#russell crowe smut

[hoppingonjim]

I just love how much you love Jackson Healy too! I had a fun little idea if you wanted to explore it for him. On an unexpectedly rainy day in LA, Jackson pulls over to give the reader a ride so she decides to thank him by riding him too 🤭

RIDING DIRTY- healy !

note: he's my fav, ever. i'm so uggggh in love w him. #jacksonarmy . i'm more in love w this idea though omg but so sorry for the wait on this! if it sucks, lmk and i'll rewrite ofc

cw warnings: riding, afab!reader, sex as payment, car sex, dad bods, pet names, unprotected sex (dont be silly, cover your willie), fat cocks, jackson healy and his stupid little rants, p in v, nipple suckling, brief spanking cause jackson loves ass, mentions of aftercare, horny fucks.

the forecast forgot to mention the abundance of moody clouds that doomed the sky. their tears hammering down on your head. you didn't prepare for this, you were overjoyed in the morning with the proposal of a jog. you didn't need your car to get to work, you didn't need your car to get back from work. the day was supposed to bloom with hues of blue and green, bubbling from every surface.

except the meteorologists must've not predicted anything right. read all of the signs wrong. here you were, sidewalk, thumb up, begging in the persistent rain for a stranger's commitment to kindness.

a 66 healy pulls up. the cream color molding in with the rain. you vigorously raise your thumb, bobbing it upwards repeatedly. just to catch his attention. it's a miracle when he pulls over, opening the door for you.

"thank you, thank you-" you're stammering over your own grattiude as you hop into shotgun. then you get a full view of the man. he's tall, you can tell that by his posture- he's bigger, scruffy, looks almost like the danger that follows you home on an empty street, but those eyes are soft. the smile is gentle and almost like grandma's homemade treats. though despite the bigger figure of the man, there's strength in his grip. his knuckles clutching tightly onto the wheel, his triceps peeping through only slightly through the tropical shirt he wore.

a deep laugh bellows from the man once he resumes driving, "no problem, where you headed?" like his laugh, his voice is even low. deep. like his facial hair, his voice is scruffy.

you smile, "home. two rights, then a left.. i didn't expect it to be raining today."

"don't think anyone did honestly, damn meteorologists. y'know- i always wanted that job. can be wrong every damn day and still make a good living. i'm just not good with.. science and that- crap."

his own vernacular slips from his curved lips in a homely fashion and it's clear to you that it embarrasses him. there's a flush on his cheeks, he wants to seem more proper to you. as if you should feel completely fine about being in the car, on a rainy night, with a stranger. a man, for that matter.

though his eyes widened slightly when you laugh, the flushed color on his cheeks wisping away, "my dad used to always say that!"

"dad's a smart fella then." he nods, his wipers squeaking just slightly. clearly the beaut of a ride isn't so creamy wheeling as the colors leads you to believe, "names jackson, jackson healy- and yours?"

you smile as you tell him your name before perking an eyebrow upwards, "healy? is.. that a reason why you bought this car then? an austin-healy?"

a small shrug complements another chuckle, "i guess so, yeah. jimmy-rigged it a bit though, had to for days like today. but i mainly bought it because of the look. it's classic- don't find many classics today, and this new generation wants to keep up with the minimalist colors. i wish people could still appreciate the beauty in color." with passion he drives more cautiously, eyes flickering over towards you. taking in the sight he didn't observe before.

though his rants translates into something more poetic for you. you've known the man, jackson, for nearly five minutes- or was it ten? in such a short time he was sharing concerns with you, leveling a conversation. it was magnetic. sure his outward appearance pulled you in, you liked the dad bod type, but now his words kept you there. this stranger had a force you just couldn't seem to halt.

"i like the classics too, a lot prettier. mustangs, my dad had one.. always my favorite. a green one too, i like that color."

"green is a nice color."

the car ride goes slightly silent. he's concentrated on the slippery road, not wanting to danger either one of you. the directions you provided him repeat in his mind. his turns are graceful, he slows down, he checks every which way, you see it through the stare in his eyes that safety is the most important thing to him. it only fuels your attraction.

it wasn't like the sun was out moments before, the rain dulled it away. though now it only seemed to be a memory, the dark sky implanted with foreign light screeching from posts down the street. flickering in their neglect.

"tell me which one it is, then i'll be on my way." the gentle air of his voice never deserts him, it sweeps you closer.

nodding, you wait till he reaches the small, narrow box you call home. his tires slip just a tad when he pulls into your driveway, he expects you'll be rushing out the door- eager to get away from the stranger.

"well, here's your place i guess."

a chuckle rumbles his body, you undo your seatbelt, but your door hasn't even been opened yet, "you really helped me out jackson.." you begin, voice almost sultry as you shift your body in order to face him better.

the words you hum force the flushed red color to return to his cheeks. there's an incantation in your tone, he's sure of it, "well it's not problem-"

you're biting your lip now, in that sex icon type way. a bombshell needing to show thanks, "still, you didn't have to do it.. i can pay you back-"

"no." he cuts you off instantly, his breath stuck in his own windpipe. his throat choked out by the thick atmosphere suddenly gassing his car, "you're sweet honey, but i don't need money, i like helping people out.."

it's your turn to cut him off, not with words, but just with a laugh, "who said i would pay you back in money?"

a gulp flushes out his entire flustered demeanor. it's a different man now, one in the driver seat for this conversation. a smirk plays out on his lips, the click of his seatbelt whisking away, "what thought have you got going on in that pretty mind of yours then, huh? you really gonna pay a stranger back, in sex? you don't know me, you barely know me." a predatorial gaze falls onto you, he sees you squirming in your seat. his words driving you mad. your breathing fills up the void, until he pats his thigh.

crawling over the armrest, you situate yourself into his lap. those big hands flock to your waist, already beginning to guide you into the rhythm of grinding, ensuring you feel the affects of your words.

"you're so hard," and you're already letting the man slide down your pants, fingers teasing the dampness slowly ruining your panties.

"my words get you all wet?"

only a stiff nod is given before his thumb drags over your bottom lips. when lips part, his thumb drags down the bottom one, all delicate. though his eyes find more amusement in watching the way yours so intently focus on each move of his. the way he then orders you to kiss him, through a migration of his thumb- down to your chin.

his lips are refreshing. they don't taste of casual smoke or a bottle of whisky. there's no pungent taste, only the refreshment of wannabe crooners and style. he's hungry, he's pulling you closer and a hand is already tugging down your panties. the taste of your tongue is leaving gold in his senses and he feels he needs more. gripping and groping every last inch of you. raising and lowering you. slipping a hand downwards just to feel what he's really done to you- index finger swiping your slick.

"you're so beautiful."

into your lips he mutters more compliments about your scent, your sweetness, he way you turn him on. your beauty, never calls you sexy however. never calls you hot.

with extreme reluctance you pull away, needing every breath you can get, "i need you, let me pay you back-" "fuck yeah, okay, okay.. okay princess." he's finding something to do in the means of lifting off your shirt, unhooking your bra. it's impressive, how swift he is with it. meanwhile you're undoing his jeans, unbuttoning that beach kissed shirt. you attempt to slip the shirt completely off of him, though he shakes his head. if there is a later- you'll ask him about that.

his cock is hard, needy. his tip engorged and dripping with precum. ready for you to rock him properly for payment, "c'mon princess." his encouraging words leave you sliding on top of him. letting his thick cock fill you out.

a groan flees from him in shock at how you didn't even ease into it. his hands migrate to your hips, nails digging into the supple skin, "good girl, such a good girl." after he bucks his own hips upwards, you begin to rock on him.

you start off slow, this time you're easing into it. moans already falling from your throat- begging. begging for yourself to go just a little faster, grow more accustomed to this heavenly sensation. groans fill the car, bouncing off of your pretty sounds. the ones he can't get enough of.

"you're already so good, you know that? so good, so good already?"

the encouragement prompts you to pick up the pace. careful rocks quickly turning reckless. you're attempting to feel every inch of him, squeezing his cock with pleasure. a hand lands a blow onto your ass, but it doesn't sting. it only accelerates the thrill. those moans raise in a pitch, stumbling over one another. a new sound emerges in the car, tangoing with the sinful audio from your mouth and his- the sound of skin slapping, hard. it's as if this will never happen again. every rock, the eventual bounces, they're all desperate. your nails dig into his broad shoulders, feeling his strength. adoring his strength. you want to speak to him, the words won't barge through.

similarly he tries speaking to you, but the low grunts and groans barricade any praises. the most he can do is continue to squeeze your ass cheek, sprinkling in a spank when he deems it necessary.

the sound of rain is drowned out by the payment of sex. with your back arched, jackson realizes he has a better view of your nipples. just to throw you increasingly off the edge, he leans in, suckling on one. swirling his tongue around the hardened bud, groaning against the sensitive skin. begging to feel you release your serendipity onto him.

"holy shit- holy shit what're you- what're you-" it's becoming too much. your hands leave his shoulders and find solace in gripping on tightly to his slicked hair. the premediated waves crashing from your unwavering grasp. victims to the way you pull whenever your bouncing forces his cock to hit a special, sweet spot of yours.

he's twitching now, you can feel it. it sends you into a flight, working overtime to feel every inch of him. losing yourself on his lap. it's hectic and he finds it amazing, heavy breathing and gasps bombarding his conscious.

"gonna cum- gonna cum, oh fuck.."

you do. it's heaven. the gates are in front of you when you are embraced by the enchanting kiss of an orgasm. cum coating his cock, remnants of the way you worked so hard.

"me too, princess, gonna- gonna give it to you-"

the severity of his own forces him to pull away from your suckled, swollen nipples. a string of saliva breaking down onto your breast. with force he takes brief, very brief control, and slams you down upon him. the biggest motivator for him to shoot his load inside of you was feeling you cum. that was enough for him. and an extreme turn on.

it feels otherworldly when you feel him unload inside of you. a stranger. filling you up with his hot cum. decorating your insides with arousing moments.

while trying to catch your breath, you two stare at each other. eyes looking for disapproval in each other. you don't find any. just satisfaction, and hints of longing.

amidst the gasps and beckons for air. helpless pants. the rain peeps through the windows, shattering every sense of urgency. tapping along the hood.

fingers trace circles on your back, gingerly grazing, "stay here for a moment."

[stupidfuckingwindow]

Three's company // Holland March, Jackson Healy.

Word count: 1.5k

Content/Warnings: NSFW, Holland cums a lot. Gets romantic real fast. Takes place after an upcoming fic. Slight crack in the beginning, emotional at the end.

Big thanks to @hoppingonjim for writing Jackson Healy fics. He just does something to my mind and I need him, I fear. I love their fics, go check them out. I reread their stuff to help me with writing my own version of Healy.

It's barely been thirty minutes and Holland's already cum twice, flecks of white splattered onto his chest. (And, by God, listen when I fucking tell you that it's an absurd amount of cum, Jesus CHRIST.) His suit- the blue and orange one you like so much- is nothing short of a disheveled mess, and his hair is in a similar state of disarray. At this point, it seems like Holland is having the most fun between you and his partner, despite the fact he's barely even been touched. Despite that fact, he's literally panting.

Going back to his made mess of cumming, he'd actually managed to get both you and Healy, who's a good enough distance away that you could almost consider Holland's unorthodox ability impressive. No matter how surprising that little idea seems to be, Jackson sure isn't impressed.

"We've barely even taken off your damn clothes," he tells Holland. He isn't given a response that's coherent, just a loud 'Fuck!' from March when his hips jolt upwards at the feeling of your hand wrapped around his cock. And, even with that, your grip is relatively light and Holland is doing all the work, fucking into your hand again like countless nights before this. The cigarette hanging from his mouth is on the verge of leaving him, just barely managing to stay between his lips.

Jackson mutters something under his breath along the lines of "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," before he's tugging off Holland's suit jacket for him and starting to peel clothes off the older man. Even though he seems annoyed at best and irritated at worst, the erection straining against his jeans tells you that he's anything but.

..Maybe a little annoyed, definitely frustrated- You know that for sure.

You're in a similar state of arousal, heat having simmered in your lower half. But you and Healy had simultaneously and wordlessly agreed that it'd be best if you dealt with Holland before helping one another out. The only problem now is that Holland is still hard, still going, and is making such a racket that you're sure someone'll be at your door to complain in the early hours.

In an attempt to start pulling off the rest of Holland's clothes, the P.I. starts to grind his cock against your still clothed hips, letting out a low moan. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut and making the skin around his nose scrunch up when he accidentally hits the back of his head too hard.

It takes you a minute, but you finally slide his boxers and dress pants off of him, haphazardly tossing the articles of clothing to the floor. His hips shift a little, legs moving to trap you between his thighs and keep you there. You squeeze the base of his cock in a positive response, and another curse leaves Holland. His whole body jumps in its attempt to seek more pleasure out of your grasp.

There's already pre-cum starting to collect on the head of his dick, pooling down your knuckles and onto your thighs that rest beneath him. More leaks out and spreads over your fingers, and your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip.

But you've already paid enough attention to Holland, you think. Your grip loosens around him, but you keep it there. Still, your attention switches to Healy (who's much more patient than you'd given him credit for, in all honesty). His focus is on you, too. Interest in those blues of his that you find to be lighter than Holland's. It's a subtle detail, but one to still be noticed and kept in mind for whatever reason. It's not important, it shouldn't be, but it is, to you, and you don't know why.

With your free hand, you wipe away a little of Holland's ejaculate from his face and bring your lips to his. Something new pokes through his usual exterior, surprise at your movements. He doesn't make any move to pull away or resist or even hesitate, his tongue against yours. You doubt he's been touched in a while. You think he'd admitted it himself to you, once, but you can't exactly recall.

Not like this, with Holland fucking your hand and his enforcer of a partner kissing you. In your home, because Holland didn't have the patience to drive to his place. Because Holland had wanted this now, with you and Jackson and no one else.

And, now that you think about it, Holland hasn't been touched in a while either. He's pent up, has been for a while, ever since his wife passed.

But, even knowing that he could have picked someone else, he didn't. He knows you, he chose you. And, even if he's not yet ready to say 'I love you', yet, you know he does. Some part of him cares, bothers enough to still talk to you. And it makes you feel wanted, even if this is a somewhat unconventional pairing, you and Holland and Jackson.

Even Jackson seems to care, as you two finally part for air. He's paid to protect, but that's not what this is anymore. It's unconditional at this point.

There's a faint string of saliva still connecting you and him when your attention turns back to Holland. And you were so lost in thought and the feeling, that he'd cum again unnoticed, large cock finally going soft in your hand while he gasps for air. "Jesus," You hear him mutter, to himself, see his eyes flutter shut. You let him go, leave him to curl on his side and sleepily mumble to himself about indecipherable nonsense.

You and Jackson are on one another pretty quickly, still a little slower and shy with one another as you get a feel for what the two of you even want to do. The two of you are still covered in Holland's release, but it's not a problem. The most it gets in the way is in the form of a taste between the two of your tongues, adding a tang of salt.

Your clothes are off before his, warm hands embracing your hips to pull you further against him while you work on undressing him. Your hand slips into the front of his jeans, pumping slow strokes up the length of his cock. He groans into your lips, hands squeezing your hips a little at the feeling.

And, just as the attention had just been stuck on Holland, now it's on you.

Another set of hands join your hips from behind; Holland is up again, already. Jesus Christ. And he's already hard, grinding his erection against your ass while he whispers praise into your bare shoulder. Kisses trail the back of your neck, and you feel his hair tickle the side of your face. His breath is hot on your shoulder, naked body flush against yours. His scent is cigarettes and peppery cologne that he can't even smell.

"You're so good for us," He quietly tells you, nose buried in your shoulder while he rocks his hips against yours. The movement pushes you slightly against Healy, as well, pleasure shared between everyone involved. Thick fingers stroke at your hips soothingly, passion exchanged for a quiet, calm moment. It's less like the heavy, heated tension of arousal and more similar to the sweet focus of romance, only heightened by Holland's sweet kisses that are peppered across your skin.

Healy takes a second to remove the rest of his clothes, leaving you in his partner's embrace and care. But his presence is drawn close again, bringing back warmth to your front.

Holland shifts you and himself so that your legs will wrap around Jackson's waist, and his head moves to your other shoulder, chin resting in the crook of your neck. He kneads loving circles into your right thigh, keeping your legs open for his partner. Two of Healy's fingers slide into your cunt, thumb pressing against your clit. His eyes switch between your face to his fingers, watching how they move in and out of your wet centre.

As Healy fucks you on his fingers, Holland's free hand traces little shapes and patterns into your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. He's still tired, no doubt, but it doesn't matter more to him than this does.

Every side of you is warm, seen and touched and handled with care.

And when the tip of Healy's cock finally pushes past your folds, Holland's praise is just as unwavering. His kisses are slow and deliberate, matching in perfect timing with each drag of Jackson's hips against yours. Holland's arms wrap around your torso, practically radiating warmth into your skin that settles along your body.

"I love you," Holland finally admits, long after you and Healy have cummed together. Once the three of you had finally curled into bed together and Holland and Jackson held you. Long after the lights had turned off. And it's a confession that matters, to you. One telling the truth. He's fully sober as he says it. And even if Healy is asleep and no one but you can hear it, it's a step in the right direction.

[messymortician]

Until You Give It Up

Jackson Healy x Holland March

Description: Healy wants to hit it from behind, Holland is slightly apprehensive. Who would have guessed?

Content Warnings: NSFW 18+, brief angst, alcohol, smoking, anal fingering, anal sex, cum eating, established relationship

Word Count: 6,531

AO3

A/N: Title is inspired by a song!

For Jackson Healy loving never came easy, no matter how hard he tried or didn’t try. And to his surprise, it wasn’t just a problem with June. It turns out he simply wasn’t wired to love, let alone be loved. He was never all that great at remembering anniversaries or buying flowers, or remembering to switch the laundry over. He was never one to dish out affection or compromise in any situation—the typical relationship qualities—but that all came to a screeching halt when Holland came barreling into life. Or maybe it’s the other way around? Regardless, there are countless days when Healy thinks that all is doomed, that Holland and himself are destined to crash and burn, and sometimes he’s right. Sometimes.

Day in and day out, Healy’s patience is pushed to the limit, and yet he’s come to almost cherish it. Over the past couple of months, Holland has been reforming Jackson’s tendencies, with little to no resistance on the latter’s part. He’s learned how to strip Jackson’s wires down the shiny copper and remove the protective rubber coating, abandoning all caution in the tedious process. With more patience than is known to him, he’s taken those delicate wires and spliced them back together.

There have been a few cases where the wiring was faulty, unbeknownst to him, and resulted in him getting shocked. The most recent time though, Holland could hardly believe what he was witnessing. It started with an innocent eye-roll, and looking back on it, he doesn’t even recall doing it, let alone with an intending purpose. But in Jackson’s argument, it proved to be the pinnacle of the conflict. Well, not necessarily the rolling of the eyes but the lack of concern, if Holland remembers accurately. He wasn’t intentionally being harmful or careless, but then again, he’s never all that careful in the first place. It’s a predicament, really, one that he’s trying to work on.

Holly had stormed through the dimly lit kitchen, backpack and blonde waves swinging over her shoulder as she stomped down the hallway. Her door slammed shut with a thud that rattled the sparsely placed picture frames on the walls.

Holland had turned to his partner, an unimpressed grimace on his reddened face as he asked, “What the hell is her fucking problem?”

For a long moment, Jackson stood with his back to Holland, mulling over the appropriate way to go about this conversation. Or maybe it was a confrontation. Anyway, Healy eventually turned around, his solid hands curled into fists at his sides. He took a few shallow breaths, his hair falling into his icy blue eyes as he crowded into the other man's personal space, the tips of their shoes now brushing together.

"You. You're her goddamn problem, Holland," Healy spat. His hand connected with Holland's chest and shoved him back a few steps. For a split second, the blonde simply laughed, a nervous chuckle erupting from his sore throat. He stood frozen in place with his hands at his sides, shaking his head in disbelief. "What? This is funny to you?" Healy pressed further, irritation building under his normally relaxed surface.

 And that's when Holland miscalculated his next move. The eye-roll. From there, it developed into a full-fledged screaming match, "one for the books," as Holly says. Since then, Holland has picked up Holly from every school event and every sleepover, even getting there ten minutes early if he can allow it.

 Jackson prides himself on being a relatively levelheaded guy, only known to flip his lid on the odd occasion, but Holland has found any and every way to break through that barrier of patience, the same way he did that one night. He makes a conscious effort to ease up on him at times, knowing that it’s part of Holland’s nature. And he isn’t keen on the idea of changing that kind of wiring in his partner. Some things are better left alone, but he’s never been great at that. Every once in a blue moon, something does manage to get under his skin; it eats and tears away until he gets a grip, taking care of his problems like he normally does—a fist to a face or swinging an elbow at someone. This problem has him stumped though, through and through. He catches himself considering it during the day, and he lies awake at night next to a sound asleep Holland, wondering how he can bring it up in an unsuspecting manner.

 —

 “Yeah, so, I finally get close enough to peek through the dude’s window, and god bless me, he’s on the bed fucking that girl’s poor sister. And I mean, like, fucking, Jack. He was completely dogging her!” Holland exclaims, his eyes lighting up in that familiar way when he’s telling a good story. Healy has to suppress a laugh at the man’s choice of words, chewing and swallowing his bite of chicken before he takes a drink of his water.

“Wow, I bet that wasn’t on your bingo card for this year, huh?” He chuckles, his hands smoothing over the tabletop as he looks up at Holland. The other man shrugs and wipes his mouth with a napkin, shaking his head as he thinks for a moment.

“Well, you never know. There are some pros in this line of work..”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right in that sense. I’m not sure ‘dogging’ is the correct choice of words though, Holl.”

 “What do you mean?” Holland asks, his fork lazily scraping around on the mostly empty plate.

 “Well, I think dogging means like, stalking someone, right? So, you mean he was fucking her from behind, on all fours. I think it’s a bit different,” Healy explains, finishing his thoughts with a half-committed shrug. “Have you ever done it before?”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I ever have, truthfully.”

“Really? That was always June’s favorite position—something about not having to look at me or whatever. It's been forever though,” Healy says feigning nonchalance in his tone. The notion had really bothered him in the past, but he’s grown to face it over a period of time. Mostly accept it, at least he thinks.

Holland winces at the thought of it, a quiet groan escaping his lips. He shakes his head once, his fingers releasing their hold on the tumbler of half-drank whiskey. For a moment, they lock eyes, both of their forks stilling as they stare at each other. It’s not necessarily a tense silence, but Jackson does let out a sigh of relief when the other man begins talking again.

“Alright, if it’s what you want. Y’know, I would prefer to look at you, watch you. It heightens the experience and all that,” Holland mumbles, his eyes cast downward at the wooden tabletop littered with light scratches from use.

Healy nods as he chews and swallows his last bite, pushing his plate a few inches towards the center of the table. His eyes flick up, taking in Holland’s slouched form at the other end of the table. How in the world did he come to that remark? Healy hadn't even suggested it outright; he just mentioned it. Well, Holland is always full of surprises, sometimes occupied with an abundance of them.

The blonde’s words hang in the air between them as Jackson scoots his chair from the table, standing and collecting his plate before gesturing out to the other man.

“Are you finished?” Healy asks, depositing his dirty dish in the sink and returning to grab Holland’s.

“Yeah, thanks,” Holland whispers quietly as he digs in his pocket for his lighter, an unreadable expression painted on his face.

Jackson doesn’t bring it up again for another week.

—

It’s a warm Friday night, nice enough to crack the patio door, letting in the breeze and the chirping of crickets. The rental is mostly quiet aside from the buzz of the TV, which makes Holly’s absence painfully evident. Generally, she brings about all of the noise and energy, but Holland welcomes the relaxation every once in a while, which is why he agreed to let her go to Jessica’s house for a sleepover. Upon returning home from dropping her off, Holland was welcomed with dinner. Healy insisted on cooking, not only because he enjoys it but because Holland doesn’t eat nearly as well as he should. So they ate, sharing a few notable moments from their day and also discussing the newest developments on their latest case, the weird-old-guy-fucking-that-girl's-sister-case. Anyway, the night progressed on as normal, the pair basking in their newfound privacy and enjoying one another's company. 

At present, the two detectives find themselves nearly embedded into the cushions of the sage green sofa, their shoulders mere inches apart, knees knocking in moments of fleeting chuckles at the television. The show is neither too interesting nor boring, so Holland is filling the air with his usual commentary, something Healy has grown accustomed to over the past few months of their developing relationship.

A giggle comes from the right of Jackson, followed by, “That looks kinda fun, huh?”

And at that Healy balks, eyes wide and jaw dropped open, his gaze directed at Holland's unsuspecting grin. Did he hear what he thinks he just heard? He looks away to focus back on the TV, which is also a wrong move based on the events unfolding on screen. The lighting of the scene is a bit shotty, but not so much that he can't make out the two main characters entwined on the bed, the female lead rising to get on all fours.

Despite the cool air drafting through the house, he can feel blood rushing to his cheeks, the back of his neck beginning to prickle with a burning sensation. His eyes slip shut for a moment, but it does nothing to silence the progressive moaning that echoes from the speakers adjacent to them. He simply shrugs, the words tunneling from his brain getting caught in the dryness of his throat. Holland sneaks a glance at the man beside him before raising his glass to his lips. He downs the rest of the amber cognac, the burn soothing his throat. A few moments pass by as the pair tune back into the program broadcasting from the lit screen. Although neither one of them are truly watching it, both too absorbed in their own thoughts to process anything else.

Another minute ticks by until Jackson breaks the tense silence. “So..can I?”

Holland’s lighter clatters down to the floor with a thud, skidding and bouncing under the plush sofa. His head snaps up, eyes searching as his mind tries to catch up with what Jackson has brought to him for a second time now.

“What? Can you what?” He asks, his fingers trembling slightly as he inhales a slow drag from his now-lit cigarette. His back pops as he surges forward off the couch, his shirt rising up his back as his hand wildly pats under the furniture for his Zippo. The cool metal connects with his fingertips and he sighs, pocketing the item in his shirt before turning to look at the man beside him, his expression nearly indecipherable. Jackson shifts uncomfortably on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him before glancing to his right. At the sight before him, he almost wishes he hadn’t mentioned it. But he can’t bring himself to feel that guilty, because why should he? He's allowed to have his own wants and desires, vices, if you could even call it that.

Healy nearly chokes, his left hand gesturing through the tense air as he wills his mind to work, say anything.

“Nothing, nothing.” He finally manages, his hands fumbling with the remote in his lap as he keeps his sight on the TV. And it ends with that, much to his relief and dismay. They remain on the couch for a little while longer until Holland’s head falls heavy on his shoulder. Healy struggles as he picks him up, his back crying in protest, but manages to stumble through the darkened hallway, trying his best to avoid any obstacles. They make it to the bedroom in one piece, thankfully, and Healy deposits Holland onto their neatly made bed, putting him and the night to rest. Next time, he thinks—next time for sure.

—

“So, what did you think of the ending?” Holland asks, his arm hanging limply over the edge of the bed as he flicks his burnt cigarette butt into the ashtray. He sits forward off the pillows, pulling at the hem of his orange-patterned shirt and lifting it over his head. It lands somewhere near the hamper—something to be dealt with in the morning.

“Yeah, I thought it was fine,” Healy says with a thoughtful nod. Truth be told, he couldn’t even remember the name of the film that they had gone to see earlier that night. He was reluctant to go, but Holland had insisted, 'date night.'

The blonde man nods in agreement, downing the rest of his whiskey before settling back onto the pillow propped against the headboard. He rubs the back of his hand over his eyes before looking up. His eyes track Jackson's movement as he climbs onto the bed next to him, a lock of hair falling out of place and onto his creased forehead.

Healy pauses, his hand slowly trailing down and over the sharp jut of Holland’s exposed hips, slightly pushing down the clothing that remains. He crowds closer over the smaller man, holding his weight up on his arms. An amused look crosses March’s face, a curious twinkle in his glassy blue eyes. His hand cups Healy’s stubbled chin, drawing him in for a slow kiss. It’s sweet at first, gentle and unrushed, their lips grazing one another repeatedly in a series of short pecks. Then, Jackson’s tongue slides across Holland’s lip, almost as a question. The response is a head tilt accompanied by a sly grin, typical of March.

Healy urges the man under him to lay on his side, breaking their connected lips. A thin strand of saliva hangs between them until Holland's tongue glides over his bottom lip, breaking the bond. Jackson pulls away slowly and is met with shiny blue orbs; although they're mostly black now, the cerulean color only a thin rim around Holland's pupils. He takes a deep, steadying breath, gazing over the red irritation that surrounds his partner's eyes. Holland whines softly, a frown forming on his kissed-out lips, shiny and full, a pretty shade of pink.

“What are you doing?” He inquires, Healy twisting him further until he’s chest down on the soft bedsheets, finally. A large, calloused hand comes down on Holland’s back, pressing just hard enough to prevent him from turning around. His struggles cease, but another whimper comes, louder this time, as he cants his hips into the bedding.

“Jack, come on. Don't you think we're a little too old for this?" Holland mumbles into the pillow, his hips falling into a pathetically slow rhythm as he grinds his half-hard dick into the bed. Healy ignores the stalling, his hands finding new purchase on the waistband of March's khakis.

"Aren't you a little old to be whining like a child?" Healy retorts with an eyeroll, but luckily it's out of Holland's peripherals. "Do you remember what we talked about the other day, hmm?" Healy asks, his hands dragging painfully slow over the smooth skin of Holland's lower back.

"Hmm, no. You should know better than to tell me anything relatively important after dinner, especially dessert," Holland says, half mocking the other man's condescending tone.

Jackson simply hums as his fingers trail down Holland’s neck, tracing the outline of a prominent vein. He leans down, his chest inching closer to the smaller man's shoulder blades. Another slow inhale, and he’s taking in the deep, rich smell of Holland's cologne while simultaneously calming his nerves. Maybe he should have accepted that glass of Jameson, he thinks. It’s a little late for that though; he’s fully committed to fulfilling that nagging desire in the back of his mind, hopefully.

Holland's next complaint brings the pair back to the scorching reality of their positioning. The larger man's thighs now bracket Holland's narrow hips, squeezing him just tight enough to keep him from arching his back or making a move to escape.

"This is borderline assault, man. Think about what you're doing." Holland sighs, visibly deflating as he realizes that this, what Healy is enforcing, isn't ending anytime soon.

"S'not assault if you like it, and I have thought about this. Thought about it all week, been thinking about you all week." Healy punctuates with a warm kiss to the nape of Holland's neck, pulling away only to place light, open-mouthed kisses down the outline of his stubbly jaw. The smaller man keens into the touch, a soft purr emanating from deep in his throat. Jackson’s fingers curl into Holland’s messy, golden waves, their lips connecting into a bruising kiss as he considers setting a faster pace for the night.

Quiet sighs float throughout the dimly lit room, the lazy atmosphere casting around them as they mouth at one another. It isn’t until Holland pulls away for air, breathless and eyes shot with lust, that Jackson begins groping at his clothing. The larger man slips his hands down between their bodies, undoing the button of Holland’s pants before hooking his thumbs under the waistband and shoving them down past his knees. He’s met with the smooth skin of Holland’s backside, boxer briefs nowhere in sight. At that he shakes his head, a chuckle slipping from his shiny lips.

“You never fail to surprise me, y’know that?” Jackson laughs, furrowing his brows as if trying to put on a serious front.

Holland simply shrugs, his freckled shoulders nudging into the pillows. “S’too hot for all that,” he groans, his back arching as much as he can manage, which isn’t a lot considering the weight that Healy is forcing on him. But the angle does allow for his ass to push further into Healy’s clothed bulge, an action they are both able to appreciate for the time being.

“Yeah, it is a little hot, huh?” Healy says with a nod as he clears his throat. His fingers work deftly at the small buttons on his shirt until he’s left in a simple white tank top. Next, he moves to the buckle of his belt, pulling left then right until it’s unclasped and he can get his pants off. “Alright, get comfortable.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right to it,” Holland sasses, throwing an unimpressed look over his shoulder, though he draws his legs up the bed so he’s able to reposition. Jackson leans over the side of the bed and reaches for the drawer of the nightstand, fumbling until it slides open. Holland averts his gaze as Healy settles back on the bed, his knees digging into the comforter as he rests back on his heels. Without another word, Holland finds himself on his knees, elbows propped against the soft sheets, fully exposed and waiting with burning anticipation. He can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears—a loud and steady pound. His hands feel like ice, cold and unsteady, but he manages to keep himself hovering in place.

"Y'know, last weekend would have been a great opportunity for this, s'not like Holly is right down the hallway or anything.."

"Fucking forgive me. You seemed a little repulsed the last time I mentioned it, or you mentioned it. Whatever," Healy says with an exasperated sigh.

The clicking and popping sound of the lube container jolts Holland back into real time, Jackson's words floating just above his head, out of reach. A reassuring hand lands on his hip and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his breathing in check. All the while, his cock hangs heavily between his spread thighs, red and painfully hard, slowly beginning to drip precum on the fabric below.

The first touch of Healy’s fingertips are welcome, warm and gentle on the back of Holland’s thighs. They trail over the curve of his ass, calloused palm and all, but he doesn’t mind. He prefers it actually, the gentle roughness of all that is his partner.

They settle into a comfortable silence as Healy works his slick fingers over Holland’s hole, a light feathery touch just to ease into things, which is fine. In a few minutes time, he’s easily slipped two fingers in, just beginning to scissor them open. He’s almost in disbelief at how far they’ve come since the first conversation, or whatever you could call it. Maybe not a conversation, a few brief comments. He barely remembers how it was even brought up in the first place, but he’s practically on his knees thanking whatever is watching him from up above.

For a moment he was beginning to think that he had it absolutely made, but that suddenly came crashing down as Holland urged forward, Jackson’s fingers slipping from the tight, wet heat of his ass. His eyes follow the other man as his knees clamor a few inches up the bed, his hands reaching for the wooden slats of their headboard. From somewhere behind Holland, a tutting noise is made. Jackson reaches a hand out to him, grasping firmly but gently onto his calf.

“Hey, c’mon. Where are you going? Lemme take care of you,” Healy utters just above a whisper, his eyebrows contorting a fraction. Holland, still facing the wall, shakes his head for a second, gathering himself with a slow breath, but it doesn’t entirely ease his nerves.

“Okay, okay. I’m fine,” Holland reassures, short of breath but still mostly convincing, at least he thinks.

“Alright..” Jackson starts, regaining touch with the blonde as he slips two fingers back in. "Well, act like it. I’m trying to do something here,” he finishes, rolling his eyes with more attitude than intended.

A choked-out moan falls from Holland’s lips, slick with spit and reddened from the teething assault he’s been inflicting on himself. His fingers flex against the sheets, scratching and clawing for purchase on the bed. He shifts his back and pushes his hips back a tad, angling Healy’s fingers until they graze against the spot buried deep in him. Shallow and breathy moans fall from his lips as his back contorts against the other man’s weight. The muscles in his legs twitch, his feet sliding across the bed restlessly.

“Holland,” Healy urges as he firmly plants a hand on the man’s lower back. “Quit squirming.”

An exasperated grunt comes from somewhere near the head of the bed, and Jackson has to bite his tongue for a second. Holland’s arms fold down, his upper body now fully resting on the bed. He groans again, his eyes falling shut and reopening slowly.

“My back hurts, let’s just-“

“Shut up, no it doesn’t,” Healy bites back, his right hand slowing down to a teasing pace. He contemplates removing his fingers but decides against it; he's not giving up this time, not easily at least.

“Jack-“

“It’s gonna hurt in a minute if you keep this up,” he warns, his hand sliding up the divots of Holland’s ribcage. They lock eyes for a moment, simply staring at one another. Holland grunts one more time, a pouty frown crossing over his reddened face. Healy runs his fingers along Holland’s jaw, tracing his chin softly. His thumb slows to a stop, digging into the smaller man’s stubble. March’s tongue flicks out between his lips, brushing over Healy’s fingertip. Holland catches his gaze and lets out a small grin.

Their breathing is the only audible sound aside from the rattle of the A.C. unit wedged in the window, which can't seem to keep up with cooling down the heated bedroom.

"You're doing good, hmm?" The gentle praise falls from Jackson's lips before he can think twice about it, but Holland seems to welcome it, his eyes softening at the words.

"Okay, yeah." Holland sighs into the air as he readjusts his elbows, his biceps burning from holding the weight of his torso. The room falls quiet around them as Jackson works his fingers into him, breaking the slow pace and thrusting his hand faster. A broken whine escapes Holland's lips and he turns to bury his face in Jackson's pillow, breathing in deeply but not receiving anything in return. He curses quietly in frustration, biting his tongue as he fights off the building heat that’s pooling in his stomach, he's not losing this time. Not again.

"Yeah, you're being so good for me, baby. Aren't you?" Healy asks, but he's not exactly looking for an answer, not in this moment. He takes in the sight of Holland, the prominent veins of his neck, the flush coloring from his cheeks to his hardened nipples, and he knows Holland can't think straight anymore. God, the alcohol definitely doesn't help his case either. "Hey, you okay?" He asks, his fingers curling slightly as he draws them out slowly. Holland nods but Healy must miss it because he withdraws his fingers all together, leaning down to place a few gentle kisses on the other man's lower back in an apology.

"Fuck," Holland curses, his back arching in disapproval at the overwhelming emptiness he feels. "Jackson, I'm-"

"I know, sweetheart. You're ready,” Healy acknowledges with a rare softness to his voice. He places another kiss on Holland, this time near the middle of his back, before moving to slide his damp boxers off. A sigh of relief fills the room as he gets a hand on his dick, stroking it several times before reaching to get the container of lube.

He reaches out to pull Holland closer, his solid arm wrapping around the man’s slender waist. He slides his hand down the warmth of his stomach, tracing the soft hair of his happy trail, before wrapping his thumb and forefinger around the base of Holland’s length. His other hand grips onto the bony curve of Holland’s hip, fingernails leaving crescent-shaped indentations on the milky skin.

A groan slips from Holland’s swollen lips, a pitiful cry for something more. More touching, more friction—anything. Jackson takes note of this, feels the heat burning in his hands and stomach, so it’s easy for him to give in. He’s been waiting long enough, has been finding himself daydreaming and getting lost in his head thinking about this very moment.

Holland’s feet gently rub up against the back of Jackson’s knees, a thrown-away movement in poor attempt to pull him closer. It’s no use, not when Jackson is in control of these ministrations. It was worth a shot anyway, Holland thinks.

“Stop teasing me,” Holland whimpers as he cranes his neck to glance at Healy over his shoulder. He’s pouting again, but this time it breaks something in his partner.

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking like it,” Healy grunts.

“Jack, please,” Holland whimpers into the damp pillow clutched between his arms, the sound muffling just enough so that it doesn't leave the room. His hips stutter as he thrusts wildly into the shallow grip, Healy’s thumb resting on his pointer finger, the hold mostly lax.

“Shh, none of that,” Healy warns with a low tone. A barely audible whine emits from below him, his hips briefly slowing as his fist gains a tighter grip on Holland’s dick. “This what you want?” He asks, his eyes flicking up to look at the other man. Holland’s head is turned to the side, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyebrows draw together tightly, the look bordering on painful.

They’ve been doing this long enough now, Holland knows. He has finally grown somewhat patient during these times, but everyone makes mistakes. Holland March, of all men, is guilty of many slip-ups. Which, in turn, Healy knows and acknowledges, hence the gentle warning.

A few beats of silence pass over them, Holland fighting to catch his breath while Jackson patiently waits for a response. Finally, a coherent thought spills from March’s mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Just do it already, please?” He asks with an edge of desperation creeping into his tone.

Jackson lets out an innocent noise of surprise, his eyes crinkling as a smile forms on his lips. “Look at you, using manners and everything. You’re really starting to learn now. I appreciate that,” he says. Holland can't find the strength in himself to roll his eyes, so he settles for a little jostle of his hips, hoping to make his point clear without having to voice it a second time.

Healy seems to understand what he means, so he resumes his motions, his rough fingertips kneading into the soft skin of Holland's thighs as he lines himself up, this time slowly easing himself into the smaller man.

The feeling of relief when he finally slides home is nearly enough to make him lose control. He has to bite his lip to hold back a moan, making a show of keeping his composure instead of falling to pieces like his partner, or he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Jack, you’re so good to me,” Holland whines into the damp air, his words slurring as drool collects on his bottom lip. His hair flops on the pillowcase, damp with sweat and fluffy from the humidity of the room.

Jackson laughs to himself quietly, trying to mask his amusement, but to no avail. Holland is a bumbling mess in general, to no surprise, but add in any kind of physical contact to his state, and it’s dangerously heightened.

“Yeah? You like this? S’not so bad.” Healy grunts low in the back of his throat, despite valiant efforts to stay quiet. He rolls his hips gently, his length gliding in and out of Holland’s opening at a punishingly slow pace. The bed creaks in protest of the movement, the headboard grazing the drywall.

Holland shakes his head, trying to clear the clouded lust from his brain. He quickly shoves a pillow behind the furniture, silencing the repetitive knocking, but that only dissolves some of the noise. Lewd gasps fall from his parted lips, the knuckles shoved in his mouth doing next to nothing to quiet him.

A sharp, pointed thrust comes from Healy and another moan echoes off the mostly bare bedroom walls. Holland lets out a string of curses, planting his hands firmly on the bed and pushing back against Healy’s cock.

"Hey, you gotta be quiet. Can't go waking up Holly," Jackson reminds him in a low tone, curling closer to the blonde man so he can whisper into the hollow of his ear. 

Just when Holland thinks he can manage to keep it to a dull roar, Jackson shoves him down onto his chest, angling his hips so he can fuck into him deeper. Holland hears a daunting chuckle from behind, almost mocking his inability to obey the command.

“Jack, Jack, fuck. Please-” Holland cries out as Jackson’s hand collides with the back of his neck, shoving his head further into the plush pillow. “Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t think he wants to hear this, Holland. And I’m positive Holly doesn’t want to either,” Healy tuts, his fingers clamping down on the muscles working in Holland’s throat. “Do you wanna cum?”

Holland shakes out an incredibly enthusiastic nod, his hair tossing around again. The light catches on his face and Healy swears there’s tears gathering in his bloodshot eyes, but that only feeds the energy between them. His hand slides up to Holland’s mouth, his thick fingers covering it completely as his other hand finds a home near his upper thigh. He snaps his hips in earnest, gliding into the smaller man with ease, aiming to hit his prostate and doing so successfully.

A litany of muffled mewls reverberate around the room as the pair simultaneously chase their releases. Jackson knows he can’t cum first, he just can’t, it has to be Holland.

“Please, Jackson, I need...” Holland pleads out, his head bowed between his forearms. He loses his train of thought as Jackson grabs his wrists, pining them above his head, stretching him out enough to restrict his movement.

“You have to be quiet. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, I know!” Holland bites back, his hips bucking wildly against Healy’s body.

Jackson watches the flex of Holland’s muscles, knows he’s close, and he’d be selfish to delay his release any longer. He reaches around Holland’s middle and firmly grasps his dick, his thumb swiping roughly over the glistening tip. The movement elicits a grunt followed by a quieter moan, Holland making a nearly failed attempt to stay quiet. His hips thrust into the grip, Healy stroking him faster but with an element of softness to the touch.

Holland’s orgasm comes fast and hot, moans muffled once again by Jackson’s hand, cum splattering on the bedspread below. Healy has to shush him repeatedly, even though he wants nothing more than to hear his partner shout his name, obscene curses strung throughout, as he convulses as a response to the overstimulating contact.

“Holy shit. Fuck me,” Holland wheezes with a shortness of breath. He reaches for the headboard for a second time, grasping onto it tightly in an effort to stabilize himself. Healy doesn’t let up, his hips snapping in time with Holland’s countermovement.

“Yeah, I am fucking you. And look, you’re taking me so well. Jesus, Holland,” Healy responds, his knuckles going white with a bruising grip on Holland’s hipbones.

They lock eyes, March’s sparkling blue meeting Healy’s steel-ish grey.

“Fuck, I’m so full, Jack.” Holland’s eyes flutter shut, his muscles flexing and relaxing all the way from his toes to his eyebrows. The only thing he can hear is the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the heavy breathing coming from behind him.

Jackson cums with a heavy sigh, his hips briefly slowing but continuing to roll into Holland. He lets go of the other man, rubbing his hand over the red finger-shaped marks before slowly pulling out of him. He stays still for a moment, his eyes trailing over Holland until he’s met with his ass. A few droplets of cum dribble out slowly, glistening in the light.

Healy shakes his head, regaining his train of thought and ushering Holland to lay down on his back.

“Hmmm,” Holland sighs quietly and lets his hands fall to his sides, palms facing the ceiling as he takes a shallow, shaky breath.

“Hey, are you still with me?” Healy asks, his hand coming to rest firmly on Holland’s chest. The tacky warmth of his large palm brings the smaller man back to the quiet realm of their bedroom.

“Hmmph,” Holland groans again as he shifts his head to lean on Jackson’s shoulder. His eyes are still tightly shut, but it doesn’t matter because he knows that face. The face. Jackson, above him, his eyes crystal clear and loaded with admiration. He can feel the stare that’s aimed at him, his cheeks heating up further despite the reoccurring nature of it all.

“I don’t know that that’s an acceptable answer, Holl. You might wanna work on that.” Healy exhales into the damp, blonde hair tickling his chin and throat. His arm shifts slowly, his fingertips grazing the side of Holland’s shoulders as they trail down the expanse of his back. He entertwines their fingers, bringing them to rest on his chest where he can get a better look at the ring on Holland's pinky. It twitches slightly, his hand moving with a slight tremble the way it normally does.

Holland shuffles his bent knees a fraction and he’s met with a disapproving hum. Healy’s hand falls to his hip, keeping him steady as his other hand dips to collect the leaking release from Holland’s hole.

“Open..” Jackson breathes out, his fingertips now brushing over Holland’s bottom lip. The cum smears messily over his mouth but it’s gone in a split second, Holland’s tongue deftly swiping the sticky texture away. He giggles quietly and cards a hand through his blonde hair, observing the serious look on Healy’s face.

“Wow, that was...wow,” Holland sighs as he snags a cigarette and his lighter from the nightstand.

“Five stars? Would do it again?” Healy asks, only joking a little bit with the question. He reaches an arm around Holland’s shoulders and pulls him close to his side. With his other hand, he traces his fingertips over the freckles littering Holland's arm, willing him to relax further into the bed, but to no avail.

Holland is far too anxious to sleep, even after their laboring activities. In a perfect world, sex would be enough to put him to sleep, but his world is beyond that. He needs a drink, a few cigarettes wouldn’t hurt either.

“Fuck, yeah. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on that my whole life,” Holland answers after a moment, the back of his hand rubbing over his eyes.

Healy lets out a quiet laugh as Holland shifts to get up from their bed. A heavy hand falls on his bare shoulder, holding him back a bit.

“Hey, I can go get it. Just lay down,” Healy offers as he rises to his feet.

“No, I..” Holland shakes the empty glass tumbler at Healy, and it clicks. No, he wasn’t getting a towel, he wants another drink.

“Holland, it’s late.”

“Uh..” He shrugs, only slightly considering Healy’s words before continuing his empty thought. “Yeah, well, time is just a custom,” he finishes.

They’re facing each other now, eyes locked in an unspoken dispute. Holland rolls his head back and forth, willing the kink in his neck to dissolve, before he breaks the staring contest.

“Lay down,” Healy urges, a pleading edge bleeding into his tone.

Holland sighs heavily through his nose, his hands raised in an irritated surrender. He drops back down onto the bed, his legs crossing at his ankles.

“Don’t move,” Healy orders as he backs into the en-suite bathroom, his finger pointed at the other man accusingly.

Holland rolls his eyes and taps the end of his cigarette onto the ashtray, the gray ash falling into dust on the marbled glass.

Jackson returns to the room, a damp towel clutched in his right hand.

“I’m never gonna fall asleep now,” Holland grouses. His hands are folded over on his lower stomach, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

The careful movements from Healy distract his eyes and he watches as the man wipes his thighs down, seemingly engrossed with the task. Holland lets out a loud sigh, tapping his foot against the bed to get Jackson’s attention. It works.

“What, Holland?” Jackson mutters as he runs the cloth over the smaller man’s pelvis.

“How’m I gonna go to bed now?” Holland wonders out loud.

Healy’s arm slows to a stop, his hands folding the towel into a neat square as he looks at the other man’s face. He cocks an eyebrow, his lips curving into a small, lazy grin.

“Wanna go again?”

[wayward-persephone]

Talking to my lovely friend @purplelupins about this dream I had about being forced to do porn because ✨Money Issues✨ and my costar was Goodnight Robicheaux in all his cowboy glory 🥴

And now I can't stop thinking about all of Ethan Hawke's characters in their respective "roles" as porn actors and you as the new actress getting fucked until you cry 😌

[rapturously]

— 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 & 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒. 𐬾

please keep in mind that this blog is strictly 18+ — minors, please do not follow or interact with my content. any hateful subjects, inclusion of drama, or harmful requests will result in being blocked and/or a deleted request.

📌 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 / 𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 . . .

smut, smut and fluff, gore & violence, darker subject matters, porn with plot, porn without plot, female reader, afab reader, dubious consent, somnophilia, size differences, choking, breeding kink, pet names, experienced reader, inexperienced reader, dom/sub dynamics, predator/prey, capture/captive, bondage, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, monsterfucking, legal age gaps, bloodplay, knifeplay, threesomes, poly!relationships, voyeurism, etc . . .

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 . . .

non-con, pregnancy, necrophilia, only fluff, only slice-of-life, male reader, original characters, incest, age play, little play, watersports, sexual abuse, self-harm, domestic abuse, racism, homophobia, any harmful kinks/fetishes.

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐒.

❛ ━━━━━━━━ ❁ ━━━━━━━━━ ❜

𝟎𝟎𝟎. 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒.

michael myers ( 2018 )

michael myers ( rz!version )

corey cunningham

the lost boys + michael emerson

thomas b. hewitt ( tcm remake )

brahms heelshire

jason voorhees

bo sinclair

vincent sinclair

lester sinclair

billy loomis

stu macher

mickey altieri

richie kirsch

amber freeman

ethan landry

albert shaw / the grabber

brendan kemp / steve — (fresh 2022)

eric newlon / john carver

dominic craven

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.

jim hopper

001 / henry creel

eddie munson

steve harrington

𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋.

dean winchester

sam winchester

castiel

lucifer

gabriel

𝟎𝟎𝟑. 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒.

alcina dimitrescu — (resident evil)

karl heisenberg — (resident evil)

salvatore moreau — (resident evil)

leon kennedy — (resident evil)

eddie gluskin — (outlast)

miles upshur / the walrider — (outlast)

chris walker — (outlast)

joshua washington — (until dawn)

joel miller — (the last of us + show)

tommy miller — (the last of us + show)

𝟎𝟎𝟒. 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒.

arvin eugene russell — (the devil all the time)

eric draven — (the crow)

v — (v for vendetta)

hellboy — (hellboy films)

prince nuada — (hellboy films)

abe sapien — (hellboy films)

jackson rippner — (red eye)

jonathan crane / scarecrow — (nolanverse)

bruce wayne / batman — (battinson version)

dani ardor — (midsommar)

father paul hill — (midnight mass)

tiffany valentine — (chucky)

william afton — (fnaf movie)

michael schmidt — (fnaf movie)

david 8 — (alien films)

rick grimes — (the walking dead)

𝟎𝟎𝟓. 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.

rasvan benedikte eleazar / count dracula — (coming soon!)

joaquin jackson — (coming soon!)

ghostface oc — (coming soon!)

[random-imagines-blog]

Celebrity Masterlist (L-Z)

In an attempt to organize the blog and keep everything in order, masterlists are being made to join together into a masterlist of masterlists to make it easier for those on mobile. Thanks for being patient!

smut is indicated with a ⭐

Lee Pace

Oneshots

To Die For

Imagines

Imagine Lee Pace listening along to the bedtime story you’re reading your kids.

Imagine Lee Pace wanting to talk to you but he keeps being called away to set.

Imagine constantly making fun of Lee Pace’s wig on set.

Imagine going to a waterpark with Lee Pace, and his expression when he first sees you in your bathing suit.

Imagine marrying Lee Pace.

Luke Evans

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine helping Luke Evans pick out his outfit of the day.

Imagine Luke Evans surprising you on Valentines Day with chocolate and candy.

Imagine impulsively inviting Luke Evans to go skinny-dipping with you.

Margot Robbie

Oneshots

Run To You

Imagines

Mark Ruffalo

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine showing Mark Ruffalo your more spontaneous side.

Imagine Mark Ruffalo meeting your parents.

Imagine watching the sunset with Mark Ruffalo.

Michael Fassbender

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine watching old movies with Michael Fassbender.

Imagine Michael Fassbender trying to make you blush from across the room.

Miscellaneous

Oneshots

Calling All Heroes (Avengers Cast)

Animal (Avengers Cast)

Imagines

Imagine the rest of the Avengers cast finding out you’re a self-harmer.

Imagine your co-workers on the Avengers films confronting you about your eating disorder.

Imagine the Marvel cast finding out you’re suicidal.

Nathan Fillion

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine constantly being late to events because Nathan always wants you.

Imagine Nathan Fillion forgetting that it’s your anniversary.

Noel Fielding

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Noel Fielding being captivated at first sight.

Imagine always being able to make Noel Fielding laugh.

Imagine making Noel Fielding’s birthday cake.

Imagine hitting it off with Noel Fielding on The Great British Bake-Off.

Norman Reedus

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Norman Reedus catching sight of you for the first time after the hard break up.

Imagine domestic life with Norman Reedus.

Imagine helping Norman find a good place to hide from Paparazzi.

Imagine Norman Reedus trying to tell you that he loves you but having difficulty.

Orlando Bloom

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Orlando Bloom talking about meeting you on the set of LOTR.

Imagine getting stuck in a tree with Orlando Bloom.

Imagine being at a fair with Orlando Bloom.

Owen Wilson

Oneshots

Flight Connection

Imagines

Patrick Dempsey

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Patrick Dempsey showing up too early for dinner and seeing you in just a towel.

Robert Downey Jr

Oneshots

Ambulances (Teen!Reader!Mentor)

Imagines

Ruby Rose

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Ruby Rose catching you crying.

Imagine blurting out to Ruby Rose that you love her.

Imagine living with Ruby Rose and sharing a bathroom.

Rupert Grint

Oneshots

In the Nightside of Eden

Imagines

Russell Crowe

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine a midnight drive with Russell Crowe.

Ryan Reynolds

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine the moment Ryan Reynolds realizes he wants to marry you.

Imagine Ryan Reynolds taking you to a fair and taking care of you when you get dizzy.

Imagine Ryan Reynolds running into car trouble while taking you on vacation.

Scarlett Johansson

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Scarlett Johansson becoming a motherly figure to you.

Sebastian Stan

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Sebastian Stan taking sign language classes for you.

Imagine Sebastian Stan trying to entice you into joining his photoshoot.

Imagine Sebastian Stan coming to visit you in your small town.

Imagine Sebastian Stan really enjoying spending time with you.

Imagine being sick, and Sebastian Stan constantly checking on you.

Timothee Chalamet

Oneshots

This is the Place

Imagines

Tom Cruise

Oneshots

The Fix

Breathless

Shine

If Ever

Certain Needs

Imagines

Imagine spending Christmas with Tom Cruise.

Imagine Tom Cruise taking care of you when you’re sick.

Imagine your family being formed around Top Gun.

Imagine being comforted by Tom Cruise.

Imagine falling in love with Tom Cruise.

Imagine having a child with Tom Cruise.

Imagine getting pregnant with Tom Cruise’s child.

Imagine Tom Cruise acting as the ‘dancer’ at your Bachelorette Party.

Imagine Tom Cruise taking care of you when you’re scared of getting your heart broken.

Imagine Tom Cruise surprising you with a new bag.

Imagine staying at a winter resort with Tom Cruise.

Imagine spending Valentine’s Day with Tom Cruise.

Imagine being caught with Tom Cruise in public.

Imagine going on a walk with Tom Cruise.

Tom Hiddleston

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine an eccentric director putting you and Tom into a house to test chemistry.

Imagine constantly teasing Tom in interviews.

Imagine working with Tom Hiddleston on a horror film.

Imagine Tom Hiddleston approaching you at a bookstore.

Imagine walking in the rain, and Tom Hiddleston spots you and saves you from the cold with his umbrella.

Tom Holland

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being silly at a con with your coworker Tom Holland.

Tom Sturridge

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Tom Sturridge having a crush on you.

Imagine having a late breakfast with Tom Sturridge.

Imagine being Tom Sturridge’s wife and finding out you’re pregnant.

Walton Goggins

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine meeting Walton Goggins on set, and falling in love.

Zachary Quinto

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine hiring a sky-writer for Zachary Quinto’s birthday.

Imagine making Zachary Quinto laugh during an interview.

[mockerycrow]

CROW’S 4K CELEBRATION GUIDELINES

I truly cannot express my gratitude for all of your love and support over the last couple of months. I never imagined I would hit even 1k, and now I’m at 4k?? holy. fuckin. shit. I love you all!!!

NO LONGER ACCEPTING 4K REQUESTS <3

-> GUIDELINES BELOW THE CUT <-

RULES

PROPER REQUEST FORMAT: “character x gender!reader w/ “insert prompt here” + an AU if you would like :-)

One character per request (unless it’s character x reader x character! (i.e ghost x fem!reader w/ “i can’t do it anymore.”)

Specify the gender you would like. plain “character x reader” will result in gender neutral.

AU’s are allowed.

See my general request rules.

please be patient!! i will get these out asap.

not all of these will be full fledged 3k+ word fics!!

characters that I will be writing for this celebration (all call of duty); ghost, gaz, soap, price (including reboot and og), roach, könig, alex keller, farah karim, kate laswell, alejandro vargas, rodolfo parra, russell adler, frank woods, alex mason, jason hudson, david mason, gideon, jack mitchell, keegan russ, logan + hesh walker.

PROMPTS

fluff prompts #1

fluff prompts #2

angst prompts #1

angst prompts #2

smut prompts #1

smut prompts #2

-> 4K Celebration Posts Masterlist

[prettylittlels]

🪷 get to know me 🪷

requests are open!!

i was born in argentina, hence english is not my first language

i've loved reading and writing since i was very little: my favourite books are the six of crows duology by leigh bardugo and if we were villains by m.l. rio

i love watching movies/ tv series: currently watching pjo

i also obsess with celebrities and/or fictional characters very quickly

fandoms:

pjo, hpo, six fo crows, the hunger games, lockwood n co, etc...

celebrities i love:

ben barnes, tom blyth, tom holland, oscar isaac, etc

music:

taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, tate mcrae, j. maya, etc

you can ask about me or send requests whenever you like ☕️🕯🎞🍸

who do i write for:

f1 drivers (lando norris, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, daniel ricciardo, max verstappen, oscar piastri, lewis hamilton, fernando alonso, sebastian vettel, alex albon, george russell, kimi raikkonen, yuki tsunoda)

f2 drivers (liam lawson, ollie bearman, arthur leclerc, paul aron, kimi antonelli)

i won't write smut, just suggestive.

gender neutral or fem!reader

masterlist

[dogmascutie]

oh my god i actually cannot believe i'm saying this but if boba and fennec fuck he calls her mommy in bed

[hoppingonjim]

Thinking about a threesome with March and Healy where Healy is the gentler, nicer one. Praising the reader and making sure she feels good and then March is the meaner one. Mocking and teasing and just being a dick. idk man I’m a slut and I want both

TLDR: requesting good cop/bad cop (good detective/bad detective?) threesome with March and Healy content 🙏🙏🙏

INVESTIGATE ! - jackson healy + holland march

note: so sorry for how long this took! kept rewriting it lmaoo. i love this request since i too, am a slut for both. (jackson more but sssshhh) hope this is good!

cw: afab! reader. dom!holland. soft dom!jackson. sub!reader. degrading, impact play, slight throat fucking, creampie, unprotected sex, p in v, oral male receiving, praising, 2/3 holes filled (my dream). reader is cuffed and set a building on fire, so arson i suppose.

“only such a fucking slut would be turned on by fucking cuffs. say it, say you're a fucking slut.”

“ease up there march, don't you think that's a little rude? she's still a lady.”

“she's a fucking slut.”

the mustache man is pounding into you. hard, aggressive. another blow is landed on your ass cheek, the supple skin stinging with every aggressive smack. you've got your hands behind your back, bound by the chilled metal cuffs. another smack on your ass and holland settles his hand onto the gradual vanishing print, his nails digging into the flesh in greed. all the while you were crying out, whimpers filling your tongue and air around you in pleasure as you continued to press your reddened ass against his hand. begging for more.

the bigger man is settled in front of you, his cock hard. his tip engorged, red, leaking with pre cum the more he continues to watch the porno unfolding in front of his own eyes. licking his lips, his eyes stalk your every move. every heave, every wavering motion, every gasp. a hand combs through your hair as a means to settle you, his lips in a mix of stern and pouty, “doing so good for him, princess. bet you're nice and tight- but i can't stop looking at these pretty lips of yours. you mind putting them to use?” for a brief moment his large finger grazes over every imprint, line and dent molded into your bottom lip, coating the tip in your spit for a brief moment. hungry eyes meet your cock drunk ones - you've barely been fucked- and you both realize he should've been in your mouth a while ago.

all he needs from you is a nod, and his tip is suddenly suctioned with your lips. the pressure already forcing a groan from his parted lips, his mouth surrendering to the grunts of pleasure. holland rolls his eyes at his, digging his nails harsher into your bruised ass. the feeling of your tight pussy clenching him is heavenly, even holland can't deny that.

jackson's groans begin to intertwine with your whimpers as praises fall droplet by droplet from his parted lips, “you're already doing so good, take a little more for me baby, c'mon.”

a scoff flees from holland's lips until he spanks you several times in a row, “fuck, you like having a fucking cock in your mouth? i thought sluts like you only existed in pornos- you should feel how fucking soaked she is healy-” his own hand begins to slightly sting as he revels in the way you arch your back, your whimpers vibrating against jackson's cock- pulling harsher groans from the man. thick fingers run through your hair as the enforcers hips begin to introduce a sensation of grinding.

“fuck march, shut up, she's doing so good for me, already doing so perfect, huh baby?” those rough fingers trace gentle patterns onto your cheek. you begin to bob your head along the thickness of his cock, drool slipping off your lips. collecting around your chin, falling onto the girth of his pre cum dressed cock. his lips are surrendering to helpless groans as he encourages your cheeks to grow hollow, his thumb pressing the dent carefully onto the full skin.

the hand on your cheek migrates to your flowing tresses once again. the sweat building up is greeted by his fingers, combing and treating your strands to comfort. pushing the orphaned locks away from your face, “give me those pretty little eyes, c'mon princess,” always obedient, you wear an innocent gaze as your doll eyes gaze up at him, doe-like, “fuck yes, you listen so good princess.” and he's already falling to his pleasure.

the man's tepid grinds morph into desperate bucks. you've barely scarfed his cock down the depth of your throat and he swears he's already seeing stars. to amp up his desperation, he gingerly brought his pelvis closer towards your nose, introducing your throat to the fullness of his cock. immediately you gagged, the soul patch clad man behind you, ruining you, smirking so broadly.

“i know you can take it, you're doing so good for me.. fuck princess, that's it, such a good girl.” all because you're eagerly deepthroating the muscle man, the sound of your choking delighting him twistedly above all.

meanwhile holland's ramming his cock ruthlessly into your soaked cunt.

every time. he's holding your hips, slamming your ass against his pelvis so you can feel him penetrate you deeper. all while displaying a perverted grin at the sound of slapping skin, “fucking whore- mouth full of one man's cock while you let the other fuck you. you gonna let me cum inside you? pump you full of my cum?”

and shockingly enough you nod. all holland needed was the green light. but before he finally gave into those twitching sensations, he tugged on a fistful of your hair, forcing you to just barely look back at him, “you look like such a fucking whore- fucking hell..” and with those words he slapped your cheek before releasing you. minutes before releasing his hot cum into you, biting his bottom lip harshly as he soaked up the wonderous feeling. his high feeling more serendipitous.

jackson doesn't go to your unneeded aid when holland slaps your cheek, mainly because his own cock is twitching relentlessly and he so badly needs to fill your throat with his cum. an uncharacteristic whine slips out from the crevices of his lips. his balls are heavy- god the man needs to cum, you can just see it. and he does after one subtle ram into your mouth, coating your throat in his seed.

“oh god, oh god.. swallow for me baby, swallow all of it. i know you can, you were so good.” his eyes remain soft as his finger slips down to venture the curvature of your jawline. his fingertip kissing every arising goosebump.

your obedience shines once more as you merrily swallow all of his cum, leaving his cock with a pretty pop of your lips. licking your lips afterwards, still yearning for any leftovers.

abruptly holland hugs you off of all fours and onto his lap, the new angle forcing you to cry out his name, “mr march! holy shit!”

a smirk remains on his lips but only seems to broaden as he raises your hips up before plummeting them back onto his cock, delighting in every scream that ran from your tongue.

“you're gonna cum on my cock you whore, c'mon, i know a desperate whore like you is just begging to fucking cum..”

jackson feels an impetus to lean in, his thumb crafting delicate circles onto your clit whilst he leans in, “c'mon darling, cum for him, you know you can do it. i know you can do it,” he whispers, his thumb kissing your sensitive, needy bud, coated in arousal.

words don't leave your lips, only moans and whines. a few screams entangled in the bunch. you can feel yourself clench around holland, your hips and thighs beginning to quiver with anticipation as your high comes knocking on the door of your mind. and you give in, letting the sweet release bombard you. holland can feel the intensity, he's groaning so loudly in pleasure. feeling pleased with your submissiveness towards every single one of his requests. jackson doesn't let up however, he assists you in riding out the high with palming your clit. his rough palm, the aged lines, adding onto the experience. the texture toying with your abused clit.

“oh, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god- oh mr march- oh mr healy.” everything is chopped however, leaving your mouth at different moments.

holland doesn't feel like sitting up anymore, and the man flops down. jackson meticulously brushes your hair once more, making your stunning face the focal point, “you were amazing darling, so so perfect.”

in all his sinful breathiness, with his cock still inside of you, holland speaks up, panting for anything that can relieve the lack of air in his system, his eyes still sinisterly sensual.

“don't think you'll get this cock though every time you light a building on fire.”

"mr march, can you take the cuffs off now?"

[heartofwritiing]

Here you will find my fics surrounding earth 616 and the multiverse!

☁️= fluff 💋=smut 🥀=angst 💭= headcanon 🌱= short fic 📖: = long fic

Steve Rogers

Nightmares: Following the events of Infinity war, you have a nightmare and wake up next to Steve in the compound and he comforts you. ☁️🥀

Druig (Eternals)

Almost lost you: During the emergence you think you’ve lost druig and your emotions get the better of you. eternal!reader ☁️🥀

mind at ease: reader can’t sleep so druig stays up with her 🌱☁️

Sundress: Druig can’t control himself seeing you in a sundress ☁️💋

And in the crowed, I see you with someone else: y/n is in love with druig and one night during a celebration she sees druig being close with makkari and she’s heartbroken. ☁️🥀

Ill look after you: during a deviant attack, you get hurt protecting druig. 🥀

Breeding/Pregnancy kink w Druig headcanon 💋

Adore you: druig is jealous of everyone having your attention instead of him. ☁️

Don’t you love me anymore?: Druig has been distant lately and you have a breakdown. 💋☁️🥀

Darling if you only knew: reader has a crush on druig but little dose she know he feels the same way. ☁️🌱

Don’t hide: druig is scared to open up to you ☁️🥀

In his hands: a very short smutty piece i wrote 💭💋

Always come for you (part one): after the events of eternals comes the arrival of eros, who has news of the rest of your family being captured by arishem. Determined to get them back you and the four other remaining eternals including a dane whitman set off on a rescue mission. 🥀☁️📖

A moth to the flame series: hades!druig x persephone!reader ☁️🥀

Peter Parker (mcu)

nothing yet!

Peter Parker (tasm)

Nothing yet!

Bucky Barens

nothing yet!

Stephen Strange

nothing yet!

Matt Murdock

Hair cut: reader gets a hair cut and doesn’t like it ☁️

Too Far: you let a very frustrated matt take it all out on you but what happens when he takes things a little too far.💋🥀

Jack Russell (werewolf by night)

Your Scent: Jack’s inner wolf kicks in after smelling your scent, causes him to go into a sniffing fit on you ☁️🌱

Warmth: Jack wants to keep you warm after the events of wbn. ☁️🌱

Full Moon: Jack is scared to tell you he’s a werewolf. ☁️

Protector: Jack protects his best friend, you, from another wolf, and feelings are confessed. ☁️

[speak-softly-love]

Writing/RP Muse List

Maximus from Gladiator

Jack Aubrey from Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World

Robin Longstride from Robin Hood

SID 6.7 from Virtuosity

Inspector Javert from Les Misérables

Jim Braddock from Cinderella Man

John Nash from A Beautiful Mind

Richie Roberts from American Gangster

Bud White from L.A. Confidential 

Jackson Healy from The Nice Guys

Russell Crowe  (respectful asks only, please. No smut)

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and go to London chapter 18

The story is about Henry, not Geralt (only using this gif because it fits perfectly for this chapter)

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress,  musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and  breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air,  escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there  she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (smut)

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 (smut)

Chapter 8 (smut/roleplay)

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 (smut)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 (smut)

Chapter 15

Chapter 16 (smut/ s&m) Chapter 17

Triggers:   Smut (I know, too much smut chapters 😁 😂 🤣 , but this chapter needed to have smut, you’ll see why 😜 ); mention of rape, sex trafficking and panic attacks (while talking about a movie; only mention those words, not describing anything them in any way)

Tag list:  Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you    so  much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I    think  I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag     you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8     penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming    alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  

During quarantine, Henry spend lots of time cooking delicious meals, bread and desserts for the two of you. He pretended not to be good, but low key you knew that he wanted compliments because his food was freaking fantastic and you were sure he knew that already. He was in the kitchen preparing cookies for you an afternoon snack. Meanwhile, you entertained him dancing around, there were some real dance moves there, but mostly silly things that you did intend to make him laugh. Lizzo's "Juice", Nicky Minaj's "Anaconda", Rihanna's "Bitch better have my money", Bruno Mars's "24K Magic" were some of the songs you choose to perform for him. You closed your little show with N*Sync's "Bye bye bye" which make him laughed so hard that Kal barked at him. He mentioned that in his youth he made a movie with Joey Fatone and you were green with envy because you used to be a N*Sync fangirl when you were little. - What was he like? - you asked - Oh, he's great! Cool guy. If I ever cross paths with him again, I'll invite him to hang out so you can meet him too. - he replied - Oh yeah, baby. That'd be a childhood dream come true. - Have you ever meet one of your idols? - he questioned curiously - Hmm... yeah, I met Slash, he's now a friend of mine. He gave me guitar lessons. - You learned to play the guitar with Slash from Guns n' Roses? - he repeated your words as a question due to the surprise revelation - No. I was already pretty good. He gave me lessons on how to improve my guitar solos. It was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! I've learnt so much with him and improved drastically my habilities. - you explained - I've also met Duff and he is cool too. I met Nikolaj Coster-Waldau from Game of Thrones, he's one of the sweetest people I've ever met. I met my now friend Annie (Hathaway), which you must already know because we worked together in my first acting role and she is a mentor, she truly helped me a lot to become a good actress. - you paused, thinking and after a few moments continued.- I've met Robert De Niro, he played my dad in the movie that you didn't see - previously you have had a conversation in which he confessed to having seen three on the four movies that you made in your short but successful career as an actress. You advised him not to watch the movie, because you played a woman caught in sex trafficking and there were a lot of rape scenes and you thought he may be affected to see you like that, even you had panic attacks after filming that movie and never watched again after the premiere. You couldn't even see Cillian Murphy anymore, another co-star in that movie, because he was the villain and there was a much graphic scene in which his character raped yours. "Only the twisted mind of Darren Aronofsky could come with a story dark as that one," you told Henry laughing because you liked the director, he was a good man, but with a weird taste for disaster and dark psychology-.  You talked about meeting people that you admire and he mentioned Russell Crowe, Tom Cruise and Guy Ritchie, among others. As you predicted, the cookies were delicious. Your boyfriend was, definitely, the perfect man. Not only he was the sweetest, you two never fought, but he was also an amazing lover - he even made out a rule that you that to tell him if you didn't have an orgasm (or wanted more) so he could take care of that because those moments were made so both of you could have a great time and not just him. And, on top of all of that, he cooked for you amazing dishes and desserts. He was the definition of perfection. - Someday you're going to get tired of cooking for me and that'd be my doom. - you pointed out as you ate the tasteful cookies. - Not at all. I'll never get tired of cooking for the woman I love. - he assured you smiling. You chocked with the cooking you were eating and recover a few seconds later and starred at his face with an expression of full shock in yours. - What did you say? - you demanded him to repeat his words - What? I've said that I love cooking for the woman I love.- he repeated without understanding what was wrong with his words. - "The woman you love"? Do you love me? -you asked astonished - Absolutely.- he admitted with a smile on his face- I've been in love with you practically since the time I asked you to be my girlfriend, I just thought that you were going to think I was crazy and was too soon for saying the L word. - I felt the same way. I wanted you to be the first to say it. -you confessed him. - So, we are in love with eachother.- he confirmed with happiness written on his face; the kind of happiness that a child would experience on Christmas day if he/she received exactly what was expecting. You stood up from the table and run into his arms, as he embraced you for your first kiss after knowing that you were in love. Hours later, Henry was back again in the kitchen. This time he was planning to prepare dinner for him since you told him the cookies made you feel full and you didn't want to eat anything else for the day. He was preparing everything that he needed, when you showed up in the kitchen wearing nothing but translucid bran with pastel green colour and white flowers on it. The bra was delicate and made your breasts look amazing. You also wear a white thong and white stockings and stiletto heels pumps. You left Henry speechless. You got closer to him, put your arms around his neck a started to kiss him. You could feel his hands sliding through your back reaching your ass and grabbing it. That made you laughed and he joined you. You looked at his eyes and suggested him to take things to bed. You indicated that you couldn't wait anymore to properly celebrate the fact that you loved each other. He picked you up, holding you by your thighs and walked to the bedroom. He left you on the bed as he turned to close the door and took his clothes off. He got on the bed and then slowly slid your thong and then throw it away. Grabbing you by your thighs, he began to pleasure you with his mouth. He loved to stroke your clit with his tongue, grabbing it and sucking it as well. He could do that for long periods. You were used to him putting his fingers inside your underwear and make you cum over and over. He'd do that at least three or four times per week -without counting that you had sex every single night and some mornings as well. He always wanted to take you and satisfy his desires but also wanted to make you happy. He couldn't get enough of you, and the feeling was mutual. You could feel him tasting you, after several orgasms, you were dripping wet. He climbed on top of you and kissed you, grabbing your lips with his. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand and after putting it on, he put his member inside of you, making you burned inside. It felt so good. He would go from slow movements to really fast pound. He had both of his hands on the mattress and your's were on his neck. He would separate his mouth from yours from time to time only to be able to kiss your neck and breasts. He knew how much you needed the touch of his sweet lips on yours; to feel his tongue dancing inside your mouth. You put your arms on his back and dug your fingers on his back, followed by your nails scratching his back. That made him insane. He had shaved two days before that moment, but his beard started to grow again. He also left he moustache to grow. It was still on its early stages, but still made you tingle and it felt so amazing, especially when he was with his head between your legs. He made you stood up from the bed and then grabbed you by your thighs once more, as you entwined your arms around his neck and he started to thrust you. Your body was on flames. The fact that he was strong enough to fuck you while holding you amazed you. For moments, you would free one of your hands just to stroke his arm, as his muscles tense. He sat on the edge of the bed and continued to pound you, buried himself inside of you deeper and deeper each time. You pushed his back against the mattress, kissed him with burning passion and then started to ride him, placing your hands on his majestic hairy chest. Then, you enlaced your hands with his while you continue to move up and down his cock. He pulled your hands into his lips, kissing both of them, one at the time. You put your chest against his and whispered on his ear "You're mine, baby. You're mine and I'm yours", he looked into your eyes. Just as he thought he couldn't want you more, you told him everything he wanted to hear, that you were his. He remembered at that moment that if he wasn't for your ex, he'd been the only man you have been with. That thought made him feel both jealous and lucky at the same time. Another man had you before him, but he intended to be the only man you'll be with for the rest of his life. You were his. He wasn't the kind of man that would treat you as an object, as something that could belong to him, but you were his woman, he loved you and would make sure that you'll want him forever over anybody else because he could not stand the idea of losing you. You were his angel and he would love you and protect you and hopefully make you as happy as you made him. Life with you was a paradise. You woke up due to the need to drink some water. You had your head pressed against Henry's chest. You had sex until the sunrise. You felt so tired after that amazing night. You checked your phone to see the time and to your surprise, it was midday. You got up and decided to prepare lunch for the two of you. You starred at him for a moment before leaving the bedroom. Seeing him sleep so peaceful felt like a warm hug. You were so lucky. He was amazing and he loved you as much as you loved him.

[five-miles-over]

Types of People Watching the Film“Gladiator”, as told by “Gladiator” gifs

Disclaimer: As always, this is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone or make anyone feel bad. Please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Also, I do not own any of these images or gifs. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!

(Warning: spoilers for the movie ‘Gladiator’ are included.)

1. The Masquerader

This person is watching Gladiator because their friends are either ancient history buffs or ardent lovers of this film. Either way, the Masquerader is just watching this film in order to fit in with their peers. Maybe they think the film will help them know more about Ancient Rome- which it won’t, for the most part - or it’ll give them something to contribute when their friends talk about Ridley Scott and his film-making genius.

All I can say to this person is, I hope you’re a better actor than Russell Crowe when you’re trying to have a conversation in public.

2. The Veteran

If you’re this person, you’ve probably seen Gladiator at least twice, and it probably holds a special connection for you. Maybe it reminds you of a loved one you watched the film with, or maybe it was when you had your first crush (fictional or celebrity). 

When you watch this film, you feel like you’re coming back to a familiar world with people you think you know quite well. At this point, you don’t watch Gladiator to be surprised by the special effects or action scenes. You watch Gladiator without the slightest faze and hope for a taste of nostalgia.

3. The History Snob

This person doesn’t necessarily have to have a degree in Ancient History or Classics or Mediterranean Studies, but they will be quick to point out the slightest historical error they find. Whether it’s Marcus Aurelius’s death, Emperor Commodus’s death, or even the portrayal of gladiatorial games, this person will make sure everyone around them knows what really should have been.

On a bad day, this person might go so far as to criticize the casting choice and costumes, saying that the hairstylist department should’ve bleached Commodus’s hair because historically, this emperor was blonde.

4. The Superfan

A celebrity crush is the reason you’re watching this film, be it Russell Crowe, Connie Nielsen, Joaquin Phoenix, Oliver Reed, or even Ridley Scott. Either way, Gladiator is one of the most famous films of this celebrity’s career and you’re watching it because you admire their work with all your heart.

Especially if you’re a Joaquin Phoenix fan, you get to pride yourself on being able to say you admired him before he became the Joker.

5. The Cinephile

When this person thinks of Gladiator, the first thing they think about is the film that brought back the genre of epic films. Or, maybe they remember this film as the Best Picture Winner of 2001. Or this is the film that Ridley Scott could never, ever replicate no matter how hard he tried (even with Russell Crowe).

This person, depending on how big of a snob they are, will either vocally praise or criticize the film’s production design, cinematography, or tone. Sometimes it’s amazing how much they know about the making of the film, and other times it’s annoying when all you want to do is just watch silently.

Personally, I enjoy having this person around because I enjoy learning about film production, but everyone has their own choice of company.

6. The One Who’s in Love

This person doesn’t just like their favorite character, this person legitimately believes that if their favorite character lived in real life, they would be dating them. And for this person, Gladiator is their way of connecting with their F/O outside of thinking about them in various situations.

To them, their favorite character is the “one”. They laugh with their favorite character, they sympathize with their favorite character, and certainly mourn for their death long after the film ends.

(If you’re me, that is your alibi if anyone asks why you’re crying so much when cutting onions.)

7. The Kink-ster

(Warning: reference to smut)

Honestly, this person could be watching literally any film, but if they find a character attractive or sexy, their brain comes to life immediately. Their mind is so dirty that you need an entire hazmat suit to enter, plus some holy water for afterward. This person is watching Gladiator for the fan service and has probably fantasized about doing unspeakable things to their character of choice. I’m talking swordplay, bloodplay, BDSM, spanking, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, edging, lingerie, dirty talk, role-playing or daddy kinks

In all seriousness though, I actually think this person is super awesome because of their powerful imagination and confidence. (also because sometimes I am this person) So, have fun with your X-rated fantasies all you want to - no one’s judging you.

8. The Snoozer

You honestly don’t find Gladiator that great of a movie. “Why is it two-and-a-half hours long?” is probably your catchphrase and you doze off during the long but pivotal dialogues. The only reason you’re watching is because a) it was the only good thing on television or b)everyone around you is watching it. Most likely, you believe that the time for Hollywood epic films has truly passed since the mid-60s.

Hope you all enjoyed this fun little listicle! Let me know if you’ve ever known these types of people who’ve seen this iconic film.

Stay safe and I hope to bring some more content soon!!

[brooklyn-1918]

Down With the Ship

OK, I have done something along these lines before, but I personally thought it was horrible. So I re worked it and got a little carried away, as it has just over 10k words. Way longer than I normally write. Any-who... I saw @jtargaryen18​ ‘s 30 days of Chris challenge, and I wanted to hop on the train, participate in my first writing challenge.

SO! Without further ado.. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, OFC Sarah Russell, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, and a few other real and fictional characters scattered into the mix.

Pairings: Steve RogersxOFC

Words: 10,025

Summary: April 12, 1912, was the night when everything for Sarah Russell would change. But as the cold water loomed nearer, she only had one thought on her mind. Steve.

Warnings: Brief mentions of Smut, but nothing is actually written. Angsty-fluff. Character deaths, as with anything about the Titanic can be expected. 

A/N: Honestly, I had no idea where I was going with this. I tried not to have it be too similar to the 1993 movie, Titanic, but there are some things that are undoubtedly similar. I have major problems with that movie anyway. 

The bow rose high above the crowd, her black paint reflecting sunlight from the choppy waters. Resting on top of the black paint, was a layer of white, concealing the deck just below the railing. Sarah watched as two crew members scrambled up the foremast, climbing into the crows nest, tugging their White Star line caps lower over their eyes. 

She clasped her hands together, giving the bustling port a once over. Passengers of every class waited to board the massive ship, from first class, to the third class passengers in steerage. Small children clutched their mothers’ hands, while fathers and brothers, husbands, hoisted luggage over their shoulders. 

“Sarah.” She flinched as her mother called her name. She turned with a polite smile on her face, taking a small breath to steady herself.

“Yes, mother?”

“Come here, we wouldn’t want you to be anywhere near these--” Her mother wiggled her fingers, then drew her hand in close to her chest with a disgusted look on her face. She quickly waved out to the lower class passengers, like it was too much of a burden to give them any more attention than she already had. She took a breath before she continued.

“Regardless, we must board soon.” She held out the ticket for Sarah to take. With a small smile, she gripped the slip of paper, then turned back outward.

Sarah tilted her nose up, letting the sun light up her face, enjoying the feeling of land under her feet while it lasted. A commotion a few yards away startled her out of her thoughts.

She glanced over to where a trio of young men, men who appeared to be third class, were arguing with the medical attendants. Well, where two of them were trying to hold back the third. 

The one who was arguing, a tall man with dirty blonde hair and a thin shirt, finally gave up with a throw up of his hands. He shrugged the hands of his two traveling companions off his shoulders and moved along the line. He held his hand over the handle of his bag, slung around his shoulder, and glared intently at the floor. 

Sarah watched him curiously, and nearly lept out of her skin when he looked up and made eye contact with her. He narrowed his eyes, the color of the sky, daring her to say something, do something. She sucked in her bottom lip to chew briefly, then looked away quickly. The passenger smirked as he continued on with the line. 

“Sarah!” She jumped as she turned back around, this time to her brother’s call. He faced her, placing both hands on her shoulders and squeezing tightly. His brow was knitted together with a disdainful expression resting on his face. 

“Mother said to stay close.” Sarah looked at her brother with a frown, sighing with relief as their gate was called to board. She let out a huff of air as she rounded to walk to the entrance. 

_____

Walking along the halls of B deck, it felt cold, unwelcoming. Yes, the lush red carpet and beautiful white walls were warm to anyone else’s standards, but not to Sarah. She was ushered into her suite quickly, her brother trying to defend her from the world. It was annoying, really. 

The room was… Nice. 

Oak paneling was accented with gold, leafs carved into the mantle looked strangely realistic. Rich maroon carpet lightened the floor, pussing up to the walls. A velvet sofa sat angled in the corner, an end table next to it. 

Sarah trailed her fingers over the marble of the mantle as her mother and brother bustled around the room, in and out of the bedchambers and the washroom. She opened the door after a knock startled her. One of the stewards stood in the doorway, loaded down with boxes and luggage. Sarah laughed and pulled two off the top of his pile, to which he sighed his thanks. 

“Sarah, what on earth are you doing?” Her mother sounded scandalized as she rushed over, trying to knock the luggage out of her daughter’s hands. 

“Do you want to end up a maid?” Sarah placed the luggage on the sofa and threw an apologetic look at the family server walking behind her, a scowl on her face. Sarah took a breath and looked back to her mother. 

“No. But if I hadn't--” “No, not another word out of you.” Her brother rounded the sofa to clamp a hand on her upper arm. Sarah frowned and nodded, looking away from her mother and overprotective brother. 

_____

Dinner was a bore. They had the pleasure of dining in the company of Mr. Stark, Mr. Andrews, and Captain Smith. Mr. Stark was alright, full of interesting stories and recounts of the adventures he had in Europe, explaining new ideas he had in mind. Mr. Andrews and Captain Smith were only interested in the ship. Explaining how she worked, what it was like building her, gloating over her. 

Sarah tried not to slouch over in boredom, refrain from pushing her food around her plate with one of her many forks. Instead, she placed her utensils back and ate nothing, concentrating on the electric voice of Tony Stark. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Sarah nodded politely at Tony’s question, folding her hands neatly in her lap. 

“Yes, thank you. Only a little light headed.” Tony frowned, and placed a gentile hand over her own. 

“Perhaps you should excuse yourself and lie down?” He dropped his voice down into a whisper, his brown eyes connecting with her pale blue ones. In all honesty, Sarah knew why she was light headed. It was her god awful corset that had been cinched one too many times. 

“Perhaps.” She smiled and pushed her seat back, turning to speak to her mother and brother.

“If you will excuse me, I am feeling suddenly ill. Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure dining with you.” She stood and smiled at the three guests, mouthing Tony a small thanks. Before she could get any retaliation out of her family, she pushed her chair in and left the first class dining area. 

On her way out, she momentarily stopped where she would be seen by no one. She slipped her fingers between her dress and popped her corset open a little, reveling in the flood of fresh air into her lungs. She fixed her dress and carried on to the deck.

_____

Sarah walked around the deck, unwilling to return to her stuffy room. She wanted to explore it all, find hiding places if ever she needed. Eventually, her wander brought her to the very back of the ship, the stern high above the black water. She ran her fingers lightly over the rail, pressing her front firmly to the cold metal bars.

She leaned forward, not enough that she was in any real danger, but just enough to see the Atlantic water where it churned by the propellers. She laughed lightly, pushing up to her toes.

“Careful, don’t want to fall over the edge, do you?” Sarah dropped back to her feet and whipped around, swallowing as she looked up into his eyes. The man had an oily sneer, his eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled foully of alcohol. The third class passenger was too close for comfort, Sarah let her eyes widen and pressed back further into the railing.

“Please back up, sir.” She tried to keep her voice even, her nose held high. The black haired man grinned wickedly, taking another step closer. He reached one finger up to caress her jaw, Sarah shivered at the tough, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. 

“Why should I do that?” Sarah let her eyes go wider still, and she tried to duck under his arm, shove past him, do anything to try to get away. 

“Stop!” She tried to sound commanding, but her voice came out as barely more than a quivering cry. She placed her hand on the man’s shoulder, trying to push him away, but he locked his fingers around her wrist.

She yelped as he brought his head down and started kissing her throat, tears springing to her eyes. The man’s head snapped up and he let go, Sarah struggling for breath, confused as to what was happening.

“She said to stop. Maybe you should listen.” A rumbling voice came from behind the man in front of her. Only then did Sarah notice the fingers clamped around her attacker's shoulder. Clamped so tight that his knuckles were turning white, causing the black haired man to buckle under the pressure. 

The man was pulled away, stumbling until he hit the floor, letting out a grunt. Her savior, a tall blonde, had his back facing her with his shoulders squared to try to ward off the man on the floor. It worked. He scrambled up and away from the two of them, headed for the stairwell. 

Her savior finally turned to her, his entire physique softening. Sarah instantly recognized him as the same man that she had seen on the pier earlier that day.

“Are you OK? Did he hurt you?” The man sounded soft, and sincere, so unlike what she had seen earlier on. She managed to nod, placing one hand on her chest to steady her breathing. 

He smiled reassuringly, pointing to one of the benches, hovering his hand near her arm, asking without speaking if she would let him lead her to sit. 

She gave him another small nod, his hand resting lightly on the back of her arm, guiding her to sit down. She sat and crossed her ankles, stiff backed. The stranger sat down next to her, leaning back and pressing himself more to the corner of the bench, casting worried looks to her. 

“Thank you, Sir.” She pushed herself to look at him, an unsure smile forming on her lips. He chuckled softly and sat up, elbows propped on his knees.

“Steve. Steve Rogers.” He held out his hand, and she took it gently. He had strong, warm hands, rough from years of physical work that showed in the muscles in his forearms, and Sarah could only imagine, flowing up under his shirt to his chest. 

“Sarah Russel.”

_____

The next night, she wandered the deck after dinner. She had her gaze fixed over the railing, watching the waves roll against the hull of Titanic, not to where she was going. She yelped as her foot slipped out from under her, the stairs missed. She shut her eyes, waiting to hit the hard deck, but instead fell into something soft and warm. 

She opened her eyes and looked up to the chuckleing Steve Rogers. She pulled herself out of his arms and straightened her dress, then fixed her hair.

“Mr. Rogers, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” Steve chuckled harder, the hand rolled cigarette clamped between his teeth nearly falling to the deck. 

“I told you, call me Steve. Please.” She nodded and her face softened, a smile crawling up. She leaned her back against the railing as Steve crossed his arms over it, looking out to the cold black ocean. 

He dug in his pocket for a few seconds, then extracted a small tin case to which he popped open and offered to her. She hesitantly took one of the cigarettes, then the matchbook he offered her. 

Although she had never had a hand rolled cigarette before, she found it strangely more appealing than the ones that had been factory rolled. They remained in silence for some time, much like the night before. Steve extracted a little silver pocket watch, clicking it open, the small tic tic tic resonating through the air before he snapped it closed. 

“Do you first class folk go to parties?” Steve angled his head to her, his eyebrows raised in question. Sarah opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and stood up straight.

“How do you mean?” She questioned back. She pulled the smoking paper stick away from her lips, blowing the cloud away from them. Steve turned to face her, one arm still on the rail. 

“You know, music, dancing, drinks?” “Ah, right. Horrible slow dancing to equally horrible music. Disgusting glasses of champagne. Food too small for even a mouse.” Steve laughed louder, his joyous sound making her feel happy inside. He shook his head with a wide grin, waving her off. 

“No, no-- I mean a real party. With loud music, good dancing, and good drinks.” Sarah quirked her brow, then shook her head at him. He had to have a point? Didn’t he? He held out his hand, palm to the dark sky, moving his fingers in a gesture to ask if she would take his hand. 

“Come with me then. I will show you a better time.” Steve promised, patiently waiting with his pal still open. She slowly reached out, hovering over his palm. With a confident intake of breath, she placed her hand down, Steve’s fingers almost automatically curling over the back of her hand. 

He smiled and began walking backwards, pulling her along with him. He only looked back long enough to find and place his foot on the first step down to the lower decks. His cigarette still hung from his lips, sending a wreath of grey smoke curling around his head. 

She giggled lightly as he descended the stairwell backwards, deeper and deeper into the massive ship. 

_____

Once they reached E deck, she could hear the thumping music wafting down the halls. They were halls that looked barely different than her own. Red floors, white walls, dull electric lighting. The only difference was, it was all made of iron, not soft carpeting and plaster and wood. She liked this so much better. 

Steve guided her into the third class dining area, where most of the tables had been pushed to the side, making way to a large space where 50 people danced to the loud, joyful music. Smoke from cigarettes had accumulated in the rafters, making its way to the one popped open window. The entire room smelled like spilled beer, smoke, and warm bodies.

She laughed as she looked around, her mouth broken into a huge grin. Steve stopped them just inside the doorway, dropping her hand so he could grab a couple drinks. A he handed one to her, he spoke, loud so he could be heard  over the music. “I’m going to take it that you are enjoying this?” He handed one of the drinks, as he took a sip of his own, the froth on top bumping against his lip. She accepted the amber liquid with a nod, taking a test drink. She giggled and took another drink, the cool beer tasting so good as it rushed over her tongue and down her throat. 

Steve shook his head and led her over to a table populated by three others. They gave her odd looks as they sat, her dress standing out in the crowd. She recognized two of them as the people that Steve had been traveling with, the other she had no idea. 

“Sarah, this is Bucky and Sam,” He pointed to the two he had been traveling with.

“And this is Clint.” He motioned to the last man at the table. She reached to shake each of their hands, each feeling much like Steve’s. 

“It's very nice to meet you all. I’m Sarah.” Bucky raised his eyebrows and turned to Steve.

“Sarah? As in the gal you rescued on the deck?” Steve nodded and the table erupted into laughter and shouts, babbling on and trading stories. Sarah didn’t once feel unincluded. 

After a little while, Sarah noticed Bucky staring at someone. She followed his gaze to where a red headed woman was dancing with two small children, a girl with reddish orange locks, and a boy with silvery white locks. 

“Are they yours?” Sarah raised her voice over teh roar of the music and people. The table looked to where the two of them were watching the woman. Bucky flushed a scarlet color, Clint effectively lost his arm wrestle with Sam, and Steve nearly choked on his beer as he snickered. 

“You’re funny, but no. That's Natallia Romanova, Russian immigrant. She rescued the two kids on her way to America.” Sarah nodded, then smiled and lightly socked him on the arm. 

“Go ask her to dance.” Bucky looked at her with a mortified expression, and the table erupted back into laughter. Bucky turned to glare at all of them, then back to Sarah who shrugged at him. He squared his shoulders and stood.

“You know what? I will ask her to dance. And pray she doesn't kill me.” He set a determined expression on his face. Sarah laughed as Steve spoke up behind her.

“You laugh, but he isn’t kidding.” Sarah looked back to where he was walking up to her, shock and concern riddled her face. She held her breath as she watched Bucky speak, letting it out as the red headed woman smiled and accepted his hand. 

“He’s right. Just last night I saw her flip someone over her shoulder and put him in a headlock when he touched her without her permission.” Sam took a sip of his drink, brow raised over the rim. Sarah laughed nervously as she turned away from the now dancing Bucky and Natalia. 

“Speaking of dancing, care for a dance?” She looked to Steve, a hopeful look on his face, outstretched hand. She slipped her own in without hesitation, letting him lead her to the dance floor. 

_____

Sarah was laughing so hard, she could barely breathe. Steve held her close as they moved around the dance floor, trying to avoid bumping into anyone else. She was pressed into his chest as they swung around to move to the left.

Steve had a permanent cheeky grin as he gave his partner a twirl, her skirts flowing out to the side as she spun. Their feet moved wildly as they moved right, left, then back again only to repeat it but slightly more to the left. 

When the song stopped, they swung back into their seats. Sarah took a few small sips of her drink, then placed it down. Steve tilted his head back a bit as he chugged his beer down, when he nearly slammed the glass back down with triumph, it had only about an inch left in the bottom of the glass. 

“What? You didn’t think the Irish could drink?” He laughed, and Sarah took it as a challange. She picked up her own glass, and with a small breath through her nose, raised it to her lips and drank, long and hard until she had about an inch and a half left. She slammed it down with a mocking laugh, grinning at Steve’s shocked expression.

“And I can’t?”

Sam laughed and lightly clapped her on the shoulder as she swept sweat slicked hair out of her face. 

_____

The music was dieing down, people were returning to their bunks, glasses were being put away and tables were being shoved back into place. Sarah said her goodbyes to her newfound friends, arguably better friends after just one night than any friends she had in the past. 

She walked up to B deck with her arm twisted through Steve’s, head resting on his shoulder. The cold night air was so refreshing after the stuffy room below deck, and it was hard to believe that only a few hours ago, she had been standing so awkwardly next to Steve, just a few feet away. 

“I’m going to be in so much trouble with my mother.” She groaned, but snapped her head up to look at Steve, a mischievous grin on her face.

“It was worth it though.” He chuckled as they walked on in silence. Steve stopped when they reached the stairs up to the first class deck, Sarah already one step up.

“You’re not coming?” She asked, a small frown on her face. He sighed, and shook his head, untwisting his arm from her, letting his hand slip down so their fingers intertwined. 

“I can’t. I’m only a steerage passenger, remember?” He added the last bit with a dramatic flare, and Sarah chuckled softly. She smiled in contemplation.

“OK.” She whispered softly. She reached out with her free hand, laying it gently on his cheek, her thumb brushing away a bit of imaginary dirt. She leaned forward and placed a kiss to his other cheek, his light stubble scratching her lips softly. 

As she drew back, she felt her belly drop at his shocked expression, anxiety taking root and flushing through her body, making her heart pound. He shook his head quickly and smiled, his eyes bright and reflecting the stars above.

He reached up to her shoulder, bringing her back down to him, pressing his lips to her own, soft and sweet. He could feel her smile into the kiss, gently sucking at his bottom lip as she pulled away. 

“Tomorrow, eight o’clock. Meet me at the very front of the ship.” She smiled sweetly at his proposition, nodding and backing up the stairs. 

“Goodnight, Steve.” 

“Goodnight dalrin’.” 

_____

Sarah tried to sneak into the suite, but failed miserably. The second she opened the door, her mother and brother were on her like a starving dog to a scrap of meat. Gripping her arm as if she would run away again.

“Where have you been?!” Her mother tried so hard to keep her voice to a respectable level. Her brother merely scowled at her. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, taking in a subtle whiff.

“Cigarette smoke, and alcohol. I can smell the sweat on you.” He hissed at her, his grip tightening. With a newfound stroke of courage, she tugged her arm out of his and her mother’s grip. She took a step back towards her door. With her nose in the air, she spoke.

“Where I have been is none of your buisness. You are no longer able to dictate my life. Goodnight.” And with that, she opened the door, slipping inside and bolting it. She walked to the bed, sitting with a hand over her mouth, containing the laughter that was bubbling up. 

Outside in the foyer, her family stood shocked, looking at the door where she had dissapeared. 

_____

The morning arrived soon enough, Sarah rising and foregoing breakfast to draw herself a bath. She wanted to stay in her room the entire day, just long enough until she had to leave to meet Steve. But she decided against it when her stomach grumbled from hunger. 

So she rose, got dressed in something simple, something she knew her mother would despise, and left to walk to lunch. As she exited her suite, she collided with someone walking in the same direction she was going. She blinked and apologized quickly, smiling as she recognized who she had bumped into.

“Mr. Stark, headed to lunch?” He smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet.

“I am. Care to join me?” He held out his arm for her to take. She wrapped her own around and placed it over his, smiling as she pulled the door the rest of the way closed. 

They sat at a table together, Tony having the ability to tell that she was not all that thrilled about sitting with her family. They chatted for a while, Tony recounting more adventures and inventions. But as she didn’t say much aside from the occasional comment or question, he sat back in his chair with a small smile.

“Someone has their mind preoccupied elsewhere.” He observed. 

“Hmm, yes. Wait-- oh I’m sorry.” She grinned sheepishly, twisting her fingers in her lap as Tony chuckled. He shook his head and sat up again, narrowing his eyes with a knowing smile.

“I know that look. It’s not me you are looking like that for, and your family certainly couldn’t make you look like that. So, who is it?” She could feel the color rising in her cheeks, and she bit her bottom lip. “You must not tell.” She begged, knitting her brow in concern. Tony shook his head and laughed quietly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I have been exactly where you are, my dear.” 

“His name is Steve. He’s-- not first class.” Tony grinned at her, leaning back once more. He nodded, and tapped his finger twice on the table.

“That third class boy? Big, blonde?” Tony asked, puffing his chest up and swinging his arms wider, a smile on his face as he imitated Steve. Sarah forgot all upper class manners as she slumped back in her chair, fingers dangling over the arm rests, mouth agape. Tony laughed harder, drawing the attention of a few other passengers. 

“How did you--? What?” He grinned wider.

“I do enjoy midnight strolls.” He said in a way of an explanation. Sarah’s mind automatically went to the previous night. Mr. Stark must have been walking along the deck and spotted her and Steve at the stairs. 

“Oh.” Was all Sarah could manage as she fixed her posture. Tony patted her hand from across the table, sitting back again. She laughed suddenly, quietly, her features lighting up.

“Was it only you who saw?”

_____

Sarah was back in her room, splashing some water on her face, and taking off some of her excess jewelry. She put on her simplest dress, hoping to not stand out. She exerted her room at 7:40, crossing to the door to exit the suite. 

“Sarah. Where do you think you’re going?” She turned to face her brother, a defiant look on her face. Her mother exited her bedroom, standing beside her oldest child, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I will once again give you this answer… It is none of your business. Good evening to you.” She opened the door, but before she could exit, her brother gripped her wrist. 

“You will not leave. I forbid it.” She scoffed as she faced him down. 

“I will leave. You have no control over me, you are not father. I choose my own life, and I choose to live it away from you.” She said cooly, yanking her arm out of his grip. She gave him a murderous glare, whipping around and leaving, smacking him in the face with her hair as she did so. 

As she left her family in a perpetual state of confusion, she made her way to the bow of the ship. She smiled as she approached Steve, wrapping her arms around his middle. He bent down to capture her mouth in a kiss, bringing his hands to cup both sides of her jaw.

Once they broke apart, she placed her chin on his chest and looked up. 

“Can I go with you when we get to New York? I can’t take my life anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and her fingers twisted into the back of his shirt. Steve moved his hands down to rub up and down her arms, face twisted into confusion.

“Just up and leave?” Steve asked, eyebrows pulled together. Sarah concentrated on the blue of his eyes, trying to have her own speak something words could not. Steve’s face softened, his heart pounding in his chest. 

He knew that look. It was the same one he had given Bucky when he had left New York to go to Europe. It was the same one that both Bucky and Sam had given him when they thought it was time to go home. It was the look of someone who could truly, absolutely, no longer take the life they were living. If they stayed, they would combust. 

Steve sucked in a breath, God only knew what that look did to him. He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against hers. 

“Sure, darlin’. But I can’t give you what you deserve.” Their noses pressed together as Sarah tilted her head up to encase his lips with her own. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she huffed a laugh and grinned. 

“You honestly think I like living like this?” Steve chuckled with his own wide smile. His blue eyes sparkled in the orange light of the setting sun. 

“Last night was the most fun I have ever had. Your friends have become better friends to me in one night than anyone else I have ever known. Sure, maybe first class looks a little nicer, but trust me, it’s a lot worse.” Steve smiled at her analysis, wrapping his arms around her tighter.

“Then we can get to New York, and we can get you away from the first class life.”

“Good.”

“OK then, come with me, I have to show you something.”

_____

Steve led her through hallways, down lower and lower, dodging crew members, ducking around other passengers. He eventually came to a door that he pushed open to reveal a large storage area, full of boxes, and trunks, cars and other assorted pieces of furniture. The whole area was dimly lit, only a few electric bulbs lining the walls. 

Steve pulled her to a lavish couch, red velvet over polished oak. Steve gave one gentle tug and they both collapsed to the soft surface with a laugh. 

“How did you find this?” Sarah asked with a large grin, resting her head on his shoulder. Steve slung his arm around her, tugging her close to his side, letting her take in his heat. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Steve chuckled, an air of mock superiority to his voice. Sarah squawked, flicking his side as she playfully frowned. Steve snorted out a laugh, toothy grin on his face.

“I did a lot of exploring when I got on the ship. And I may have followed one of the crew.” 

“You sneaky cat.” She reached out a finger to poke his nose playfully, to which he captured in his free hand and pressed to his lips. He then tilted his head down to capture her lips, then shifted to use his free hand to pull her closer. 

Sarah briefly fought with her constricting dress, just enough to get her leg up and over, so that she was straddling him. He reached his hands around to rest on her lower back, fingers playing at one of the buttons.

“May I?” He asked, a flirty grin on his face. She retaliated by placing her own hands on his stomach, thumbs tapping against his belt buckle. 

“Only if I can as well.” Steve grinned and popped the buttons, leading up her back. Sarah quickly undid his belt buckle, sliding it out one loop at a time. Steve slid the dress off her shoulders as she hooked her fingers under his shirt, pulling it up.

“Well, this isn’t fair.” She laughed. Steve made a shocked face at her corset, and she remarked on his ability to only wear a shirt. 

“How do you breathe in this thing?” He tried to wiggle a finger under it, but was unable to make it past the tight fabric. Sarah cuckold.

“Oh, it’s funny that you think I can breath.” She quickly showed him how to undo the strings as she ran her fingers against his chest, absolutely rippling with muscles. They both had smiles on their faces, heating the air around them with their growing passion. 

_____

Tony Stark watched as Sarah and her partner, Steve, she had called him, disappeared below deck. He leaned against the railing, playing with his watch, the red and gold metal glinting in the dying sunlight. 

He chuckled, looking straight out at the smooth water. He was happy for them. Truely. He turned to watch as two crew members went to the crows nest, relieving the two members already on duty. “Mr.Stark.” The call of his name dragged the attention away from the crew, and he gave his watch face a slight twist, showing him the time, instead of the temperature he had previously been looking at. 

“Ah, Mr.Russell, what can I do for you?” Sarah’s brother came up to him, standing directly in front of him, hands shoved in his pockets and a fowl look on his face. Tony leaned his backside against the wood of the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Where is my sister?” His tone was accusatory, and Tony put one eyebrow up.

“No idea.” He bluffed.

“I saw you eating with her at lunch.” Tony chuckled again.

“And? How should I know where she is now?” 

“Let me make this clear, I saw you, just the two of you. At lunch.” Now it was really hard for Tony to resist laughing. So he did. His laugh was loud, boisterous. It drew the attention of a few other passerbys. 

“I have a wife back in the states, Mr.Russell. Pepper. You should meet her sometime. Sarah and I bumped into each other in the hall, that's all.” Tony stood up straight, coming eye to eye with the younger man. He faltered, and backed off, hands pulled from his pockets.

“My apologies.” He muttered. Tony started walking past him, patting him on the shoulder as he made his way to his suite. 

_____

Sarah slumped against the wall, breathless and laughing, hair going in every direction, clutching her dress around her shoulders, unable to button it back up. Steve crouched by the intersection, hiding from the crew members as he tucked his shirt back in. His grin was blinding, 

They turned to race down the hall, Steve fumbling with Sarah’s buttons with each bouncing footstep. They swung onto the nearest staircase, climbing higher and higher. They stopped at the very top of one of the stairwells, right behind a door that would lead to the dark deck. 

Sarah wrapped her fingers in his thin shirt, pushing him against the wall as she kissed him silly. She planted her lips over every square inch of his face, while he pulled her as close as possible, hands rubbing up and down her back. 

They both knew it was late, but neither of them were tired. They were just a couple with not a care in the world. They didn’t care what was going on on around them. Nothing but smooth sailing.

Until it wasn’t.

The entire ship groaned, it shuddered, the floorboards vibrating and the metal emitting a low hum. The pair broke apart, Steve gripping onto her arm as she nearly toppled down the stairs. Frowns had stitched themselves onto their faces, concern etching lines on their foreheads. 

Steve pushed the door open, and they both stepped outside. Sarah looked to the deck.

Ice chunks littered the floor, blue and silver and white in the moonlight. Some people, second and third class, were kicking around the ice, laughing as if they hadn’t just experienced that feeling.

Next, Sarah looked to where Steve was looking. She took in a sharp gasp as she watched the massive iceberg make its way to the stern of the ship. The pair walked up to the rail, leaning over to watch the massive tower of ice float away. 

“Mr.Andrews said this ship was unsinkable, right?” Sarah asked, dread settling into her stomach.

“Right.” Steve had let all traces of joy leave his shoulders, his eyes. His voice was low, and serious. 

“So what do we have to worry about?” She could hear the wobble in her own voice. She took a breath to steady herself, and turned to find something else other than the ice. 

Her gaze landed first on the two people in the crows nest. They were standing still, hands gripping the edge of their platform’s railing. Their faces were pale against their dark White Star uniforms. 

Sarah was quick to look at something else, dread settling deeper into her bones. She found a few bridge members running around. She spotted Mr.Andrews, charts tucked under his arms, trotting up to a man with snow white hair, trotting up to the captain, 

This was not good. And it was about to get worse. 

_____

Steve and Sarah stood at the railing, watching the iceberg float away for quite some time. Maybe half an hour they stood there. The engines had stopped, and the only noise came from the tiny waves lapping against the hull, and the murmur of voices on the deck. 

“Sarah!” She jumped at the sound of her brother’s voice. She turned around to see her mother and brother walking up to her, matching angry looks, looks that could kill. Steve looked over his shoulder, then to Sarah, who desperately tried to fix her hair. 

“Where have you been?” Her brother flailed his arms into the air, coming to stand right in front of her. Meanwhile, her mother busied herself with making sure all of the other passengers went away. Steve merely moved back to the door where they had come up earlier. Her mother seemed satisfied.

“You have been gone for hours!” Her brother nearly shouted, then ran his hands over his face and up through his hair. She side eyed her mother, who was standing rim rod straight, fury in her eyes. She chanced a glance at Steve, who was pulling out a cigarette to clamp between his teeth. 

“Like I said before, it’s none of your business, now get that through your thick skull.” She laughed at him, standing straight. Her brother was shocked for the briefest of moments, then his shock turned to white hot fury. 

He lashed out, gripping one of her wrists and then using his other hand to strike her across the cheek. Her whole field of vision went white, then faded back with a few dark spots before she could see properly again. She whimpered and bumped back to the rail. 

A hand clamped on her brother’s shoulder, fingers digging into his skin. 

“I wouldn’t think about doing that again.” Steve growled. Her brother let go of her wrists, turning to face his challenger. All kindness had gone from Steve’s eyes, his jaw was clenched tight, the muscle giving a little twitch. 

“I’m her brother.” 

“I don’t care who you are. Don’t touch her again.” Sarah watched the fear flicker through her brother’s eyes, shrinking down to a smaller size against Steve’s enormity. Steve’s face softened as he looked to her, giving her a small smile. Steve let go of his shoulder and took a step back, hands going into his pockets. 

Sarah’s mother looked from both his to her daughter and back, the gears in her head almost audible as she was struck with realization. 

“Oh.” Was all she said. Her face fell to a disgusted look. Her brother caught on a moment later. He had a bit more to say.

“You, you filthy animal!” He proceeded to advance towards Steve, giving him a hard poke in the shoulder. His anger radiated off of him, and he shoved both Steve’s broad shoulders. With a sigh, Steve stripped his jacket off and tossed it to the deck, handing the unlit cigarette to Sarah, who put it between her own teeth. Steve knew where this was going, Sarah knew where it was going, so did her mother and brother. 

Sarah dug through Steve’s coat to find the matches, watching the incoming brawl with interest, ignoring the protests from her mother. 

“Did you think it was OK to even think about someone of her status? Is that it?” Her brother asked, disbelief in his tone. He put his fists up in a boxers stance, and Steve rolled out the kinks in his shoulders, choosing to stay silent. 

“You belong with the rats. You belong in the mud, just like everyone else from steerage.” He spat out the words. Steve rolled his eyes and clenched his fists. 

“No one did ever teach you how to fight? Did they?” Steve flashed a cocky grin as he easily dodged the first swing. He dodged two more, one aimed at his gut, the other to his jaw, before he looked to Sarah. He was asking silent permission.

“Go ahead. Teach him a lesson.” She shrugged, puffing smoke into her mother’s face with a sly grin. Steve nodded.

With the next swing, Steve caught his fist, swinging him around so he went crashing to the deck. Steve pressed his knee down so he was pinned, and kept his arm raised in the air. Her brother let out a whimper, and Steve let him up. 

“That’s dirty.” He tried to defend himself, putting his fists back up.

“No one ever said we were boxing.” Steve pushed back, putting his own fists up. It was laughable how much bigger than her brother Steve was. Another jab from her brother was blocked by Steve’s arms, and instead of jabbing with his fists, Steve brought his knee up and into his opponent’s gut. 

Her brother doubled over, coughing his guts up. He regained his composure, and started blindly swinging at the blond, in a rage. Steve managed to either block or avoid most of them, but he still was hit twice. Once to the stomach, and once to the shoulder. Steve shoved his opponent sideways, knocking his elbow into his nose. 

Her brother pulled back, hands on his nose, trying as he might to stop the flow of blood streaming out. Her mother yelped and went to her son. Sarah gripped Steve’s hand, interlacing their fingers. 

“Goodbye, mother.” And she ran, taking Steve along with her. 

_____

People were emerging onto the deck all around them, life belts in hand with confused looks on their faces. Some were telling their servers to go back to their rooms and turn on the heat, others were standing around and drinking. Crew members were loading some onto the lifeboats, shouting for only women and children. 

“OK, time for you to get on a boat.” Steve said as he pulled her to one. She dug her heels into the deck, placing one hand over his wrist.

“No. I’m not leaving yet. I’m not leaving you.” 

“This isn’t an argument. Get on the boat.”

Sarah set her face to a stubborn scowl, twisting her arm so her hand popped out of Steve’s. He shook his head in disbelief, and walked forward, placing his hands over her shoulders. 

“Sarah, I may be poor, but I am smart. I can do math. There aren't enough boats.” Steve gave her shoulders a squeeze, trying to mask his panic, but he feared his racing heart would give him away. Sarah reached her hands up to rest on his jaw, smoothing her thumbs over his cheekbones. 

“Exactly my point. I’m not leaving until we can both get into a boat.” He smiled, almost shyly. Then he nodded, pulling her into a tight hug. 

White light erupted above them, followed shortly by a loud bang. They both looked up in time to see another rocket being fired off, illuminating the world around them in a brilliant light. Things were getting serious. But no one seemed to get that. 

That was the problem with boarding an unsinkable ship. People tend to believe what they hear, and hearing the ship that you were on was unsinkable, people tended to believe that. But it doesn't matter if the ship has a reinforced hull, or watertight doors. It doesn't matter if it has some of the best technology of the era. If it’s made of iron, it can sink. 

_____

Sarah pulled Steve along the corridors of B deck, passing through the residential area, then to the restaurant and lounge areas. Finally they made their way to the grand staircase. The entire stairwell was full of people. Arrogant people, who even with the floor slanting under them, were directing crew members to go get them more drinks. 

She frantically looked around, searching for the one person from her own class who showed her kindness. Steve was getting odd looks thrown his way, but paid them no mind as he looked up and around, at the ornate glass roof and polished oak and gold fixtures. 

Finally, Sarah spotted who she was looking for, and darted forward, her partner in tow. 

“Mr.Stark!” She was able to grab the millionaire’s attention through the haggle of people she was forcing her way through unapologetically. The dark haired man trotted up to meet her, moving away from the other man he was talking to. 

“Sarah, where is your life belt?” He placed a hand on her shoulder. His hair was a wild mess, his suit looked like it was thrown on on his way out the door, buttons misaligned. His face was pale, and he was trying hard to keep his breathing under control. 

“I don’t have one. I haven’t been to my room at all.” 

“I noticed.” He nodded to Steve, still clutching Sarah’s hand, but standing behind her. Tony turned to grab a spare life belt that was hanging over the bannister of the staircase, handing it to her. 

“No, you need one too. We can find our own.” Sarah tried to push the white floaty back, but Steve grabbed her arm from behind.

“Sarah, put it on.” Steve commanded softly, holding her hand closed over the life belt. His hand rested on the small of her back, giving him leverage to push her arm towards herself. 

“Thank you, Mr.Stark.” Steve addressed the inventor, nodding his head sincerely. 

“If we make it off this death trap, you can call me Tony.” Steve shook his outstretched hand with a small smile.

“Steve Rogers.” Tony returned his polite nod, and they let go of each other's hands. Steve focused on helping Sarah into her vest, tying the cords tightly. Once she was all settled in, they said goodbye to Tony so they could make their way back to deck.

“Be safe, Tony.” Sarah gave him a quick hug, then let him go so they could both leave.

_____

One hour, and 22 minutes after the Titanic hit the iceberg:

The deck was turning into pandemonium. The ship was tilting, the bow almost completely underwater, the stern rising up into the air. 

“Time to go.” Steve said, leading her up the deck and closing into the back of the ship. They passed empty lifeboat hook, after empty lifeboat hook. 

“Steve, there is nowhere to go!” Sarah shouted over the noise rising up from the deck. Another white rocket burst overhead as Steve looked at her. It illuminated the fear on her face, her eyes sparkling with tears. 

Steve faltered momentarily, then shook his head to pop up to look over the crowd running around the deck. He pointed, then led her away.

“I see one up there.” He began pulling her away, just as a door burst open and a group of third class passengers came racing onto the deck, knocking Sarah and Steve apart. Steve looked around frantically as the crowd dissipated, calling out her name. He looked back to the door, and sucked in a breath. 

Sarah had slumped against the wall, eyes closed and knocked out. She must have been thrown into the wall as the group had passed. Steve knelt beside her, quickly scooping her up bridal style. 

Pushing his way further to the back of the ship, he stopped in front of the lifeboat.

“Do you have room for one more?” He asked, nodding down to the unconscious Sarah in his arms. The crew member looked a little hesitant, taking a quick glance to the nearly full boat. He nodded and flicked his fingers forward.

Steve gently loaded her into the boat, two other women helping to keep her from tipping over.

“Thank you.” Steve said to them, and they nodded. Steve backed away from the boat so more people could get in, catching a sympathetic look from one of the ladies. 

_____

One hour, and 47 minutes after the Titanic hit the iceberg:

Sarah woke up just as the Titanic started to lose power, the lights flickering wildly before they shut off, plunging the entire area into darkness, the only light was that from the moon. The ship had most of its stern suspended in the air, the propellers standing still. 

She looked around, unsure of how she had gotten in a boat, but she was certain that Steve wasn’t with her. A hand rested on her shoulder, causing her to jump. She turned to face a woman, who introduced herself as Molly Brown. 

“Where is Steve?” She asked in a panic. The woman, Molly, placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.

“Big, blond? Looked like he was third class?” Sarah nodded, tears welling in her eyes. 

“He dropped you in her and then made sure a few others got in. Then he left.” Another woman sitting next to her spoke up. Sarah turned back to the ship, hand covering her mouth. She wanted to jump out of the boat and swim back. She would never make it. 

_____

One hour, and 52 minutes after the Titanic hit the iceberg:

Steve pushed his way along the deck, all the boats were gone, the ship was almost vertical. Still, hundreds of people remained on the ship or in the water around it. By the end of the night, all but seven of them would be dead. 

Steve gripped the rail by the Union Jack flag, at the furthest point he could go. His feet were slipping out from under him, the ship groaning under the stress of holding itself up. Steve wove his arms and legs around the bars, hoping wherever Sarah, and Sam, and Bucky, wherever everyone on this ship that he cared about, he hoped that they were safe. But for the time being, he was alone. 

An unearthly scream ripped through the air. It sounded like a thousand people all at once, but higher pitched and with more of a groaning undertone. Sparks flew and metal twisted, wood splintered and glass shattered. 

Steve looked down just long enough to see the ship break in half, then shut his eyes tight as the stern came crashing down into the water again. Huge waves spread out, shoving the people that were in the water. Steve slipped from the rail, crashing down into the deck.

He scrambled back to the rail, helping up another man who had fallen. He climbed up and over, gripping the flagpole as the ship was beginning to pull itself back down again, the deck slanting rapidly.

People slid down the deck, screaming like it was some sort of deadly slide. Which it was. A slide that led to the dark waters and broken metal. 

Steve pulled himself to stand straight up as the stern went completely vertical. He looked around, his mind blocking out all the noise as the ship bobbed there. He found the lifeboats, some barely half full. There was no way to tell which one Sarah was on, but he tried to pick her out anyway. 

He would survive this. He had to. He had to make it back to her. 

The ship began to progress towards the water, the black sheet bubbling up around the sinking metal. He took a few steadying breaths. Twenty feet, ten, five, he sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold as he was enveloped in the water.

He kicked his legs furiously, following the air bubbles to the surface, all the while being dragged down by the current of the sinking hull. His head broke above the water, and he desperately gulped in air. The water around him was shockingly cold, like nails digging into his skin. It was so cold, it burned. 

He looked around, and found his best bet was to swim out towards the lifeboats, try to keep his body warm and make it to safety. But it was getting harder to move, both the people dragging him back, and the cold stiffening his muscles. 

He spotted a portion of the deck, bobbing gently in the waves created by the swimming mass. He clambered on top, teeth chattering and lips blue. He rolled to his back, listening to the chaos around him. Screams. That was all the night was filled with. Screams for help, screams for loved ones, people trying to find someone. Screams to no one, just shouted into the night, one long wail of hopelessness and despair. 

Steve had to cover his ears, trying desperately not to believe that any one of those voices could be Bucky, or Sam, Clint, Natasha, or god forbid, Sarah. 

_____

Seven minutes after Titanic sank:

Steve still had his hands clamped over his ears, even though the screams had stopped. It was eerily quiet, the only sound was the low wind and the lapping of waves against bodies. 

He rolled to his back, trying desperately to keep whatever warmth he had left. The stars above him were bright, beautiful. They twinkled in the cloudless sky, like pinpricks in a sheet of black. 

A new sound rose in the silence. It started out quiet, and disembodied. Then a light passed over him. 

“Is-- out--” Steve could barely make out the words. But he forced himself to sit up. Through blurry eyes, he spotted an empty boat paddling around the corpse field. 

“Is anyone-- there?” Through a fuzzy brain, it slowly registered to him that rescue had come. Too late for hundreds, but maybe not for him. 

“Yes!” His voice cracked, the sound not traveling far. 

“Is anyone alive out there?” The boat seemed to call out again, unable to hear him. Steve coughed, clearing his throat.

“Yes!” he tried again, this time throwing his arm up, waving it around. By some stroke of luck, the flashlight passed back over him. With a small, frozen smile, he collapsed back to the decking, too tired to move any further. 

_____

Three hours and 28 minutes after Titanic sank:

The brigade of lifeboats rowed their way to the Carpathia, their savior. She was a smaller version of the Titanic. One smoke stack instead of four, barely a third of the length. 

Steve gazed up from his spot on the bench, swaddled in a blanket. His mind was foggy, and blank. It didn’t register as he was able to make his way up to the deck.

Nothing registered until he saw all the people up there. Crying, pleading, praying. Some with blank expressions, others were angry, or sobbing. 

His heart dropped as a crew member walked up to him. 

“Can I have your name please?” He asked, his entire physique tired. He held a clipboard and a pencil, writing down a list of survivors. 

“Steve Rogers.” The crew member wrote his name down, then turned to leave.

“Wait! Can you look to see if there is a Sarah Russell on your list?” The man scanned down his paper, and shook his head.

“Not that I can see, but we still haven’t gotten everyone yet.” The crew member turned away again, walking to the next group. Steve scanned around the deck, and began walking, conducting his own search. 

As he was looking behind him, he collided with someone. Turning around to apologize, he stopped.

“Sam.” The two men nearly collapsed into each other, shaking with relief. As they broke apart, they gripped each other's shoulders. 

“Do you know where Buck went? Clint? Any of them?” Steve asked, finding himself dreading the answers. Sam shook his head.

“We made it up on deck, but I got separated. I don't know where they went.” Steve didn’t know what to say. He could feel his chest constricting, grief flooding over him. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to steady the shake in his hands. 

“Steve!” He twisted around to the voice of a man, hoping that it would be one of his missing friends. No, it was Tony Stark. 

The first class man approached the two cautiously, hoping that he would be recognized. He knew that Steve had been high on adrenaline earlier that morning, possibly didn’t fully take in the situation at hand. To his relief, the blond recognized him straight away.

“Tony. Are you OK?” Steve seemed worried, even for someone he met only in passing. He even reached out a hand to give a gentle squeeze to the millionaire’s shoulder. Steve Rogers, ever the mother hen. 

“Shaken, but I’m ok. I came to tell you, I saw her. Sarah.” Tony watched as his entire face lit up, then fell into a state of relief, then finally settled on concern, all in a timespan of .12 seconds. Steve looked to Sam, who nodded for him to go. He then looked to Tony, who pointed towards the bow of the Carpathia.

Steve was off faster than either man could comprehend, racing along the wooden deck with his blanket still draped over his shoulder like a cape. 

_____

Steve nearly vaulted down the staircase, startling a few passerbys. He landed heavily on his feet, then frantically looked around. The ship wasn’t all that big, so it should have been easy to see her, right? Wrong. He had to look for 15 minutes before he found her. 

She was shrouded in her own blanket, huddled into a small ball. She stared down at the floor, eyes red from tears. She was pale, her dark hair plastered to her head from the light spattering of rain that had begun to fall. 

“Sarah.” He sighed with relief, dropping down to one knee in front of her. She looked over, looked his face over once or twice, like she was trying to figure out who this was next to her. Realization hit her like a train, and she gasped, covering her mouth.

She flung her arms around his neck, sobbing into the crook of his shoulder. One hand on her back, the other on the back of her head, they stayed locked in their embrace for a long time. Long enough that the sun had come up. 

“Can I take your names?” 

The couple broke apart, looking up at the tired face of the crew member. A different one than before. He was poised to write their names, looking at them expectantly.

“My name was already taken down.” Steve said, sliding his hand down to interlace his fingers with Sarah. She was quiet for a moment, you could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She looked away, then back up at the crew. 

“Sarah.” She answered. He jotted it down, but slowed to pause with an expectant look to her.

“Do you have a last name, miss?” Sarah looked to Steve for the briefest of moments.

“Rogers.” She spewed out. Steve raised his brow, but otherwise stayed silent. The crew, too tired to question or argue any further, nodded and wrote it down as he walked away. 

“What was that?” he asked, trailing his thumb over her knuckles. 

“Like I said, I don’t want to live my life the same way anymore. I don’t want to be Sarah Russell anymore.” 

“You still want to come with me?” Steve asked, planting a gentle kiss to her nose. She nodded, returning his with one of her own, straight on his lips. 

“Of course.”

_____

The Carpathia docked in New York only a few days later. Only a third of the passengers that had left from Europe barely a week before made it to their final destination. Many drowned, many died of hypothermia. Hundreds of bodies were never returned to their families. 

Wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, all torn away from their families. Human arrogance was a major factor in the ship even encountering the ice in the first place. Arrogance and pride. 

To this day, the sinking of the Titanic is one of the biggest man-made disasters in history. Over 1500 people lost their lives, 700 more lost, in many cases, everything they owned, and then some. 

Just something to think about.

[hoppingonjim]

Hi! Can you write a smut about Jackson getting a blowjob from reader in return to him beating up her stalker? Thank you!

summary: jackson helped you out, you've paid, but you know another way to show him appreciation cw: touch starved jackson, oral (m!recieving) afab!reader. sex in exchange (somewhat) for something else. dom!jackson healy. gagging & choking, swallowing, face fucking, readers a throat goat, jackson needs control.

note: i am so sorry if this didn't turn out how you wanted it to, i'm not the best at writing blow jobs although i do try.. if you want it redone i can certainly do that.

he was supposed to be on his way. the door was meant to be shut. his car was meant to no longer occupy the narrow driveway that belonged to you.

“you really helped me out mr healy, he couldn't stop bothering me.. now he is- i really do appreciate it. i want.. can i just-" you need to take a breath to fix up the right words, "i just .. i figured i could do something, maybe, to show you how much you helped me out.”

a saccharine tone is ringing in his ears now. it breathed curiosity into his lips, "you've paid me already." the ignorant man would laugh in your direction, a teasing shake of the head being gifted to you.

"let me suck your dick, mr healy."

the way he needs you is so much more than want. it's the way no hands have graced him since his ex wife. it's the way he cannot look at the collection of two playboys anymore due to boredom. and still the way he will never step foot into a store and ask for porn.

need is the only label he feels right with. you've backed him up against the wall. glossed wooden floors scrape your knees. he's finally about to feel need again, the pain is worth.

thick fingers interrupt the streams of tresses falling from your head. every wind delicate, intimate. licking his lips is the glass box for his nerves. the centerfold for worries, “you sure you want to do this? i haven't.. i might - cum - too soon. are you sure?”

the rasp registers sweetly in your ears, gravels a fine melody “that means i'm doing something right, mr healy. let me take care of you. let me repay you.”

for that moment he can only provide you a stiff nod. the soft stroking of your hair is put on pause for cautious grips of strand filled handfuls. nothing too hard, he doesn't want to hurt you. never before had he poured delicacy into his fists.

it isn't difficult for you to remove his jeans. the zipper isn't moody. collecting around his ankles, his baggy run jeans bunch in unison with his boxers. a deep breath as he comes to face the fact that he's exposed in front of you. your smile staring directly at his hard cock.

“darling,” he starts off, his voice hesitant but only slightly, “i.. can't take teasing. so you've gotta give mr healy something.”

that's enough for you. cherry stained lips wrap his tip gently. tightening carefully as one hand finds stability on his strong thigh while the other finds enjoyment in massaging his balls. the soft pink insides of your cheek envelope around his tip. ten years without affection towards his dick, and here you were, offering it up as an added bonus payment. like it was just nothing. his breathing no longer can uphold a smooth pace. by the milliseconds it grew bumpy. hitches lodging words in the barrel of his throat. the warmth of your lips deserts his tip for a brief moment until your tongue fills the void. swirling itself teasingly over his tip, brushing over the spilling precum.

where your mouth hasn't ventured your hands soon explore, he wouldn't whine about the loss of touch on his full balls. one hand begins to pump him with an increasingly tight grip. the strong man above you feels helpless against the wall, his head already tilting back as he battles with irises to stay applauding you. you've barely even touched him, you still have so much more to show him. pumping soon conjures into twists. each one abrupt before it becomes consistent. as much as you want to stay focused on his desperate cock, you'd rather flutter your eyelashes at the man above. the rugged man who's shaken hands with death too many times. brass and bruised. he swears to himself he can cum just by the exuberance of youth dashing around your pupils. the glint of mischief.

soon you made a show of swallowing the spit pooling in your mouth, opening wide to show off the glistening cock resting on your tongue to jackson, before your tongue wraps around and licks again, your eyes close for a moment to savor the taste, only to open again. eager as always. with your lips suctioned around his weeping tip you warm his thick cock. the very tightness leaves again, you're aching to just get the man a little wound up. again. you hold the suction till you leave his cock with a pop, returning back to the head to place a gentle kiss. a taunting one, nonetheless.

a low growl flees from his throat at the scene of you. his cock all red, head engorged in unfulfilled need. he doesn't want to be mean, but it's only slightly in his nature. and he falls victim again, “c'mon, don't tease me princess. just- just suck my dick. c'mon.”

how could a man go from warning you to begging?

with lips a sticky mess of spit and precum, you soon are smiling with half his cock stuffed in your mouth. where your mouth doesn't reach again you resume your pumping. each pump slow and wanting. your cheeks hollow as you begin to bob your head. a line of spit hanging recklessly from the bottom of your lip. jackson knows he can't be picky, but he needs more. he's got to have more. but your pumping quickens, the thought of his cum embellishing your taste buds an exciting one. the bobs quicken too, although you grow messier and less organized with each bob.

a scruff decorated jaw would fall leaving his mouth gaping. low groans are soaked up by the thin walls, surprising. the delicacy swimming in his hands dries up as desperation forces him to grasp. the gentle giant seems to be fading. a face etched with lines of fists displays a glare. inadvertently with his newfound tight grasp he pushes your head further down. the room jumps with the chorus of gags from you that follow, eyes already welcoming subtle ponds around the waterline.

but it feels so good. eagerly, you show him how fast you can suck him. beggarly you tighten your lips around his girth. jackson isn't a man of patience, he needs control. whines transcend into constant groans as he drags your head off his cock, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he witnessed your spit smeared lips growing puffier. then with no warning he shoves your head back down the length of his cock. all the way. you're unable to do anything but choke and welcome the lack of room in your throat. even his hips began to join in, savagely bucking themselves against you, introducing your throat rudely to his cock. it became a struggle to even breath, your nostrils flared wide.

he watched as your eyes became floods. mascara all ruined. slamming his cock into you over and over, the enforcer cradles your cheek in his palm. a thumb shakily casting aside stray hands of hair that fall from your disheveled ponytail. as your mouth lets his cock abuse your lips and throat, his thighs grow weak, trembling. as much as he hates it, he throws his head back. it doesn't take long before he's shooting his cum down your throat- but the thrusting halts. instead he uses a hand to strongly keep your head at the base of his cock, your gags and struggle to get some air in arousing him beyond belief, “that's it, be a good girl, take my cum. fuck yeah, take this damn cum. so good.. so fucking good to me.”

you're a good girl, and you swallow. his profanities fondling you as you take in all his release. throat coated in his cum. with gasps for any air you can get, you pull away. wetness painted on the inside of your thighs.

it takes him a moment for him to end his panting. the groans and growls waving goodbye to him once your mouth leaves his cock. softly, he adorns your cheek with his other hand, thumb grazing over the apple.

“you did so good for me.. so good. looked so pretty just now, choking on my cock. you like that? choking on mr healy's cock?”

the name you so often referred to him as haunts you, though you greet it with open arms, “i loved tasting you, mr healy.” collecting the mess of yourself, you stand up, still feeling like something close to prey beside him.

in a movement perhaps guised as loving, he pulls you in and houses your body within his arms, thick and brawny, ready to keep you by his heaving chest.

“no ones given me that in ten years.. maybe more- thank you holy fuck thank you.”