you’ve ever smoked” you shot back, followed by a chuckle. sasha only started smoking recently, but you had dabbled in it before, so you knew your way around things better than she did.

she shifted her gaze from the screen to you, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to make sure you noticed. “yeah yeah whatever, just let me know if this eren guy replies” she said, fixing her gaze back on the tv. 

you lingered on the couch a little longer until you finished sipping your cup of tea. it had been a long day. you had class all day, somehow managed to forget to pack a lunch and got caught in the rain without an umbrella on your way home. some weed would have been nice to relax after a day like this but you and sasha had run out just a few days ago. you decided that a long hot shower sounded like the second best way to wind down after your miserable day. 15 minutes later you were out of the shower and in front of your fogged up bathroom mirror doing some skincare when you heard your phone buzz on the counter beside you. a slow smile crept onto your face as you checked the message. eren had replied. 

[8:16PM] you: hey, i’m y/n. connie gave me your number. i heard you sell? 

[9:03PM] eren: depends. what do you need?

you finished applying your moisturizer and picked up your phone to reply.

[9:04PM] you: i need some 🍃.

[9:04PM] eren: alr. when do u need it?

[9:05PM] you: as soon as possible

he stopped replying after the last message which had you wondering what he was up to. connie hadn’t told you much about him, only that he was picky with who he sold to and that he was one of his roommates. however to you, he seemed quick to get you weed. eren must’ve known you knew connie. another 20 minutes later, you were sat in your pj’s on your bed, finishing up some homework when your phone buzzed again. 

[9:26PM] eren: can u come tn? 

your eyes widened at the text. that was quick you thought. it was getting late and you had just showered and done all your skincare, but you couldn’t help yourself. a joint would have done wonders for you right now.

you walked out into the living room, deciding to consult sasha. “sasha, he replied, he’s asking me to come pick up tonight” you told her. she was still fixated on her tv show.

“no way. he’s already asking you to pick up? damn y/n what did you say to this guy?” she joked, eyes darting in your direction. 

“nothing, i just asked him if he sells and he asked me to come. let me ask him where to pick up and then i guess ill decide” you replied, pulling out your phone to send eren a reply.

[9:30PM] you: depends. where should i pick up?

[9:32PM] eren: my house. i’ll send the address. 

he sent you the address and you put it in your map. you were shocked to find out that he lived not even a 5 minute walk from your apartment, you knew roughly where connie lived but you didn’t know it was this close. jean lived a good 20 minutes away so this would be so much more convenient for you.

“he lives like 5 minutes from here. i didn’t know connie lived that close, he still hasn’t invited me to see his new place” you explained to sasha, annoyed that you’d be meeting connie’s roommate at his house before him.

“you should totally go then. do you want me to come with?” she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. the rain had stopped while you were showering and you thought you could use some fresh air.

“it’s cool, i’d like a walk to clear my head anyways” you responded, confident that you can handle it by yourself. 

“if you say so. stay on the line though and call me if he tries some weird shit with you” she reassured you. you knew sasha didn’t do well in situations like these, so having her on the phone would be much easier than having to ease her anxieties the whole walk on your way to some guy’s house for weed. 

“i’ll be fine, connie said he’s a chill guy. i’m gonna go get dressed” you said, as you walked back into your bedroom and put on a pair of comfy sweats and a hoodie. it wasn’t too cold outside, and now that the rain had stopped, a hoodie would do just fine. you walked towards the front door and grabbed your keys while putting your shoes on. before you left, you shot eren a text.

[9:45PM] you: i’ll be there in 5. 

you were hoping connie would be home so you could kill two birds with one stone–seeing connie who you haven’t seen outside of class in months and getting weed from eren since they conveniently lived in the same house. after a short refreshing walk to the given address, you found yourself planted on his porch, standing right before his front door. you weren’t sure whether to text him first or not, but you opted to ring the doorbell when you noticed almost all the lights on in the house. the door swung open a moment later, revealing a tall, broad shouldered guy with brown hair tied back in a lazy man bun. he wore a black t-shirt which accentuated his biceps and grey sweats. he looked like he worked out. you weren’t expecting him to be so attractive. 

“uh hey, i’m y/n, connie’s friend, i’m here to pick up?” you said awkwardly, breaking the silence. he looked you up and down, his eyes studying every part of your body. 

“yeah, connie told me about you. i’m eren. come in” he said quickly, and stepped aside, making room for you to come in. jean had never really asked you to come inside before so this was kind of weird, but you felt safe knowing connie lived here, so you decided to follow him in. you stepped inside the house noticing it looked exactly like your typical frat house. you looked around, noting all the chipped furniture and stupid posters on the walls.

“is connie home?” you asked, pulling yourself back to the present moment after observing all the small details of their living room, noticing eren leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets, eyeing you.

“nah, i think he’s out with some girl” he replied casually. 

“oh, okay” you said awkwardly, waiting for him to either say something else or finally give you the weed you came here for.

“you want a smoke before you pick up? it’s on me” eren asked moments later, pushing himself off the wall.

“oh um, are you sure?” you replied nervously, not sure if he was being serious. jean never offered you a free smoke. the one time you smoked with him, he made you pay. 

“yeah for sure” he replied. his eyes were such a dark, vibrant green, his gaze alone was enough to send blood rushing to your cheeks, making you suddenly feel very aware of yourself. “come on out back, we can smoke in the backyard” he added, walking out of the room, expecting you to follow him. and that’s how you found yourself in the backyard, watching him hold a perfectly rolled joint between his lips, with a lighter in his hand. he brought the lighter to the joint, lighting it and took two puffs before passing it to you. puff puff pass. 

“thanks” you mumbled before taking it and bringing it to your lips. you only took one drag before passing it back to him.

“is this your first time smoking weed?” he asked, eyeing you with an indifferent expression on his face.

“no, i usually smoke alone at night or with my roommate, we just dropped our old plug for being too flakey” you replied, watching him smoke the joint. something about him standing there, joint hanging between two fingers, stray hairs falling out of his bun, was so damn attractive.

“i bet it was jean wasn’t it? that dude’s the flakiest fuck i know” he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. it must have been the weed making your body react this way.

“yeah, his weed wasn’t great either. yours better be good or i’ll find another plug” you joked, chuckling awkwardly. 

“you’ll find that i don’t give my good shit out to just anyone princess” he answered, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a slight smirk. the pet name shocked you, pulling you back to reality. you were with a random (hot) stranger. smoking weed. in his house. at 10pm. fuck. 

he took his puffs, and passed the joint back to you. he was clearly amused by the surprised look on your face after calling you princess. “we’ll see about that eren” you replied confidently a few moments later, making sure to drag out the last syllable of his name. his eyes were fixed on you, watching the way you effortlessly took a pull and brushed your fingers against his when passing it back to him. 

the two of you fell into easy conversation while finishing the joint, and talked about everything from university to your future goals. he was an easygoing guy which was refreshing for you, considering all the guys you’ve dated or spoken to before always had something negative to say about how you lived your life. not to mention, eren was also extremely attractive with his slightly messy dark hair and his piercing green eyes which you caught looking at you a little too often. 

the high was finally kicking in, you noticed yourself feeling lighter and the tingling sensation you usually felt was coursing through your body. you and eren started laughing about something stupid together toward the end of your conversation which told you that you weren’t the only one feeling it. you couldn’t help but notice how eren would re-tie his man bun when it fell loose, or how he skillfully held his joint between two slender fingers. his gaze was always fixed on you, rarely breaking eye contact. after finishing your shared joint, eren gave you a tour of the house, and invited you up to his room to hang out and eat some snacks. you protested at first, claiming you needed to go home but you couldn’t lie to yourself, you were having a really good time with him. it felt so easy with him, like you had known each other for ages. 

you were sitting on his bed snacking on some chips that he gave you. there was no denying it—the guy was stocked with snacks. his room was surprisingly clean, contrary to what you expected. it was obvious that he was a gamer from the expensive looking setup on his desk and the red and purple led lights lining the perimeter of his room. he was standing in his doorway, leaning against one side, his forest green eyes once again fixed on you. 

“what do you think of the weed? better than jean’s?” he asked suddenly. you turned to face him and noted how he almost fills the entire door frame with his height, his broad shoulders barely fitting within the frame. it must have been the weed talking because wow, did he always look this good?

“i suppose so. i guess yours will do for now” you teased, enjoying watching his face twist at your sarcasm. 

“oh yeah? you suppose?” eren raised his eyebrows, taking a couple of steps towards where you were sat on his bed, the tone of his voice bordering on seductive. you felt your whole body tense, your thighs pressing against each other from just that one sentence alone. had the temperature gone up? the room suddenly felt so much hotter. his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, his demeanor cool and alluring. you stood up from the bed to face him and even at your full height he towered over you. “mhm” you hummed in return, crossing your arms to match his stance and looking up at him with glossy eyes. whatever this was, it felt like a game— one you knew you wanted to play.

using his index finger and thumb, he tilted your chin further up towards him, making you crane your neck back to look up at him. "if you were to ask me, i'd say you're enjoyin' it veryyy much princess. don’t ya think?" he whispered, voice low and husky, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath practically dancing over your skin. the proximity, the difference in size, the nickname, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne, it was all too much for you to handle at once. you felt a fire burning low in your gut, begging for something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge just yet. the thrill of the whole situation had you absolutely buzzing, waiting for what was next to come.

“answer me” he ordered when you didn’t respond, his tone making your whole body tense up with a mix of fear and something a little too close to what felt like pleasure. “i suppose i am enjoying it” you teased, playing right back. you felt an invisible line snap, something in the air had changed between the two of you. and that’s when you did something sober you would have never done. you licked your lips, and kissed him. you didn’t need to touch eren to feel his whole body go stiff. you paused momentarily, lips on his, and just as you were about to pull away, eren dove right in. one hand moved to your waist, grabbing it and pulling you closer, and the other was tangled in your hair, pulling at it. he kissed you impatiently, as if he were running out of time. you felt his tongue glide along the inside of your mouth, mapping, and learning every inch of it.

you pulled away for a moment to take your chunky hoodie off. the room felt too hot, the kind of heat that made you want to undress entirely. eren looked down at you while you undressed, his eyes clouded with lust. but disappointment washed over him quickly when he noticed that the hoodie was all you were planning taking off. that wouldn’t do. he stepped around you, and sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. you were about to join him but before you could, he purred, his voice low and seductive, “strip for me beautiful”. your eyes widened at the request, the order mixed in with the compliment had your core throbbing, silently begging for more. you chose to do as he asked without so much as a word, and slowly began taking off your shirt, followed by your sweats and finally your bra. your cheeks felt warm, embarrassed at the nudity you displayed for him, especially while he was still fully clothed.

“leave them on. i wanna take em’ off myself” he said when he noticed your fingers playing with the lace on your panties. eren groaned at the sight before him, lazily palming himself over his pants. you were so fucking hot, and ready to do anything he told you. “c’mere” he added, admiring you through his lustful gaze. you walked over to him, and planted yourself between his thighs. without another word, he placed one hand on your waist, and the other snaked up to your breast. he took hold of one of your tits, kneading its soft flesh with his calloused hands, his gaze still fixed upon you. you whimpered at the sensation, feeling that same fire impatiently burning in your gut. “aah-“ you moaned, unable to hold yourself back. you could almost feel the weed circulating in your bloodstream, making you so much more sensitive to eren’s touch. “you’re such a fuckin’ slut” he murmured against your skin before pulling you into his lap, and locking his mouth over your nipple. you bit your lip, attempting to hold back sounds, only to fail once you felt him bite.

this almost sent you over the edge. you let out another lewd sound, feeling eren harden beneath you. he pulled his mouth away and in one swift motion, wrapped his arm around your waist and flipped you over, making you bounce on the bed from the impact. you were now laying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, while eren stood hovering above you. he finally pulled his shirt over his head revealing the toned muscular skin it was covering. wow. it must’ve taken him years in the gym to build the physique you were currently looking at. the sight of his abs and biceps made you want to drool. “you like whatchu see princess?” he asked playfully, noticing the way your eyes scanned every part of him, memorizing every vein and muscle. “i guess” you uttered sarcastically, waiting to see his reaction. you saw annoyance flicker through his eyes. “mmm now that just won’t do, baby” he said and gave you no time to reply as he lowered his head to the lace on your underwear, grabbed it with his teeth, and slowly began pulling it down, only using his mouth. fuck. you had never experienced something like this, let alone with your friends roommate— who you had just met.

heat pooled in your lower stomach, and your pussy throbbed yet again, begging for attention. eren waited no time to grab hold of your thighs and position himself between them. he blew lightly, sending chills through your whole body. “eren, please” you moaned, unable to wait any longer. and that’s when you felt his mouth at your core, licking and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves that formed your clit. your hand flew to his hair, pulling on it and gripping it so tight you felt your knuckles turn white. he paused briefly to rasp, “you’re so fucking wet for me princess” before his mouth was back on your opening, exploring every inch of it with his tongue in a way that had your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. the air was thick and hot, and you felt your pulse quicken as eren skillfully inserted his tongue in you, licking and cleaning every part of your drooling pussy. the sensation was maddening, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release by the second.

eren removed a hand from your thigh, and easily slid two fingers in, pumping them in and out slowly as he sucked on your clit. you moaned at the sensation, pleasure coursing through your body. “e-eren, i’m gonna c-cum” you stuttered, unable to form a proper sentence. “mmm cum for me baby” he mumbled, high not only on the drug coursing through his veins, but also on you. and mere seconds later, you clenched around his fingers, feeling your body convulse with pleasure as you released your sweet juices all over his fingers, finally reaching your highly anticipated climax. eren lifted himself from between your thighs, sliding his fingers out of you. giving you no time to recover, he easily flipped you over with one hand, placing you on your hand and knees, and pushing your head into the mattress so your ass was up high in the air. you then felt him run his cum soaked fingers down your asshole. you felt the bed dip, watching him position himself in front of you from the corner of your eye, your head still pressed into the mattress. you felt his tongue travel from your still pulsating core all the way up to your ass, causing you to whimper incoherently, feeling him licking up all the juices he smeared on you moments earlier. this man was filthy— that you could say for sure.

you wanted, no— needed eren inside you, the pleasure from the climax finally subsiding in your body, and turning right back into that burning need. “ ‘ren please” you whined the plea, your voice breathless and erotic. “please what?” his mocking tone sent a humiliating thrum of pleasure through your body. even his mocking made you so fucking wet. “please eren, i need you inside me” you muttered in response, annoyed with his teasing. you felt him shift off the bed and do something that sounded a lot like taking off the rest of his clothes. finally. you felt the bed dip again, and you lifted yourself back onto your hands to take a peek at his cock. you couldn’t help it— you had to see what it looked like. and the sight sure didn’t disappoint, as his long, thick cock had you practically drooling. eren smirked, noticing the wide-eyed look on your face. but he let you look no longer because soon you felt your head being pushed back down into the mattress while he used his other hand to spank you, making you yelp with a mix of pain and pleasure in response. “aah- w-what was that f-for?” you asked, voice muffled by the sheets surrounding you.

“that’s for being such a fucking slut earlier” he replied, voice heavy with desire. he spanked you a couple more times, sending sharp stings into the flesh of your ass. you felt his fat tip prodding at your entrance, gliding up and down in a slow tortuous way, coating himself in your slick . he gave you no warning before he slammed into you, making you cry out. “nngh- e-eren fuck” you babbled, inhaling sharply while trying to adjust to his sheer length and girth. he was big—bigger than anyone you’d ever fucked before. he gave you a minute to adjust, relishing in the warmth of your tight walls desperately clenching around him. this is what heaven must feel like, he thought. he heard your panting slowing into longer breaths, indicating that you were mostly adjusted. he began thrusting into you with long strokes at an agonizing pace. he was teasing—you quickly learned that nothing came quick with eren, he was going to make you wait whether you liked it or not.

the pace was absolutely tantalizing. he pushed himself in and pulled himself out entirely before pushing back in again. he progressively quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. eren took a hand off your hip, and entangled it in your hair pulling hard enough to lift your head off the mattress. a sob tore through your throat, the pain causing wet tears to roll down your cheeks while the intoxicating pleasure of his cock had you feeling lightheaded, almost as high as the weed made you feel. he groaned, speeding up his pace, hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over again. the only sounds filing his room were the shallow breaths you both let out and the lewd sounds the two of you created as your bodies moved against each other, over and over again. it felt like you were being split open, his frantic pace enough to fuck you stupid. "e-eren, nngh i'm gonna- ah" you whimpered, unable to form a single coherent sentence. you heard him groan followed by him leaning close to your ear, still holding your hair and growling "what's that baby? couldn't hear you", the feeling of his hot breath on your ear sending chills down your spine.

" 'm gonna c-cum" you croaked, breathlessly. he let go of your hair, letting your head fall back to the mattress. he slowed himself down a bit, returning to that same agonizing pace from before. "come for me baby. i want to see you come all over my cock" he ordered, and you felt yourself snap free. your toes curled as you felt the familiar flame spread through your body, sending waves of pleasure through to your core as you clenched around his cock. "fuck" eren rasped, inhaling sharply and you felt his cock twitch while his body shuddered from pleasure, his release following yours. he pulled out, plopping down on the bed beside you while you flipped over to lay on your back. you were both panting, both glistening with sweat under the red-purple light of his LEDs. you spent a few minutes there in brief silence, breathing shallow breaths and coming down from the high of your orgasms.

moments later, eren got up, walking into his bathroom. he came back out a few minutes later and brought out a warm towel to clean you up. he was surprisingly gentle with you, compared to the almost feral side of him you saw mere minutes before. "you did good, princess" he said, the praise sending a warm rush of pleasure through your body. he cleaned you up, put his grey sweats back on, and picked your clothes up off the floor, bringing them to where you lay on the bed, propped up on your elbows. "do you treat all your clients this way?" you asked sarcastically, but with a hint of curiosity. you couldn't help but wonder if he did this to every girl he sold weed to. the thought of that made you feel something a little too close to jealousy. "only the ones i reallyyyy like" he joked, his tone playful. when you didn't respond, he added "you're the only one" his tone shifting to serious. "yeah okay" you replied, eyeing him suspiciously, but somehow you knew he was being serious. you sat up finally, slowly pulling your clothes back on. meanwhile, eren walked around his room, grabbing things from some of his drawers. you saw he pulled out a rolling tray, some papers and a jar of weed.

"so, how many grams did you want?" he asked, turning to look at you. right. that's why you were here in the first place. to pick up weed. and you had just fucked your new plug on the first pick up.

a/n 2: if you made it this far, thank u so much for reading. i had so much fun writing this. i'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to send me any thoughts or ideas into my inbox! - may

© @blessedmisery 2025.

[deadsetobsessions]

Can try a fic on: Dick adopting danny? Danny runs away from amity park his parents found out he is phantom and jazz told him to run.

Ooh! I can't do a full blown fic (I barely have the motivation to finish the ones I’ve started) but I can give you a one-shot?

---

Jasmine Fenton has always been a responsible young woman. That's what happens when your mildly neglectful and emotionally oblivious parents parentified you at a young age. Them’s the breaks. Anyways, Jasmine "Jazz" Fenton had raised her baby brother from, well, a baby to the scrawny teenager he is now and is therefore in the right to call herself his parent, even if it was a weight she wished her parents were adult enough to carry. Thus, it was a protective fury like no other that threaded through her vision when Jazz saw a terrified Danny hunched over himself in a way she'd not seen for a long time.

"Danny? Is everything okay?" Jazz quickly stepped inside of her room, taking in the amount of Boo-merangs laying broken and discarded on her floor. She locked the door. This was a locked door conversation, clearly.

"They found out." Danny curled up even more. His words were muffled into the tattered denim of his jeans. Jazz's body went cold as the stark red and green splotches made themselves apparent to her eyes. "They're hunting me."

Breathe. Danny needs you. Break down later. When he’s not around to watch you shatter at how his voice broke.

"Are you injured?" Danny nods meekly. It broke her heart to see him so removed from his usual and mildly ironic lively self.

She patched him up, keeping the red at the edge of her sight at bay when she catches sight of the blaster burns and the cuts.

"Good?" Danny nodded silently back. "Okay. Here's what you're gonna do."

Jazz strode over to her closet and dug out the gotta-dip bag. "Emergency escape bag. Sam saved up enough money to put a down payment and then some on an apartment in Bludhaven through cash, so you're gonna go there."

“What? Jazz, I’m not leaving you here-!”

“Danny, if you die- shut up, you know what I mean- permanently, you’ll be leaving me forever. And that’s not happening.”

Danny winced. Jazz used Pissed Off Mom Voice and it was super effective! Danny loses 50 points of bullheadedness.

“Yeah, okay.” He said weakly, in part because of the lost argument and because he also had ten different blaster scorches.

A loud thump. The siblings jolted, eyes widening in fear. Jazz’s face quickly morphed into the singular determination of getting her parents the fuck away from her baby brother.

“Go. I got this.”

Danny swallowed before grabbing Jazz in one final, desperate hug.

“PHANTOM! I KNOW YOU’RE THERE. GIVE ME MY BABY BOY BACK!”

“Mom!” Jazz shouted back, letting go of Danny and ushering him out of the window. “MOM! PHANTOM JUST FLEW TOWARDS THE TOWN CENTER!!”

“THANKS, JAZZY-PANTS!”

Once the explosive sounds of the GAV rocketed away, and Danny had disappeared into the waiting arms of Amity Park’s mystical forests, did Jasmine Fenton allow herself to sink to the ground and scream.

——

Blüdhaven wasn’t so bad. Sure, Danny’s injured to the hells and back but with the ambient ectoplasm Blud's got powering him, he's not even winded while walking home. His apartment was a bit ratty, but so was the rest of the city. At least his food’s not attacking him, and Danny learned that he’s not a bad cook. The city rats don’t even try to rob him anymore!

Really, it’s not too bad.

[Danny tried optimism. It failed critically.]

“Isn’t it too late for you to be out alone, kiddo?”

Danny whirled around, heart going straight up into the stratosphere. Which, for the halfa, was about 75 beats per minute.

“Who are you?!” Danny slid backwards, hunching in on himself to protect the injured parts of himself. He had gotten injured as Phantom, so his living form was mostly fine. It’s just being living as a scrawny 15 year old in Blüdhaven meant he had to dodge pickpockets, looters, and murderers more often than the locals did. And now, he faced his greatest evasion challenge yet, some weirdo in a sparkly blue Elvis costume. “Elvis-con was three months ago!”

The vigilante’s face, for lack of a better descriptor, smushed into a look of either great consternation or intense focus. Danny swore to himself that he wasn’t about to get offed by Bling Bling the third today. He wasn’t going down like that! Not to a the second coming of a disco ball! Sam would never let it die. Unlike how he will, if he doesn’t focus.

“I’m not impersonating Elvis!” Blue weirdo muttered.

“Of course not, you don’t have the hair.” Danny agreed, shifting back. Keep the costumed weirdo happy and Danny might get out of here safe and sound.

“Excuse you, my hair is the best-! You know what, I’m not doing this right now. I’m a whole adult.” Blue weirdo took an exaggerated breath before introducing himself, like he should have done before approaching Danny like a vaguely threatening circus performer. Danny hates the circus. “I’m the vigilante, Nightwing? You must be new to Blüdhaven.”

“How would I know if you’re a vigilante and not a villain?” Because the child dressed in brightly colored clothes and covered in blood following behind him does not inspire confidence or safety in Danny.

“Would a villain do this?!” ‘Nightwing’ flipped midair and did jazz hands. Danny crossed his arms, the movement adding much needed pressure against the ache in his chest. He levels Nightwing with an unimpressed stare.

“Yes.” Vlad did plenty of those things while trying to either adopt or murder Danny. The vigilante wilts, the ghost tearing up. and Danny tries hard not to feel guilty. He fails. Danny’s failing at things a lot lately. “I guess you get points for not trying to kidnap me, yet.”

“Really?” Nightwing grins, blinding and reflecting off of his pretty sparkly blue suit. That’s one hell of an outfit. Danny had to respect the dedication. “That’s great! So, what are you doing out here alone? Blüdhaven’s got a curfew— more like a suggestion, really, but most people follow it— and if you’re out too late, people will try to rob you!”

Personally, Danny felt like that shouldn’t have been said with a kind smile. There was something off about this guy and Danny was proven right in a few scant moments later, when a robber tries to hold Danny at gun point.

Nightwing all but flies into action, beating the absolute dogshit out of the guy. His ecrisma sticks fire up with a voltage level that raised the hairs on Danny’s neck. Was that safe for the living? Danny inched further away. “Right. You clearly have some issues to clear out on your own. I’ll… leave you to that.”

“Well, I’ll get you home safe, first.” Again, someone who sounded that nice should not be as intimidating as he is. Danny threw up his hands, hiding the wince that drew from him, and allowed the vigilante to escort him home. Even if Nightwing knows where he lives, Danny doubted he’d be able to do anything, even if the electric sticks make Danny wary.

“You live here?”

The ghost child face palms, muttering stuff about “Wing, holy shit where the fuck are your manners?!”

Honestly, Danny was feeling kind of upset too.

“Well, damn, you don’t have to be so judgmental about it. I’m trying my best, holy shit.”

——

Dick is trying his best to not lose his shit. The sparkles in his costume help him with that, reminding him there’s brightness in a world he wants to break with his bare hands. Brightness, like the kid in front of him. Danny.

The wounds were so fresh, Jason’s haunting hallucination following him so closely, that Dick had thought he was seeing another hallucination when he spied Danny from the rooftops. He was half sure he was imagining the conversation, staring at a stranger that reminded him so strongly of Jason. Clear blue eyes, black hair, and a weariness that a child shouldn’t ever have. The mugger made it clear it wasn’t fake, though, and Dick lost it.

Jason’s image overlayed with Danny’s and Dick’s big brother instinct kicked in. They kicked in, right in the mugger’s face, that is.

Great. Danny thinks he has issues. He does, of course, but… to see him wary made Dick’s heart break a little. Still…

“You live here?!” Dick shoved his foot into his mouth, shocked that Danny lived so close by, and immediately cringed at his own tone. His Jason hallucination facepalmed, telling him Alfred would kick his ass for being so thoughtless. The dirty look Danny shot him kicked his ass plenty, Dick thought, grimacing.

“Well, damn, you don’t have to be so judgmental about it. I’m trying my best, holy shit.”

“Sorry, that came out wrong.” He apologized. New plan. He was going to pull a��� he grimaced again— Bruce. He was going to adopt Danny. He’ll work through the guilt later, Dick lived here and he knew how much of a shithole it was. To leave Danny alone, defenseless? Blasphemy.

Danny inched away again and Dick wilted. Why can’t he do anything right?

[oceantornadoo]

ch10 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader is a kidnappee

masterlist | next

“How do you think we would have met in the real world?” You ask. His fingers tangle with yours, raising them high to your bedroom ceiling. “Hm. Regular customer at y’r store.” He answers. The bright Sunday morning light filters through the bedroom curtains, making the room glow like a dream. “You think I’d still own a bookstore in another life?” John nods against you, his head on the pillow next to yours. “Y’r made fer it. Tha’ I know.” You smile at the thought.

“What would you do?” He’s silent for a moment, thinking. “Military. I’m built f’r violence, can’t imagine anythin’ else.” You frown, hoping for a more positive answer. “It would be dangerous. And you’d be gone a lot. I don’t think you’d qualify as a regular.” You protest against the fake scenario. He squeezes your hand, comforting the sudden rush of emotion that made your last word wobble. You hoped for one future where a little boy named John could chase his interests, not living in a warzone. “I’d get a desk job when we got married.” You turn to your side, meeting his eyes with a grin.

“You’d marry me?” He turns on his side as well, hand catching the side of your face. He strokes the softness of your cheeks, calluses pulling against moisturized skin. “I’d marry ya in any universe. Flirt with ya at the checkout counter. Find your favorite books an’ get th’ author to sign them. Bring back stories from foreign countries. You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.” Your breath catches. It’s the closest thing that he could give to a love confession. It’s tailored to you as a person, not just empty platitudes. You peck him on the lips, pulling back before he can distract you. “I’d find you too, John.”

When you wake, you’re cotton headed with a bitter mouth. You try to lick your lips but are stopped by the gag in your mouth, so jarring it took you a second to realize it. As the fog clears, you take stock of the situation.

A gloomy room, water dripping in the corner with a singular light hanging on the ceiling. It’s a bit chilly, air rushing through the thin button-up you’re wearing. (John’s. But you can’t think about him right now.) You’re still in the jeans you wore to work, thankfully. Hands handcuffed behind you to a cool metal chair, your legs secured to the bottom of it. And of course, the fabric gag in your mouth, reflected in the mirror in front of you that has to be watched by your captors. You glare, hard.

You were kidnapped after lunch, and thankfully you’re only a little hungry. The only sense of time you have is your bladder, pleading you to get to a bathroom. It must have been a few hours at least, since you’d only drank a little at work. You guess it’s around 6 pm, before night peaks around the earth in full. All you do is stare at your reflection and wonder how you let two enemies into your bookstore.

The metal door at the corner of the room creaks with effort. When you turn your head, Phil is standing there, sealed plastic water bottle in hand. “How’re ya feelin’?” You stay silent behind the gag, content to glare at your former assistant. He sighs and closes the door. You hear someone lock it from the outside. Phil approaches cautiously, opening the water bottle as he walks.

“‘m takin’ your gag off and you’re gonna be a good girl and not scream.” The phrase good girl is like poison to your ears. Something only your husband is allowed to call you. You stay bitterly silent as he tugs down your gag, dirty fingers brushing your face. You force yourself not to react, eyes trained on him. Phil brings the water bottle to your lips, tilting your head back to drink. While you would refuse out of spite, you don’t know the next time you’ll get water. Drops of water slip down your jaw, cooling your skin even more.

“Now, I’ve got some questions for you, sugar. Answer ‘em and you’ll be outta here in no time.” He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. You have a feeling you won’t be getting a bathroom or dinner anytime soon.

-

Stupid Kate and her no-phone rule. She’s notoriously strict with devices when meeting with clients, especially potential ones. John was in that meeting for many grueling hours with a potential gun vendor, watching the clock hands tick by. He needs to call his wife, needs to hear you reassure him that it was just a fight, that you’ll talk it out and be okay eventually. 

Finally, Kate lets them free a bit after six. John immediately grabs his phone from Laswell’s secretary and frowns at the slur of notifications on his screen, mainly from Gaz. He forgoes reading them, calling him while mentally calculating how fast he could see you.

“Sir, we need you at the bookstore immediately.” It sets off alarms in his head. Why would he be needed there? “What aren’t ya tellin’ me, Garrick?” John finds his driver waiting outside the office and signals to him to get going. “Shepherd got ‘er. The two assistants were his. We’re tryin’ to find her but she’s gone, sir.” John barks at his driver to step on it, then puts the phone back to his ear. You’re gone. You can’t be gone. You’re supposed to be waiting for him at the Castle, brows furrowed why he explains why he really couldn’t take you on that trip. Why you seem to be the person he forgot to search for in a past life, with your unruly snickers and magnificent brain. You’re not supposed to be gone.

John bursts into the half-made store, panting from anger. His people are untying Terrance in the corner, a medic pressing an ice pack against a nasty bump on his head. Kyle’s on the phone, barking orders to someone on the other side. 

Their movements stop when their boss bursts in. Tie half-done, hair wrecked from hands going through it. Flustered. A hundred eyes track him and none are the ones he wants. There’s only one thing on his mind.

“Where is my wife?”

-

Simon shoots out of bed, breathing hard. Johnny’s used to his nightmares, tugging his shoulder to bring him back down. Unlike other nights, his husband stays sitting up. It’s enough to raise an alarm.

“Bad dream, lamb?” Moonlight traces Simon’s scars reverently, turning them into rivers of silver. Sometimes it hurts to look at him for too long, but Johnny wills himself to focus. “Somethin’s wrong.” Simon murmurs. He reaches for his phone and dials someone. Johnny can guess who. The call goes to voicemail at the first ring. “Ye ken she’s on do not disturb.” Simon calls again and while usually it would go through on DND, it cuts short again. While he tries for another call, Johnny turns to grab his own phone, calling the man he loathes.

“Garrick.” He sounds angry and out of breath, unusual at this late hour. “Ghost is wonderin’ where his sister is. The lass’s phone isnae workin’.” Instead of biting out a sharp comment, Garrick takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself. Johnny sits up on instinct, putting the phone on speaker and preparing himself for the worst. “She’s been kidnapped.” Johnny goes to speak but Simon covers his mouth, shaking his head. “I was about to call y’. Shepherd’s men took ‘er at the shop. Two were workin’ on the inside and slipped through. We don’t know-“ Simon snatches the phone and barks out a reply. “We’ll see you in 2 hours. Fuckin’ find ‘er Garrick.” He hangs up and the men get ready robotically, grabbing their respective guns before calling the pilot. Before they head to the helipad, Johnny grabs his husband’s neck and brings his forehead to his own. “We’ll find ‘er.” Simon nods and that’s that. There’s no other option.

-

“An’ here’s the security code f’r the guns.” Simon gestures to the passcode locks on the hundreds of secure cases. “And I need to know this because…?” Your brother sighs, then peeks down to check something on his iPad. “In case Price forgets. In case ya need to launch a coup. In case you wan’ a new weapon. Take your pick, kid.” You punch his arm, then crowd the tablet so you can memorize the code. Only Simon, Johnny, Price, and now you know this code. Not even Price’s head of security. You leave for wedding preparations tomorrow, and instead of watching Sex and the City reruns with Si, he’s forcing you to train like a military recruit. Running you through security codes, showing you how the weapons transfer will work between him and Price. He’s always let you shadow his work but this is different, a new responsibility on your shoulders. 

You know it took a lot for him to allow this. Your brother distrusts everyone, like he believes he’ll be betrayed every morning. “Thanks for showing me this, Si.” You murmur, trusting eyes meeting his. The basement of your mansion, where the weapons are stored, is cool and sterile. An opposing force to the figure of your brother, warm and painted in nostalgia that you’re already trying to not think about. “Can’t have ya in the dark, love. Now tell me the code again.”

“I don’t know the codes.”

Phil glares at you. His personality is so at odds with the assistant you trained in your store. Gone is the happy-go-lucky Southerner that you knew would charm all types of clientele. In his place is a stone-faced man tasked with extracting every single one of your secrets. What a waste of time. You might not be your brother, but at the end of the day, you’re a Riley through and through.

“You’re askin’ me to believe that the Ghost didn’t give his sister the codes to the weapons he was sellin’ her for?” You shrug, unaffected. “Like you said, he sold me. I was more concerned with that than learning how his weapons worked.” He frowns, hands flexing in his pockets. “That don’t make ya feel bad? Gettin’ sold like a cow?” You snort at the comparison. “At least cows get slaughtered. I’m in purgatory in this never-ending marriage with John.” Phil comes closer. He switches from standing to squatting on his haunches, his eyes a little under yours. You wonder why he wants the codes. Does this mean John’s security holdings are compromised? The cases were designed by Johnny himself, impervious to any sort of hacking software.

“From what I saw in the store, you seemed pretty in love.” You shrug again. The best lies, you’ve found, are woven with a thread of truth. “He’s hot. We fuck. Don’t tell me you can’t separate love from lust?” Phil doesn’t say anything. He wants you to keep talking in the uncomfortable silence, but you won’t give in. The shade of his eyes are all wrong, too light. You prefer blue eyes dark and possessive, gripping you in their stare.

After a few seconds, he breaks the staring contest, looking down at the floor. “If you don’t have the codes, you’re not of much worth to us.” You shrug again, willing your hands not to shake. “Then I guess you’ll have to get rid of me.” When he looks back at you, there’s an unnerving grin on his face. “Nah. You know them, I’m sure. We’ll just have to use other methods.”

-

“Favorite takeaway cuisine?”

“Indian. You?”

“Thai. Love me some yellow chicken curry.”

John doesn’t know what that is, so he stays silent. You drop your spoon in your cereal, eyebrows strung together in disbelief. “You’ve never had Thai?” It’s almost a shriek. He’d laugh if he wasn’t sure you’d fling milk at him. “Gaz’s allergic to tofu an’ real superstitious about it. Thinks it’s in the curry even if we get meat.” You bark out a laugh. He’s so glad he didn’t have any morning meetings today. It’s a rare weekday breakfast together and he’s enjoying the get-to-know-you questions you’re flinging his way. 

“Childhood pets?”

“One dog. Got forced to turn him out to the street when I was eleven.” Instead of answering the question, you frown with a pout. “That’s so cruel.” He nods, flicking his eyes away so he doesn’t have to see the pity in them. “My father was a cruel man. Didn’t like things tha’ made a mess, includin’ pets. Or his son.” When he looks back, though, it’s not pity in your eyes. It’s understanding. There’s a new bond of solidarity between you, formed by men that weren’t supposed to become fathers. “I think you’d be a good father, John.” He shrugs, grabbing your free hand on the table and stroking your knuckles.

“Know I’ve got to be one, but not the most excited about it.” It’s a confession he’s never told anyone. He knows he can be a good father, a good leader, but there’s never been that need inside of him to create new life. The way he lives is not good for children. He can imagine it in another life, packing school lunches and doing pickup, but it feels so limited in this one. Restrained to the house, no playdates or public swimming lessons. Anything is too dangerous for someone with his name.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You murmur in a serious tone not meant for the morning. He squeezes your hand before meeting your eyes, wet with unspoken emotion. “I know how to be a good mom, but I don’t really want to be one.” His stomach drops. He’s never heard someone say it so resolutely as him. “Why’s tha’?” He croaks out. “This life…it would be like an animal breeding in captivity. They never get to experience the joys of the wilderness. They’re restricted to the four walls around them. I’d become a captive too, never my own person again. Mother first. I respect others who do it but I just…dread it.” This time, it’s John nodding in understanding. He pulls his chair closer to yours until your legs tangle under the table like a secret.

“What if we didn’t have kids?” You whisper. He shakes his head regretfully. “I need an heir, sweetheart. If I don’t have one, there’d be mutiny.” You bite your lip in concentration and he’s entranced by it. The push of your teeth against the plumpness of your skin is magic. “What if we adopted?” Again, he shakes his head. He’s thought about that avenue too many times to count. “Can’t willingly bring a kid that’s not even mine into this shit.” This time it’s you shaking your head, moving closer until you’re practically in his lap.

“Unofficial adoption. Someone that’s past 18.” It takes a second to register. You both say the same name at the same time: “Gaz.” It’s not unheard of, passing to a non-biological heir. Mainly when the couple has problems with fertility. Usually, the new heir would change their last name for the sake of tradition. You push out of your chair and plop down on his thigh, hands running through his beard in that way that grounds him. “We could tell them I’m infertile.” He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe invent a miscarriage to really get that pity.” You move to his thick head of hair, massaging his scalp. “Wait two years to make it look like we really tried. Announce it on our wedding anniversary for full effect.” You kiss the tip of his nose. A goddess in his lap and you want him. He still can’t believe it.

“Would he want it?” John rarely asks questions, but this one is important. You nod immediately, self-assured. “He loves you like a father, John. I think he’d protest, but eventually say yes.” John captures your lips in a kiss, rough and fast. He pulls away, leaving a string of saliva between you. “I’d get a vasectomy. I’m not fuckin’ you with a condom the rest of my life.” Your eyes flare and he suddenly worries he said the wrong thing. “The rest of your life?” He nods, squeezing your hip. “If you’ll have me.” You grin and it’s the start of his demise.

-

i know this is a little shorter than usual but the kidnapping will be multiple chapters so pls stick with me :) im hoping to finish by the end of feburary but tbd. also taglist is full so she's closed sorry about that!

-

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[hotshotsxyz]

hope for the future (got me on my knees)

(buddie) (s8 spec) (2.4k words) car crash spec <3 title from bastille's hope for the future, which, imo, is one of the eddie songs of all time cw: blood (like. a lot)

Eddie’s not supposed to be here. He’s not—

He’s—

God, he’s not supposed to be here again. He’s not even on shift. But Buck is.

It was a favor. He’s covering for a last minute absence on C shift. So now he’s—

He’s on shift and he’s lying in the middle of the road and he’s not moving. And Eddie. Can’t. Breathe.

“Buck!” someone shouts, and Jesus it sounds like their entire world just crumbled. Eddie’s throat feels raw like—

Oh.

He’s the one screaming.

Buck’s three feet away from him, sluggishly bleeding out on the pavement. Shannon’s six feet under in a graveyard halfway across the city. Buck’s ribs are giving way beneath Eddie’s hands. Buck’s blood is soaking through his jeans. It’s staining him, his skin, his mind.

He—

“Sir!” Someone snaps. “You need to—shit, Diaz?”

No, that’s—it’s not Eddie who’s broken and unmoving on the ground. It’s not Eddie who’s going to die with or without a tube down his throat.

It’s—

It’s—

Two pairs of hands grab him, yank him away.

“No!” Eddie screams, thrashing wildly at whoever it is that thinks they can keep him from Buck.

“Diaz, stop!”

He can’t. He won’t.

“You have to let them help him.”

They won’t do enough. Only Eddie will fight for him hard enough. Only Eddie knows how to bring him back. An animalistic snarl climbs out from his chest.

“I’ve got a pulse!” a paramedic Eddie doesn’t recognize shouts. She’s a floater, probably.

A floater is holding Buck’s life in her hands. Does she even know? Does she know that the world will stop turning if he’s not in it?

Eddie’s knees hit the pavement. Distantly, he feels the sting. Mostly, though, he feels Buck’s blood. It’s on his hands and soaking through his clothes, painting him red, red, red.

Two firefighters carefully roll Buck onto a body board and lift him to the stretcher. For a split second, it’s 2019. Eddie’s watching his wife die. He’s holding Buck’s hand and trying not to stare at his mangled leg.

“Diaz! Now or never, are you coming with us?”

He doesn’t feel himself move, but between one blink and the next he finds himself in the back of an ambulance staring down at his—

His—

Buck’s eyelashes flutter and Eddie can’t do this.

“Please,” he sobs, clutching Buck’s hand. “You—you have to—”

He’s squeezing too hard. So hard he might break Buck’s hand, but he’s terrified that if he lets go, so will Buck.

The floater moves to intubate, but before she can Buck heaves a shuddering breath and opens his eyes.

Eddie thinks he might be screaming again, only this time the sound is trapped deep inside him.

“Eds… hurt?” Buck manages.

He must be. He’s dying maybe, because that’s the only explanation he can think of for the creeping numbness in his limbs.

“He’s fine, Buckley,” the floater says.

She’s wrong. She doesn’t— how could she? She doesn’t know that every piece of Eddie that’s worth anything is dying right alongside his—

“I can’t wait any longer,” she says apologetically before shoving a plastic tube down Buck’s trachea. He chokes on it, and oh, Eddie’s choking too.

The ambulance slows and Eddie’s about to bang against the wall, about to demand they keep going, when the doors are flung open revealing an entire trauma team dressed in pristine scrubs.

The floater rattles off Buck’s vitals and the injuries they know of.

As they pull Buck from the back of the ambulance, one of the doctors catches Eddie’s eye. He nods, and Eddie hopes to God that means he knows that Los Angeles will be swallowed by the sea if this man doesn’t live.

All at once, Buck is gone and Eddie’s left standing next to an ambulance that could be the last place he ever hears Buck speak.

“Diaz, you okay?” The C shift captain whose name Eddie can’t be bothered to remember right now asks.

No.

No.

No.

He doesn’t answer.

…

There’s blood on his face. Buck’s blood. Eddie doesn’t— he’s not sure how it got there, but now that he sees it, he can feel it too. It’s tacky and drying and God, there’s so much.

Gentle hands turn him away from the mirror.

“No,” Eddie says as his sluggish brain recognizes Bobby. “No, no he can’t—“

Bobby was there when—

He held Eddie. Let him weep into his shoulder. Stood steady as Eddie’s world crumbled to pieces.

“He’s in surgery,” Bobby says.

“They don’t know,” Eddie babbles.

Bobby’s face creases in concern. “Know what, Eddie?”

“He’s— he—“ He can’t force the words out.

“Eddie,” he repeats forcefully.

“I love him,” Eddie croaks.

Bobby, steadfast and solid, cracks.

One sob escapes his chest, then another, and soon they’re both sliding to grimy bathroom floor, trying not to shatter entirely.

“I can’t lose another—“ Bobby gasps.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Bobby can’t lose another child. He can’t lose another spouse. Not now, not when he’s just begun to understand the depth of what he’s been denying himself for what feels like his entire life. Not now, not ever. Not— not, Buck.

The bathroom door bangs open and Hen steps in. Tear tracks stain her cheeks, but Eddie can’t bring himself to analyze her expression further. If Buck’s— Eddie wants to live in a world that hasn’t quite ended as long as he possibly can.

“No update,” she says quietly.

She grabs a few paper towels and wets them in the sink. She kneels in front of Eddie and brings one to his face. He flinches back.

“Eddie?” she asks.

He swallows past the lump in his throat. “What if…”

What if the blood staining his skin is the last piece of Buck he gets to keep? What if he dies on the operating table? What if he’s already dead? Eddie can’t— he won’t let anyone take the last of him away.

A harsh sob drags itself past his lips.

“Oh, Eddie,” Hen whispers, and why do people keep saying his name?

No one— he’s never heard it so many times from anyone but Buck. He doesn’t want to hear it from anyone but Buck. He shakes his head and presses his hands to his ears.

Hen says something else, but all he can hear is the whoosh of his own pulse, and it’s so unfair. Shouldn’t his heart know not to beat until he’s sure Buck’s will again?

“Eddie,” Hen says, taking his hands. “Let me, please.”

He can’t bring himself to agree, but he doesn’t fight back when she raises the paper towel to his face again. She pulls it across his skin in gentle drags, but it’s cold and Eddie can’t help but think uncharitably that Buck would’ve waited for the water to warm before he wet the towels.

When she’s done with his face, Hen guides him to the sink to wash the blood from his hands too. For a split second, Eddie wonders if Buck washed his blood away in this same sink after Eddie was shot. He wonders if Buck’s hands shook the way his are shaking now.

“That’s good Eddie, there you go,” Hen encourages him softly.

He bristles at her careful tone. Nothing she says can make any of this better or worse, not unless she can tell him with absolute certainty whether or not Buck will survive the night.

“I grabbed your duffle from the station,” she continues, and it’s only then that he notices his own bag slung over her shoulder. “Think you can get changed?”

Eddie nods mutely. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is part of what makes Hen such a good paramedic— her ability to meet someone where they are. He peels off his henley and exchanges it for the long sleeve LAFD crewneck she hands him.

He swaps his pants next, and for the first time, wearing a piece of the uniform feels wrong. He couldn’t— he wasn’t a medic today. If it had just been him and Buck out there, Buck would be dead already. He’d, what? Held his torn skin together? As if that was the wound that was going to kill him. Shannon didn’t even bleed when she died.

“Maddie and Chim are waiting for you,” Hen says, nodding toward the door. “I’m going to sit with Cap for a little while, okay?”

Again, Eddie nods. He stumbles through the door and into the arms of a woman who, for all they share, he barely knows.

He can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. She’ll know, he thinks, know that he didn’t do enough. Know that he failed one of the three people she loves most in this world.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks into her hair.

“For what?” she asks shakily.

“I should’ve— I didn’t—“

“You were there,” Maddie says. “You made sure he knows he’s not alone.”

Eddie swallows harshly.

“He knows what he’s fighting for,” Maddie continues. “Thank you.”

He wants to shake her. He should’ve done more. He’d demanded it once of a different team of doctors, and then he couldn’t even—

He was there and it didn’t matter. Buck’s still dying in a sterile operating room.

Maddie pushes him toward a chair next to Chimney in the waiting room, then sits on his other side. They talk to him, Eddie thinks, but he doesn’t hear a word.

…

“Family of Evan Buckley?”

Eddie’s on his feet before he’s even made a conscious decision to stand. Maddie follows quickly behind him, and— oh, Bobby’s in the waiting room now, too.

The doctor smiles at them, and while Eddie’s sure it’s meant to be reassuring, every second that passes without news is more excruciating than the last.

“Mr. Buckley did well in surgery,” she says.

Eddie’s entire body sags, like a marionette with its strings cut. Hen’s subtle but steadying hand on his back is the only reason he doesn’t collapse to the floor right then and there.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor continues, “but his CT was clear and we were able to locate and repair the source of his internal bleeding.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Maddie asks, high and watery.

The doctor nods. “We’d like to keep him a few days for observation, but barring unforeseen complications, we believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

Maddie presses a hand to her mouth and nods, eyes shining.

“The effects of the anesthesia should be wearing off soon, I can take two of you to his room.”

To Eddie’s surprise, Maddie takes his hand. “We’ll—us,” she says.

Eddie looks at Maddie, then Bobby. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Go,” Bobby says. “He needs you.”

Eddie’s not sure that’s true, but he sure as hell needs Buck and he—he thinks this is probably one of those times when he’s allowed to be a little selfish.

“Through these doors,” the doctor says, leading them back with a wave of her key card.

…

He’s pale, unnaturally so. It’s like, despite the massive transfusion he received, there still isn’t enough blood pumping through his veins. Eddie wishes he could wring out his shirt and return every drop he took.

“Eddie, what happened?” Maddie asks softly.

Eddie shakes his head. “I, uh, I wasn’t supposed to be there,” he says haltingly.

Maddie takes his hand with the one that isn’t holding Buck’s and squeezes.

“I don’t think he knew I was there,” Eddie continues. “It was just… God, Maddie, it was a coincidence.”

Eddie closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“It came out of nowhere. They were responding to a fender bender, wouldn’t have even been a call except one of the drivers was stuck in their car, I think. He was helping someone when it—there was a car. And then he was just—I couldn’t—he—”

Maddie squeezes his hand again. “You know, I—” she hesitates, then nods like she’s made a decision. “I’ve never seen him happy the way he is with you.”

Against Eddie’s will, a pained noise escapes his throat. “I don’t know why,” he admits. He looks down at his feet.

“Sure,” Maddie says, blowing out an amused huff.

“He’s so good. He walks into a room and everything gets brighter. He’s the sun,” Eddie says helplessly.

Maddie’s smile turns impossibly fond. “You love him,” she says. It’s not a question.

A smile of his own spreads unbidden on his lips. “How could I not?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

Eddie whips his head around and sees Buck, eyes open, lips parted.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

He should be panicking, maybe. Throat closing, heart racing, but—the singular feeling in his chest is relief.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, incapable of and unwilling to keep the warmth from his voice.

“You—” Buck blinks twice, slow, like he’s trying to keep himself awake.

Eddie lays a hand on his ankle and squeezes. “Rest,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

“Stay… s’nice,” Buck slurs as he slips back into sleep.

“For what it’s worth,” Maddie says after a long moment, “pretty sure he loves you, too.”

Eddie watches the slow rise and fall of Buck’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, biting down on a grin that’s far too wide for the ICU, “I think he might.”

“Could take a second for him to work that out for himself,” Maddie says.

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I know,” he says. “Gives me time to pick out a ring,” he jokes. Kind of.

Maddie laughs and shakes her head. “Is this your way of asking for my permission to propose?”

“Well I’m not going to ask your parents,” Eddie replies, wrinkling his nose.

Maddie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Could you imagine if I said no after all of this?”

“I’d ask him anyway,” Eddie admits.

“Good answer,” Maddie says.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, so that was a test?”

“No,” Maddie replies, shaking her head. “But he deserves someone that chooses him no matter what.”

“I do,” Eddie says with conviction. “I will.”

“Then yes,” Maddie says. “Just—don’t ask him in the hospital.”