#this some good quality gif set damn...

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Home Movie - Rafe Cameron One Shot

+18 Minor DNI

Rafe x Girlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 Warning: SMUT & Swearing, Pet names, no use of Y/N, birthday sex, first-time anal fingering, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), recording a sex tape, hair pulling, Rafe talks you through it.

📖 You and Rafe spend some quality time together after your birthday celebration, where you catch all the fun on tape.

2.9k <- almost all smut oops

Reader’s POV:

Your fingers comb through the back of Rafe’s hair, making him groan. “You know how hard it is to get you alone, princess?” Rafe chuckles, breathily as you amble toward the grand staircase. His face melts into your neck; lips meeting your skin, making your head fall to the side. “I’m glad everyone could be here for you, baby.” He mumbles against your neck, working his way up to your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Fuck. I hate sharin’ you though.”

“And, I hate sharing you. Tonight was perfect, baby. Thank you. Seriously, this has been the best birthday ever.” Rafe pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze, his blue eyes sparkling. The corners of his rosy lips curl into a smile.

“That makes me so happy, sweetheart.”

Rafe sets you down, not losing contact, lowering himself to your lips. He kisses you deeply, consuming all of your senses. His rich cologne, the sweetness of his taste, and green apple Jolly Ranchers, he can help but snag from your purse. He moans into your kiss, music to your ears as the touch of his rough hands glides higher and higher up your bare legs. He backs you up against the wall, tongue tangling with yours.

“You still up for this?” He mumbles between kisses.

“Mmm… Mhmm.”

“You’re gonna look so good on camera, princess,” he rasps, the vibrations of his low tone tickle your ear, making you powerless. “Oh, I got you a gift. You wanna put it on for me? I’ll set up the camera.” You bite your lip and nod.

“After you, pretty.”

A smile rolls across your lips as you see the mess of gifts arranged on the counter, a spray of rose gold and blush-hued balloons lofted on the ceiling. “Rafe,” you sigh, happily as you take in the additional gifts added, a lovely bouquet of roses, your favorite pink wine, and a white apparel box with a red bow.

Rafe walks behind you, body pressing against your back, arms shrouded around your waist as you unfasten the satin, undoing the knot. You draw back the top, plucking out the tissue paper; letting out a sinful little laugh. There it sits, a VHS C resting on a nest of red lace lingerie.

Snagging the VHS you pass it to Rafe. He wastes no time, popping back the lid; pulling out the smaller cassette, jamming it into the camera. He turns back to you cupping your cheeks in his large hands, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “Be a good girl and get dressed for me. Yeah?”

���Jesus Christ, princess,” he groans, lustfully as his bare chest presses flush with yours. “How are you so sexy?” Rafe whispers against your lips, deepening the exchange a moment later, claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers drift into your hair, pulling you even closer. You reach down, stroking your hand over his clothed cock. “Lemme see you.” He draws back to take a better look, moaning lowly as his eyes drink you in.

Rafe spins you under his finger, his darkened eyes trailing from the tips of your black heels to the top of your lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings. His finger traces the little straps, clipping your hosiery in place; following the line to the garter belt cinched around your waist.

“This is one selfish fuckin’ gift,” he chuckles, darkly.

“I love it, baby. I feel beautiful-”

“You are beautiful. Damn… You’re divine, angel,” he moans before you can say much more, lighting you ablaze.

“You ready?” Your hands rest lightly against his chest, feeling his heart racing underneath, matching your own.

“Haven’t thought about much else today, princess.”

“Neither have I,” you whisper as your lips brush against his, feeling the anticipation build.

His large palms circle the fullness of your ass. “Shit…” He groans, drawing out the word as his hand meets only skin. His arm reaches further around your hip, fingers skimming your ass, reaching as far as he can, the tips of his fingers swirling your arousal dipping into your entrance. “You don’t even have to take these off.”

“How ‘bout that?” You add, breathily, fanning the flame. He doesn’t respond, just a hungry stare as he picks you up, shifting the two of you to the mattress, looking like he could absolutely devour you. He reaches down, practically ripping the button of his slacks open, going on all fours toward you as you move back to the headboard.

He kisses your forehead, retreating on the bed. One snap open, then the next. Rafe unclasps your garter belt straps, peeling the stockings off your thigh and calf, kissing and kissing some more as he reveals more and more skin. His fingers never lose contact, landing on your panties again.

Rafe drops his hips thrusting and rolling his rock-hard bulge into you. You can feel the chill of the slick between your thighs making you release an eager whimper. “Need you,” you whine.

“You still wanna try, sweetheart?”

You nod rapidly at him before lowering your gaze, taking in his perfect form, tanned skin and thick muscles. His blonde fringe dusts his forehead, brushing against you as he continues to torture you with a few more hindered thrusts.

“I need you inside of me,” you breathe, tugging at his boxers, drawing them as low as you can before Rafe yanks them off completely. His hard dick stands straight, weeping at the tip. You wrap your hand around his thick shaft, swiping your thumb across his tip before taking it between your lips, purring at the taste.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he mumbles under his breath, his body tacking you to the mattress.

“Fuck. Me.”

“Anything for you. Hands 'n knees, sweetheart.”

You roll over underneath him as he rises on his knees, moving back slightly for you to assume the position. You rest your forearms on the bed, ass in the air.

“Like this?” You ask, looking over your shoulder, making his eyes roll back.

“Just like that,” he groans as he takes hold of your curves, spreading your cheeks slightly. You watch a devilish smirk stretch on his lips. His eyes drift to the camera, checking his angle, making sure to get the perfect shot.

He draws his hand back slapping your ass cheek, a satisfying clap cracks through the room. Rafe snares your hips, towing you closer. You relax your body a little more, the sway of your spine deepening.

Rafe’s rough fingers meet your clit, making you release a throaty moan. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans as he works a little further back, toying with your entrance, running his fingers through your folds before slapping your cunt. “Always so wet for me.”

“I’m so wet for you,” you pant. “Please, Rafe. S-Shit-” You’re cut short by a new sensation, as Rafe rubs his thumb over your taut hole using your slick as lube. He runs a line of spit down, making you release a little gasp as he circles a little quicker before pressing it inside, making you clutch the sheets.

“Good?” A smile spreads on his perfect lips.

“So fucking good,” you moan. Rafe draws his finger out, pulling out a moan from your trembling lips. Rafe presses against you again, his pointer finger replacing his thumb.

“Want me to keep goin’?”

“Yes. Fuck, Rafe… Don’t stop,” you whimper.

You watch as Rafe wraps his fist around his dick as well. Your entire body starts to throb, heart banging in your chest as Rafe pumps his long cock at the same tempo as his finger, working in and out of you. A bead of precum drips from his swollen tip onto the comforter below.

Is he gonna fuck me too?

You feel heat spread across your already hot skin as he answers your question. His fat cockhead presses against your entrance, making your fingers twist in the sheets, gripping tight, eyes squeezed as he glides inside your pussy.

“O-Oh, Rafe. I- Mmm…” He sinks balls deep, the skin of his body pressed against yours, making you cry out. He lets you adjust to his size and the new sensation.

“Please…” You manage, wanting desperately for him to move.

“Gotta use your words, baby girl. There somethin’ you want?”

“Fuck me,” you whine.

“There’s my good girl,” he grunts, rocking into you at a familiar tempo, working his fingers in tandem with his thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, in ecstasy as he adds another, filling you fuller than before.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs. Rafe curls his digits inside your ass, pumping both a little quicker, making you tighten around him more. “Feels so good, baby… G-Goddamn,” he pants between ruts.

“So good,” you cry.

Rafe’s palms the arch of your ass with his other hand, spanking your cheek before gliding it forward, forcing your body a little lower. He feeds off your whines and moans, searching for that perfect angle to send you over the edge.

“Right there,” you cry.

“Like this?” He asks in a taunting tone, using your words from before. “Right there, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Yes.”

A cocky smile spreads on his lips as he watches you carefully. The clapping of skin fills the room along with the lewd squelching of your cunt. “Faster,” you snivel.

“Mhmm?”

“Harder,” you plead through quivering lips, spit seeping out the sides of your mouth.

“Yeah?” He bullies. His hand takes a grip on your ass, rough thrusts with his fingers and cock making your body weak.

“Gonna cum.”

“Mmm… Squeezin’ me so tight. S-Shit,” he stammers.

You scream out his name, pussy fluttering around his length as you cum harder than you ever have before. Your toes curl tight, hands weaved in the sheets as you flood his cock with your release.

Your lashes beat to a close, muscles settling around him as his fingers pull out. “Mmm…” Rafe growls from behind you as his hand rounds your hips. He grinds his cock slowly, just rough enough to make the plush of your ass recoil.

“Felt so good, Rafe,” you mewl in exhaustion, feeling his hand sail up the bend of your spine, raking into your hair.

“You liked that, baby? You want more?”

“Yeah. Wanna make you cum, daddy.”

“Look at the camera for me, darlin’,” Rafe rasps, taking a tighter grip on your strands, guiding your fucked-out smile to the lens. You blink your eyes, doing your best to focus, ears ringing slightly.

“So fuckin’ beautiful… Holy shit,” he moans as he continues to fuck into you nice and slow. “I wanna go a little slower this time,” he whispers. “That alright with you, baby doll?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he calls for you.

The pads of Rafe’s calloused fingertips skate up your thighs, finding your dripping cunt. He runs a few small circles on your clit as you scratch your nails up his thigh. He lets out a deep moan as you apply a little pressure, rolling his heavy balls in your small hand.

“Can you suck me clean, baby?”

“Fuck, daddy… Please,” you sigh, dreamily as you slot yourself between his strong thighs.

“Open,” he rasps, making you flatten your watering tongue. He inserts his thumb pressing down on it before inserting his cock nice and slow. “Close…” You wrap your lips around his length, feeling it strain on your tongue. “Suck, sweetheart.” You taste his essence, paired with a hint of your own.

“You’re lips look so pretty around my dick.” You take him to the back of your throat, sucking him off to the tip, eyes locked on his. “Co'mere, baby,” he croons, guiding you back in, kissing your lips, taking in the taste as well. His kiss is unhurried and deep, his tongue rolling slowly with yours, making you light-headed

Rafe pushes you back onto the bed, mounting you quickly, leaning his toned frame over your own. His kisses journey lower and lower on your body, kissing and re-kissing your skin, breathing in your perfume as his hands play as well.

His ringed fingers circle your breasts before pressing them together. He growls in satisfaction, kissing the mounds of your breasts. He flicks his pink tongue across your hardened nipple, sending chills across your body.

“Shit, baby. Look at you,” he sighs, marveling at your curves, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He rolls your pebbled skin roughly making pleasure spur between your thighs, causing you to shudder out a breath. “Fuck. I love your body, honey,” he groans. Rafe crawls closer, a boyish smile on his lips as he lowers himself to your ear, the warmth of his breath making a flighty giggle flee your lips. “I’m fuckin’ your tits later.”

“Yeah,” you smile as you tuck yourself into his arms.

“Neither can I,” you breathe, spreading your thighs a little wider as he takes his shaft in his hand.

You watch as he slides his cock into you slowly, plunging in with the wetness of your first orgasm. “Fuckkk. That feels so damn good,” he groans. Rafe begins to roll his hips into you. You can see all of his muscles at work as he holds himself up with his forearms, his gold chain keeps cadence with his thrusts.

It’s the perfect pace, the perfect depth, allowing you to savor him, every vein, and ridge, the curve of his swollen head dragging against your sweet spot already.

You look down, watching as he stretches you out; cock glistening with your cum. “It’s like you were made for me, baby,” he pants, breathily, pulling you from your daze, back to his beautiful eyes.

“I am…” you whisper.

Rafe’s hand works up your arm, fingers intertwining with your own. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Rafe,” you whimper as he pins your hand above your head. His lips meet yours, kissing you passionately as he fucks you close.

Your nails scratch into his hair, making Rafe moan into your mouth. You dig your heels into the mattress, close not close enough as you meet his thrusts causing your skin to slap together.

He presses himself a little deeper making you wail. Rafe’s body trembles, hips hitching at the sound of your bliss fighting himself to maintain his slower pace.

“Feels so good, Rafe,” you cry.

“So, so good. Shit. I’m gonna be leaking out of you all night, sweetheart. That what you want?”

“Wanna feel you all night,” you sigh.

He chuckles darkly, his deep voice vibrates against your skin just below your ear. “My dirty fuckin’ girl.” Rafe grabs his pillow from beside your head, placing it underneath you, changing positions slightly.

He pumps into you, building up speed. Your body starts to tighten around him, your finish surely coming soon. He separates from you, gripping your hips, thrusting at a rapid pace.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you moan, fiercely.

“Are you close?”

“Yes,” you whine, making him smile.

“You’ll cum, princess, but not until I say you can,” he orders through jagged breaths.

“Oh, fuck!” You yell, loudly as he spits on your pussy, rubbing circles onto your sensitive bud. You grit your teeth, muscles strained as you hold back your pleasure. “I can’t take it-” You huff.

“You will,” he grunts. Your eyes slam shut as he brushes his fingers from side to side.

“Rafe, please!” You plead. He smiles, his hand moving quicker causing you to grip the sheets.

“Cum for me, princess,” he orders, and you let it all go.

“F-Fuck, Rafe,” you sob, feeling your release, thigh shaking, back arching. Your wetness leaks from your pussy as he continues to pound into you.

Rafe throws his hips, pulsing deep inside as he fills you completely, his cum bursting out the seams, wetting his bed below. He thrusts slowly, brows threaded tight, milking out his last bits of pleasure.

Rafe leans down kissing you softly. “That was amazing,” he whispers through his rapid breaths as you cup his sweat-sheened cheeks in your hands.

“Fuck. That was so good,” you gust, doing your best to catch your breath.

“Let me shut it off. Okay?”

You nod, nose brushing against his, kissing him gently as he draws out. “Forgot that was on,” you giggle as you enfold your naked body in sheets, watching as he saunters toward the camera.

“Me too, sweetheart. It’s perfect. This is fuckin’ perfect,” he hails, holding the little cassette between his fingers, carefully setting it back in the VHS. He walks away, running his fingers through his hair, his bubble-butt bouncing slightly with each step. 

“Where are you going?” You giggle.

“Cake,” he answers, merrily, turning around with it in hand, sucking some pink frosting off his finger. “Tastes like your pussy.” You roll your eyes and smile as you nestle into his pillow. “I’m serious. Better even.”

“Better!” You gasp, playfully, pulling yourself up as Rafe climbs on. He situates you between his legs, dragging you back, leading you to relax on his chest, yanking the covers over you once more.

“Comfy?” He kisses your temple as he holds you close.

“So comfy,” you sigh, blissfully. Rafe grabs the cake, resting it on your lap digging into the dessert, giving you the first bite, then him.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

[melodrangea]

Nicknames Soul Eaters Boys call their S/O

———————

Soul “Eater” Evans

sweetheart

he says this extremely sarcastically, especially during training

“C’mon sweetheart, is that all you got? I saw you lift twice as much yesterday.”

doll

often uses it in a more formal setting or when he’s trying to tease

“What’s the matter doll? Cat got your tongue?”

He’s a little menace but he’s our menace <3

babe

most common out of the three

you name DOES NOT exist to this man

no name, no nickname, nothing

“Babe can I borrow your notes. Babe where do you wanna go later? BABE”

———————

Black Star

n/n or another variation of you name

doesn’t really use pet names much (sorry babes)

why words words on pet names? he’s way too blunt and if he’s feeling something he’ll just say it, not waste time on fancy words or pet names

(that’s what he tells himself being fr he’s not creative enough as much as I love him)

babe

mostly used around friends (this dumbass thinks he’s being smug)

“hey babe wasn’t going out yesterday awesome? I mean since we’re so inlove and everything.”

the little shit would make your relationship EVERYONE ELSE’S problem (no one is safe 😭)

———————

Death the Kid

Darling

this pretentious hipster

is fairly consistent with the pet names he uses but darling is his favorite

“Darling can you please pass me that book there?”

“Are you alright darling?”

my dear

uses this one without realizing it most of the time

will be chilling in the library studying and will half-consciously call for you

“are you almost done?”

“just a few minutes more my dear, then we can go”

you chuckled, “what did you call me”

“what do you mean, what did I call you?”

love

Kid is a romantic at heart, very classy as well

he would stare into your eyes and call you love

“my love you have no clue how much I love you.”

———————

Crona Gorgon

honey

you would call him honey bunny as a joke and he loved it so he started calling you honey

would always have the cutest blush in his face when he said it too

“o-oh thank you honey :)” (cutie patootie 💋)

dear

would definitely take him a while to start calling this, but when he does 🤌💋

“are you alright if we stay a little longer dear? It’s been a while since we’ve seen the others”

being fr this poor soul would be TERRIFIED to call you something other than your name or a variation for A WHILE

his brains running six times the speed 🏃🏼

———————

Professor Stein

this sadistic mf

i pray for anyone dating this man

but we can be delulu for a few

dove

would absolutely call you dove or some other kind of bird

reminds him of how he protects you like your a delicate bird (and he likes experimenting on birds if yk what i mean 😏)

angel

TELL ME HE WOULDN’T

ngl he only calls you angel when he’s horny asf in a good mood

“hey angel, can you come here for a bit?”

NONE OF YOUR HOLES ARE SAFE RIP

honey

only time your safe if when he calls you honey

mostly calls you this when you’re having a bad day

BUT HE STILL MANAGES TO SOUND SARCASTIC ASF

this is a warning, this man will accidentally hurt your feelings 24/7

“You doing alright there honey? You want to talk about it?”

———————

Kilik Rung

fuck not being allowed to have favorites I LOVE THIS BITCH

only fully green flag in the show i stg (except Marie ofc)

lovebug

he will call you every single pet name he can come up with, but love bug is his favorite

neither of you know how it started but you’re not complaining

“You’re too sweet for me lovebug” <33

sweets

ya see what i did there? ofc he combines his two favorite things: you and those damn candy bars

“This class is so boring, right sweets?”

will calls you sweets often to express thanks kinda like a “thanks toots”

getting more into that

toots

he thinks he’s funny (and he is)

will say this very ironically and usually infront of friends to make everyone laugh

the only slightly annoying quality abt Kilik is his inability to take anything other than combat seriously

“hey toots, how’s it goin’?”

hon

I SWEAR THIS IS THE LAST ONE!

but you cannot tell me this man is not from New Orleans or some other adjacent

and the hon with the southern-ish accent

being so fr he will call you hon all the time and it will fluster tf out of you (he’s smug abt it, just a little 🤏

“You look nice, who are you all dressed up for hun?”

———————————————————————————

woo hoo first post!

anyways hope y’all are doing great

any comments, questions, requests or concerns feel free to DM me!

-Melodrangea <3

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Great Balls Of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader 9k words (ik. i did it again. im sorry)

summary: It’s been four months since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw. Today's the day he finally comes back from his mission and you have more than one ace up your sleeve to surprise him with.

a/n: smut ahead. 18+ im serious theres smut theres a lot of smut. okay. as usual i will now list everything you may have to look out for

fancy ass lingerie, oral sex fem!receiving, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyre in a committed relationship theyve had the talk and all), a lot of begging, hair pulling, good girl's because yes, in general again bradley is a talker, otherwise that's it

top gun masterlist

It had been so long. It had been too long.

With the sun beating down hard on the pavement of the parking lot, the sunglasses on your nose doing their hardest to protect your eyes from the worst of the light, the sound of your heels clicking against solid ground as you took a few steps into the shade of the tree next to Bradley's Bronco. You had been waiting for ten minutes now, checking your phone what seemed like every five seconds, too nervous to actually pay attention to it but too nervous to keep calm either.

You had been so scared you would crash into a grandma on the way over here that you had honestly considered taking your own car instead of the Bronco - but Bradley had trusted you with it, had trusted you to keep his lady running, you, even though he never let anyone else as much as touch the steering wheel, and you would be damned if you didn't pick him up in it.

You hadn't seen him in four months. Four months.

You had been by yourself, had been on your own, had been lonely for four fucking months.

But today was the day you would see him again. Today was the day his oh-so-secret mission would finally, truly come to an end, the day that you would finally, truly see him again. Not over some low-quality video call in the middle of the night, with only your kitchen lights on in the background and your mind hazy and tired because he was nine hours ahead of you and seemed to be at the other end of the world - no, today you would finally, finally, finally see him in the flesh.

You'd been anticipating this moment for the past four months.

So this had to be perfect.

This would be perfect.

You had done everything possible to make this the most perfect day of his goddamn life. You had spent the last four months moving things from the old apartment to the new house - those things that you and him hadn't already moved anyway - and the past week, you'd been cleaning, decorating, anticipating.

He had told you so often how much he missed you. How much he wished he had been there for you, to help you pack the things, to help you take them apart and put them back together, to do more than just the paperwork and set up the bed and the couch.

But he couldn't. And now you were bubbling with nervous excitement, with the joy of sharing all of it with him, to show him the desk you'd put up in the bedroom, the pillows you'd bought for the couch, the paintings you'd hung up on the walls, the kitchen table you'd replaced, the kitchen tiles you'd painted. To show him how much better this new home was than the old apartment had been (even though you'd been very happy there for the past four years as well).

And Bradley would love it. You were sure of that.

You just wanted him to see it so desperately.

You looked up as another car approached - it wasn't Bradley, you knew that, Bradley would come out of that door opposite you, not out of a car, but... There was still some tiny little sliver of hope, the same way there had been every single goddamn time someone had rung your doorbell. It had only ever been the postman or your food.

The car stopped next to you. You watched the engine being turned off and the driver get out because, well, what else was there to do except nervously shift your weight from one leg onto the other and go insane?

So you watched the stranger hop out of their car, nodded politely at them and then refocused your attention on the tips of your sandals. At least you weren't the only one waiting here anymore.

You got out your phone again, checked the time (it'd been a minute and a half since you'd last looked at it) and let out a sigh.

It wasn't that Bradley was late. There wasn't really a "late" anyway, he'd only been able to give you a vague time he'd arrive on, but still. You'd been buzzing with nervous energy for over a week.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, wiped your sweaty palms off on the sundress you'd put on - the tiny yellow sundress that Bradley had picked out for you on your birthday last year. The tiny yellow sundress that hid the sinful white lingerie under it just perfectly. The sinful white lingerie that you had bought for this very moment.

Bradley would go feral for it, you knew that. He loved white. You thought it was because it looked innocent, chaste. Like something untainted, something waiting to be ruined. Not that you minded. One day, he had promised himself, he would admit to you that it was because it looked like something you would wear on your wedding night.

But either way, you had gone shopping for the perfect set of lingerie and you were more than happy with your final choice.

Bradley could unwrap you like a present. You were desperately hoping he would unwrap you like a present.

You had spent the last four months not doing anything other than hoping. Imagining. Remembering.

So you weren't surprised that you felt like you'd soaked through those pretty (and expensive) panties already.

Your breath hitched. You shifted your weight again.

Bradley would carry you in his big, strong arms over the doorstep, would push you against the wall, would take everything he wanted from you and give everything you needed - he'd pull your dress right off and, at the sight of your lingerie, would fuck you raw.

You had to bite down on your lip to keep you grounded. Four months away had been a long, long time. Four months in which you'd only had yourself, your fingers, your vibrator to keep you company - four months in which you'd only heard Bradley's moans spill over the phone, had only heard him call you honey and good girl through a low-quality mic, had only seen him on pictures he'd left you, on a tiny screen at best.

You were depraved. And pretty sure you'd fall apart at the first touch.

You were so immersed in your thoughts, in that lovely imagery you had created in your head, that you almost missed the door opening. Finally. Finally. You straightened up at once.

It wasn't Bradley who stepped out first - it was one of his colleagues, you guessed, with blonde hair and much shorter - but it was Bradley who stepped out second. You'd know him from miles away.

He strode out of the door and into the sunlight, all familiar brown curls and broad shoulders and Ray-Bans on his nose and an Hawaiian shirt on and his bag lazily slung over his shoulder and that moustache - by god you'd have killed him if he'd shaved that off!

He turned his head and looked at you and a grin broke out on your lips, so wide, so incredibly wide that it felt like it'd split your face in half and before you could think, before you could form any coherent thought you were already moving, your legs with a mind of their own. You were sprinting towards him. Sprinting all through the parking lot, your heels click-clicking on the pavement, and Bradley grinned, grinned and let his bag fall to the ground carelessly, opened his arms instead. Wide, so wide. He was so tall. So broad. So inviting as you ran at him, as you jumped at him, as you wrapped your arms and your legs around him at the same time, as he caught you effortlessly, as your lips landed on his.

As you crashed into him, completely, and he didn't even stagger an inch back.

You had missed four months of this.

And now his lips were on yours. Your legs around his waist. Your arms crossed behind his neck. His breath against your mouth. His lips parted. His tongue against yours.

You were desperate. And you could feel just how desperate he was, too.

You could feel all the passion, all the fiery, red passion, all the force and firmness put into this kiss as his tongue ran along yours, as your breaths met and mingled, as his hands dug into your thighs to keep you upright, to keep you snug to him.

You pulled back incredibly reluctantly. You didn't want to let go of him. You never wanted to let go of him ever again. You wanted to have him, all of him, right here, right now, and then for eternity. But you couldn't, you couldn't because this was the middle of the parking lot, and also because you at least wanted to say hello first.

So you blinked open your eyes and took him in and allowed yourself to grin as broad and as wide as you needed to right now.

"You're back", you whispered, just because that realisation still had to sink in. "You're really back."

Bradley nuzzled your nose with his and let out a hum - god, how you'd missed him. The feel of him, the sound of him.

"Yeah, I'm here, honey", he muttered, that smile of his dripping down onto his voice. "I'm here and I won't leave any time soon."

You couldn't help but lean in again, couldn't help but capture his lips again because how else, how on earth would you let him feel all the joy you were experiencing right now? You didn't even know if you could actually feel all of it. You definitely wouldn't be able to put it into words. So you dug your teeth into his bottom lip and sighed into him and pulled him closer, closer and closer, even further into you.

"I missed you", you breathed against his mouth. "I love you and I missed you, Bradley."

He chuckled, kissed you again, drew back just enough to still touch you somehow, to still have his lips on your skin somehow and be able to talk at the same time.

"I love you so much, honey", he muttered. "And I missed you so much."

And then his lips were on yours again, his fingers digging even harder into your thighs, his breath and his tongue and his moustache scratching against your skin and you moaned, because there was no more anything you could possibly have done, because you couldn't help yourself, because you couldn't stop yourself, because you didn't want to either. You wanted to let him know just how goddamn fucking much you'd missed him.

Bradley had to bite back a laugh, pulled back and looked at you through his sunglasses.

"Sounds like we should get home, honey", he said, his eyebrows raised and his smile deepening with every word. "Been waiting for that for four months."

You let out another soft moan, pushed yourself even closer to him, dug one hand into the back of his hair and scratched the other down his shoulders, down his shirt. You wanted to feel him. All of him. God, the ride home would take ten minutes. Ten minutes. How were you supposed to survive that?

"Please", you whispered onto his lips, and you didn't think you had ever meant it as much as you did now.

Bradley groaned and kissed you again, quickly, heatedly, his tongue running along your bottom lip and then pulling back again. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

He set you down on the pavement again softly, your legs a bit wobbly, unsteady, and trailed one hand from your thigh to your back - anything to keep touching you as he bent down to pick up his bag again. You smiled up at him, smoothed down the front of your dress and beamed as his eyes traveled down your body.

When they snapped back up to catch your gaze, the grin on his face had turned into a much more intense expression.

"You look gorgeous, honey", he muttered, tugging you further into his side, letting his eyes drop down to your chest again. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from jumping at him right this second. He should not have been allowed to just look at you if you couldn't have him touch you too. "Did you pick out new nail polish just for this dress?"

Your grin broadened. Of course he'd notice. Bradley Bradshaw was the only man in the whole universe who would notice. And he was yours.

"Yes, I did", you smiled, looking up at him as he walked with you back to the car. He hummed softly.

"It works great together", he said. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous and he was here and he had noticed your nail polish. He was perfect. And you wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Reminds me of your burgundy silk dress."

You had to bite down on your lip again - god, you hadn't done that nearly as often when he'd been away! - to keep yourself grounded and to keep your grin in check before it could truly split your face in half.

Your burgundy silk dress was the one you'd worn to Penny and Mav's wedding two years ago that you had spent three weeks hunting down matching lipstick and matching nail polish for. Bradley had worn that lipstick on the base of his cock for most of the night.

"You're incredible, do you know that?", you asked, your voice a bit breathy. Bradley stopped in front of the Bronco, turned to you and pulled you close again. You brought your hands up to his chest.

"I've been told", he muttered, tilted his head down to look at you and then leaned down even further to brush a kiss to your nose. "Open up the Bronco so I can put my bag in the trunk?"

You let your eyes flutter close for just a tiny little moment (he was close, so close and you would literally die if he didn't start touching you any time soon) and breathed in as Bradley chuckled. You'd put the key in your pocket and were scrambling to get it out now, taking one, two seconds too long before you heard the familiar click of the car unlocking.

"Thanks, pretty girl", Bradley mumbled, letting go of you to pull open the trunk and you had to push down a sigh of disappointment, even as anticipation rose up in your stomach. You hadn't heard him call you pretty girl in months.

When he turned back around to you, you were still frozen in spot, still smiling dumbly at him, still waiting for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. He smiled back and you knew that he knew just what you were thinking. But you couldn't even begin to care. You wanted to get him home as quickly as possible.

"You need to stop looking at me like that, honey", he said, his voice an octave deeper and you just so managed not to let another dumb, pathetic moan slip. He closed the trunk and took a step back to you. "You know I can't help myself when you look at me like that."

At that, you did let the moan tumble from your lips after all.

He'd been away for four months. And he was looking at you with his eyes all dark and his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling heavily. How on earth were you supposed to be normal about this? You were falling apart already and he hadn't even got you home. Four months had been a long, long time.

His hands were on your waist then, forcing you against the side of the bronco, the door handle digging into your back, the metal warmed up by the sun and your arms crossing behind his neck as his body crowded yours, one leg between yours and no more space to touch, to feel, to see anything that wasn't him - he turned his head to check if the other car had driven away and then his lips were on yours, his knee pressing against your centre.

"Bradley", you moaned into his mouth, before his tongue brushed yours and rendered you speechless. You rocked against his knee, bare skin against your thighs and you wanted to sob, you really actually wanted to sob, because this was the most contact you'd gotten in four fucking months.

Bradley pulled back an inch.

"You're soaked", he groaned against your lips, his breath on your skin, his hands on your waist and you thrust your head back against the car, against the window, squeezed your eyes shut, kept on rocking against his knee.

"I know", you whined. "Been soaked for months."

Bradley let out another groan and pulled back, pulled away from you and you whimpered, blinking your eyes open again because you'd been so close to finally getting what you wanted and now he was taking that right away from you again. You looked up at him and the only reason you didn't straight up voice your disappointment was that he looked just as debauched as you felt - running his hands through his hair, running them over his face, his curls all messed up and a considerable bulge already visible in his jeans.

"Get in the car", he rasped, taking another step back from you as though he had to physically put distance between the two of you so he wouldn't give in and take you right in this parking lot. Not that you would've minded. That other car was long gone. But that he had to restrain himself so much, that he looked so positively exhausted, that his voice was so hard and so rough and so raw, that he had already, so easily begun giving you orders drove you crazy. Orders that you knew you had to follow because this was him, this was Bradley, and if he wanted something from you.... he'd get it. You'd give it to him no matter what. You'd give him everything.

So you pushed yourself off the car with a hard breath and trailed around to the passenger side, keeping your eyes on the ground even as you heard Bradley shuffle and open the driver's door because you knew that if you looked at him, no matter how much you wanted to follow his commands, there was a high chance you wouldn't be able to help yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The seat felt hot and your skin sticked to it immediately and you would have cared in any other situation, but not in this one. Not when Bradley put his hand to your thigh, to your bare skin, to just below the hem of your dress. You could have cried.

He was here, finally, and he was touching you, finally, but he wasn't touching you enough, not nearly enough. This would be a long ten minutes. You pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, turned your head and rested it against the head rest, smiling at the image before you - Bradley in the driver's seat of his Bronco, the steering wheel in one hand, the sun on his face, his curls longer than when you'd last seen them. Had he got more tan? Was that possible?

God, how you'd missed this man.

And he was here now, here, next to you, with one hand on your thigh and a grin playing on his lips and you couldn't help but smile. Big and broad and all-consuming because he was here again, this man that you called yours, he was right here next to you after four months. You loved him. You'd missed him so incredibly much.

His hand moved a little higher up on your thigh, his thumbs brushing, stroking over exposed skin, raising up your dress the slightest bit. Your breath hitched.

"Bradley-", you sighed, jaw clenching as you melted, melted at every little touch because you didn't have to only remember it anymore. You could just push up into him, watch him, breathe in his familiar scent, run your fingers along his arm. This was no more imagining, no more picturing, this was real, this was happening.

"God, I missed you saying my name like that", he groaned, tightening his grip on your thigh and you bit down on your lip, wrapped your fingers around his biceps, his wrist, forced yourself to keep your eyes open so you could keep watching him. You wouldn't miss out on a single second of watching him.

"Bradley", you repeated softly. "I'll say your name as often as you want me to."

His fingers dug even harder into your thigh as he let out some strangled sounding moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me", he muttered - how often you'd thought the same about him! "I'm lucky if I can hold out these ten minutes."

You watched him quietly for a second. You could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see his clenched jaw, could feel his deathgrip on your thigh, could hardly ignore the blazing arousal in your own veins. But if he'd wanted to fuck you in the back of his Bronco, he would've. (As picky as he was about who drove his car, he'd never had a single problem railing you into oblivion in the backseat.) There was a reason he was holding out. You could only guess that he wanted to do this properly - with time and room and no risk of getting caught by the authorities. Should you have minded? Should you have begged him to take you as quickly as possible? You were sure he would have, if you'd pleaded prettily enough. But you were quite alright with time and room and no risk of getting caught. At least for right now. The both of you would manage a ten minute ride, right? You had managed four months. Ten minutes were nothing in comparison.

"Okay", you said, trailed your fingers down to his and intertwined your hands. "I'll help. I'll tell you something. Distract you."

"You can try, honey", he chuckled, sneaked a quick sideways glance at you. "Tell me about the house."

You lit up at that. You had been dying to tell him about the house. So you pushed your arousal deep, deep down (which was easier said than done) and smiled up at him.

"I don't even know where to start", you said honestly, giving yourself a second to think about it. You had ten minutes, after all. And you had to fill them all if you wanted both of you to survive this drive.

So you told him about everything.

The short version, of course.

He'd heard some of it over the phone already, but he hadn't been able to call often and you'd spent most of your time crying and telling him how much you loved and missed him when he had answered, so...

The ten minutes went by more easily this way. You went on and on and on and on about the house, his fingers between yours, your eyes locked on his, with the occasional comment about how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to help. It had been unfortunate, of course, but at the same time it had given you something to put all your time and effort into, which had greatly helped you through his deployment. Plus, there had always been help when you had needed it - Penny and Amelia and Mav, Phoenix and Bob and Jake. The rest of the squad had been scattered, called off to their own missions, but those six you had been able to count on whenever.

Bradley's hand on your thigh was still highly distracting. He moved it up and down a few times, and each time your breath hitched, each time you stumbled over your own words, each time he grinned again.

At one point, his fingertips brushed so close to your underwear that you pushed his hand forcefully back down to your knee. He had been the one so worried he wouldn't manage a ten minute ride and now he was the one teasing you.

Not that you really minded.

But you truly felt like going insane.

Then, finally! you caught sight of your driveway. Bradley was out of the car the second he'd parked it, pulling his hand from your thigh and the key out of the ignition and you had barely unbuckled yourself when he was already opening your door, taking your hand and tugging you out, sending you stumbling into him, into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the door close, pushed you up against it again, pushed the hem of your dress up to grasp at your bare thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, forced him even closer.

"Bradley", you gasped softly. You hadn't moaned his name like that in four months, you'd do it so often today he would get tired of it. Even though you knew that he wouldn't, of course - he would never get tired of you whispering his name into his mouth, into the nothingness of an empty room, into his ear, into the pillows.

He didn't pull back from you, even as he took a slow, careful step away - making sure you'd catch on, making sure you'd follow, making sure to keep you safely, steadily against him. Not that you'd have done anything else. You trusted him with your life, you would trust him to keep you upright. So you did just what he wanted, followed, stumbled with him, eyes closed, lips on his, fingers brushing along his shoulders.

He did pull back then - just an inch or two, to turn you around, to look over your shoulder once, to tear his hand from your thigh and wrap his arms around you instead. And then his lips were back on yours again and his tongue running along yours. He pushed and you followed his wordless command, your legs working quicker than your mind, stumbling, tripping backwards, backwards, backwards and you barely cared, barely even acknowledged the ground beneath your feet because you were wrapped up in his arms, because you were tugging at his curls, because he was here, kissing you, finally.

You weren't needy.

You were desperate. You were depraved, frantic, starved. He was the air you needed to breathe and you hadn't taken a single breath in the past four months.

So you weren't pretending in the way you pulled him close, closer, closer, or in the frenzied way you kissed him, or in the desperate way you sighed, groaned, moaned against him, into him. You needed him. You needed more of him. All of him. You needed to get inside so you could have him.

You bumped into the door then, just short of digging the doorknob into your spine - Bradley pushed you right up against it and you gasped into his mouth, into the kiss. He crowded you against the door much like he'd crowded you against the Bronco, pulling his arms from around you to grasp your waist instead, to press your hips up to the door as well, and used one hand to fumble for the keyhole. He did so blindly, with his eyes still closed, his lips still on yours, with one of your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, your heels digging into his shorts.

Needless to say, he needed quite some time to turn the key.

You didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were making out with Bradley Bradshaw right on the doorstep of the house you shared with him, in the bright afternoon sunlight and truly, you couldn't have minded less. You didn't give two fucks about any of your neighbours or any passerbys spotting you - should they, by god! Bradley had come home from deployment after four months, you would make out with him on your doorstep for as long as you wanted to. You wouldn't ever stop making out with him ever again.

Not when he was here again, in your arms, with your fingers tugging at his hair, brushing along his neck, stroking along the collar of his shirt, sweeping along his shoulders. Not with your leg around his hips. Not with your lips on his. Not with anticipation, with arousal in every fibre of your body, of your soul. You were going mad with it. You were getting drunk on it.

You were euphoric when Bradley finally opened the gods damned front door.

He kept you safe and steady even as the support at your back broke away, as you almost crashed onto the floor of your own hallway. He walked you back into the pleasant cold and for once, for the first and probably the only time, you were the one to break away. You gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Then you pushed off of him completely. You took a step away, pulled the key from the door, pushed it close and when you turned back around, Bradley had set his sunglasses down on the little table you had put next to the coat rack a few weeks ago.

And you looked him in the eyes for the first time in four months.

He motioned at the table.

"Looks great, honey", he said, his voice a little too rough to sound quite normal. "Nice touch."

You shook your head softly.

"I couldn't care less about the table right now", you muttered, and with that, you were on him again. Actually, truly, fully on him again. You pushed yourself right up onto him, into him, pried his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms, let it drop down to the ground and then reached for his jaw to drag him further down, to deepen the kiss even if you knew that was impossible. So you bit down on his lip and allowed him to finally push your dress up over your hips, over your chest, over your head - you had to let go of him for a moment then, had to pull away from him so he could drop your dress on the floor and before you could even come close to reaching out for him again, he was taking a step back.

You could feel his eyes raking down your body. You could feel him taking in the white lingerie on your skin - the strings of the thong high up on your hips, intricate lace around your waist, the small bow right in the centre of it, the bra cups almost transparent, the floral white pattern covering up your nipples, the other few, small bows sown onto the straps.

You sucked in a breath at the look on his face. You hadn't seen that look in far too long.

"God, honey", Bradley groaned, reached for your waist, brushed his thumbs along the lace, ran his fingertips along the lingerie. You bit down on your lip as he pulled you, slowly, carefully, into him - gave you enough time to rest your hands on his chest, your palms against his tank top. "You look sinful. Did you buy that just for me?"

You nodded, swallowed.

"Just for you", you admitted. "Wanted to surprise you."

Bradley tugged you another inch closer, so close that your chest bumped into his, your breasts pressing against him. He let out a hum, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage.

"You did that, pretty girl", he muttered, his fingers digging into your sides. "You're incredible."

Then his lips were on yours again and you were melting, becoming putty in his hands, turning to goo in his arms. Your breaths met, lips parted. You couldn't quite believe you were finally touching him again.

He walked you back to the bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorway, his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your bum. You reached for the hem of his shirt, forced him to stop right on the threshold so you could get rid of it - get rid of that one layer of fabric still in the way. You drew back for a second to pull it over his head, to drop it to the floor, to let your eyes travel all over his bare torso.

God, how you'd missed this man and his broad shoulders and his washboard abs. How you'd missed his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Bradley", you gasped softly, your fingertips trailing over his naked skin, down to his shorts. "I need you."

He let out a groan.

"I've waited four months for you to say that again", he muttered. You could hardly take another breath before he was on you again - lips on yours and hands on your hips and your back hit the bed a moment later, the cushy mattress, the fluffy pillows softening your fall.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows so you could watch him as he stood in front of your bed, the sunlight dripping down him like drops of water hitting the floorboards, his torso bare, his curls messed up, looking down at you with a heaving chest, his fingers on his belt, unhooking it, opening the button on his jeans, pulling down his zipper - you swallowed hard as you watched him drop his shorts on the floor, step out of his shoes.

A whine rolled off your tongue.

"Bradley, hurry up", you whimpered, your fingers cramping in the sheets, your legs pressing together all of their own accord, trying to get some kind of friction as he undressed himself in slow motion while you just lay there, your panties long soaked through and your fingers itching to trail down your own body.

Bradley chuckled.

"Don't worry, honey", he muttered, kneeling down on the ground to drop kisses to your calves before pulling off your sandals. "I'll make sure you forget about the past four months, alright?"

Your breath hitched as your heels hit the ground.

"Please", you begged softly. "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his hands around your hips, pulled you to the edge of the bed - his breath ghosting over your underwear, over that tiny white piece of lingerie you had bought for him, for him to take you apart in. His fingers dug into your skin, spread out wide, to touch as much of you as he possibly could. He pressed a kiss right to that wet spot on your thong.

You let out a moan. God, how had you survived four months without him? You were barely surviving fifteen minutes of not having him fuck you.

Bradley grinned, raised his head to meet your eyes and seriously, you were close. Too close. He hadn't touched you yet, not really. You'd die today, you were sure, die and go to heaven.

"You look almost too good to undress, honey", he muttered, brushing his thumbs below that lace around your waist, not making a move to pull it down your legs.

"Bradley, please", you whined, your hands brushing over your own chest, running over your bra cups, tracing the flowers, desperately holding back from just ripping everything off yourself, pushing him onto his knees and riding him into oblivion. "Don't tease. I need you."

He groaned into the skin of your thigh.

"Anything you want, honey", he muttered - and then your thong was gone and he was burying his tongue inside you, dipping, tracing, licking, circling your clit, breathing you in, devouring you. Taking and giving everything. It had been four months since he'd had you like this and he wanted everything, every inch of you he could get. He wanted to taste you, every last drop of you, wanted to eat you out until you couldn't think anymore, until you had truly, fully forgotten all the time he had been away, all the time you had been forced to be on your own, alone.

You thrashed, moaned above him - your fingers clenching around your bra, brushing over your nipples. You were close. Close after the entirety of three seconds, close to tears, close to coming.

"Bradley", you choked out, tearing your hands off yourself, burying them in his hair instead - tugging him off, tugging him away from you. You took a deep breath as he let go of you, as he loosened his grip on you, looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"I need you to fuck me", you whimpered, already too sensitive, too tense. "I need you inside me."

You hadn't had him in four months.

Four months had been enough goddamn foreplay. As much as you loved when he ate you out, you needed him, you needed his cock, you needed to feel him inside you, you needed him to take you apart and make up for all the time lost.

Bradley nodded, nodded because he knew, he understood - he saw the frantic look in your eyes, had felt the desperate drag of your hands at his clothes, his arms, his shoulders, his hair. He'd give anything to you. Everything. He would do whatever you wanted of him.

Maybe in another situation he'd have made you beg more, would have teased you more, would have edged you a few times. Maybe in another situation. But not in this one. Not after four months of being away from you, not when you were so beautifully, so desperately spread out beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, your lip pulled between your teeth, your gorgeous white lingerie still concealing too much of your skin.

As he'd said, you were almost too gorgeous to undress. But just almost.

So he rose up from the ground, pulled you up with him, pulled you in, his fingers brushing along your sides, your spine, your bra clasp. He let it fall open. You worked fast, worked your bra down your arms and off your hands and drew back from him to fling it against the wall and lay down on the bed, lay down all pretty and waiting.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

He let out a groan, closed his eyes. The look on his face had you pressing your legs together again. Wetness was coating the inside of your thighs now. It glistened on his moustache. And you were sure you could have tasted it on his tongue too.

He was making you go insane.

"How do you want me, pretty girl?", he asked, pressing his knees into the side of the mattress. "Tell me how and I'll do whatever you want."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your nerves were bubbling up. Four months. You'd waited four months for this one question.

"Behind", you whined. "Need you from behind."

Bradley had known, of course, because that was what you always said when he stood at the front of your bed and asked you this question. His hands were on your waist, grasping, grabbing, turning you over before you had fully finished speaking, your cheek pressed against the pillows, your breath coming short and shorter, adrenaline pumping through every single one of your veins. You felt hot and sticky and needy and nervous.

Nervous because Bradley stilled.

Nervous because he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nervous, even though you had been here a million times before, in his bed and in yours, bent over desks and bars and couches, with the heat of him behind you, arousal flowing through your body like oxygen, anticipation clouding your mind.

"Shit, honey", Bradley breathed.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

How you'd have loved to see his expression. But you had known you wouldn't. You had prepared yourself to be satisfied with the sound of his voice, with the feel of him so close to you.

"Shit", Bradley repeated. He took another deep breath in. "You got a tattoo?"

A tattoo.

Your tattoo.

You nodded into the pillow, scraped your cheek against the fabric, so eager, so quick to agree. Four months you had waited for this. Four months since you had begun planning this - the very day after he'd left, in a conversation with none other than Phoenix. Four long, lonely months.

Bradley ran his thumb along the soft expanse of your skin. Along that strip of skin right above your hips, just where they met your back - right above your ass, right where he could see so very perfectly.

He was gentle. Almost not touching you at all. As though he was afraid he could somehow, even after all this time, hurt you, as though he was afraid he could wipe it away.

"It's healed", you whined, breathlessly, trying your hardest not to squirm, not to push back further into him even though you felt like you were going insane. You'd known he'd take his sweet time staring at that inked expanse of skin. But you hadn't known you would be so goddamn desperate for him to fuck you into delirium while he did so. "It's fully healed."

Bradley was quiet, silent behind you. His thumb stilled, stayed still. You sunk your teeth into your lip.

You would truly go mad here. For more than one reason now.

Bradley was always loud. Always moving, always doing something. He was forward and honest and loud and it was a miracle, really, when he wasn't. When he was calm and quiet and still. It didn't always mean something good.

It surely didn't always mean something bad, either.

But it didn't always mean something good.

And you hadn't been nervous. You hadn't been nervous about showing him, because you knew he loved you and he'd love this - this show of him, this show for him. Just for him. But you had still been fidgety. You had still been excited, flustered.... nervous, after all. In a good way. Now, good was turning to less good because he was quiet, for once, quiet and you didn't know what to do, what to say. You had expected him to go feral, had expected him to fuck you raw, to go absolutely ballistic. You had imagined, pictured, visualised it, four months long. Every night that you hadn't been remembering him, you had been imagining this - this moment right here, where he read the words inked forever into your skin, and every time, again and again, your fingers hadn't been enough, your vibrator hadn't been enough, nothing had been enough. Not in comparison to him, to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

And every time, again and again, when nothing had been enough to replace him, you thought to yourself just how right it had been to have lain on that leather table bed in that tattoo parlour four months ago. Just how right it was to have him marked on your skin like that. Forever.

Great Balls Of Fire.

"Bradley, please", you whimpered, your fingers closing around whatever piece of fabric you could manage to grab at - the covers, the sheets, the pillows. "Say something. Please"

Bradley let out a long breath.

"Great Balls Of Fire?", he asked quietly, his fingers brushing over your skin again. Some kind of reassurance, at least.

"Thought you'd like it", you mumbled into the pillow, stumbling, tripping over your words a bit, still breathless around the edges. You couldn't be expected to talk now. Not when he was so close to giving you what you needed.

"Like it?" His hands wrapped around your waist, his left thumb still stroking over those unfamiliar familiar letters on your skin - Great Balls Of Fire, in his handwriting, taken from one of his sheets of music, from his piano. His song. His father's song.

Your song.

Your song.

Your song.

"Honey", Bradley rasped, pulling you an inch back to him and you let a whine fall from your lips. You were soaked, you were dripping, you were desperate and still so very unsatisfied. "Do I like it? I love it. I love you. God, you got a tattoo. You're incredible. You're-"

He stumbled over his own words, trailed off, left his sentence hanging unfinished in mid air. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on top of your tattoo. Right on top of those letters, on top of that song, on top of your song. On top of the very reason you had met, six years ago in a stuffed navy bar.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me", he muttered, dropping another kiss onto your skin.

You whimpered again.

"You've been so good to me, honey, haven't you?", he went on, as though he wasn't hearing those little whines, those little moans rolling off your tongue. He was. You knew that. "You waited so prettily for me to come back, didn't you? You were so eager for me to be home again, so eager for me to be with you again that you even got a tattoo?"

You nodded along, nodded and nodded and kept on nodding because yes, yes and yes - yes to everything, yes to him.

"You got a tattoo just for me, honey. You can't even see it. Probably had to twist and turn in the mirror every day to take care of it, didn't you? And all just for me."

You nodded again - never really stopped nodding, not with his fingers brushing along your back, over your skin, with his voice so deep and rough and real.

"Just for you", you whined.

Bradley chuckled.

"Just for me", he repeated, his voice deeper than before - if that was even possible - his fingers stroking along your sides, roaming over your back, your spine. "Such a good girl."

A shiver went through your entire body at that - through your legs, your arms, your shoulders, through every single one of your fingers and toes. He knew just what he did to you when he said that.

He knew.

"Bradley", you moaned, unashamed now, the nerves in your veins long subsided, replaced once more by that all-consuming heat that you could never get enough of.

"Yeah, honey?", he asked. You could hear the grin on his lips. "What do you want?"

You let out a sort of sob that sounded pathetic even to your own ears. It wasn't that you minded begging. Because you didn't. You really didn't. But you had already done so, had already begged him miserably, had told him so prettily how you wanted him to fuck you. And he was starting all over again.

"Just once more, honey", Bradley whispered, dropping kisses to your spine, climbing higher and higher. "Tell me once more and you'll get whatever you want."

"Fuck me", you cried out, burying your face in the pillow, not letting even half a second pass by. Bradley always made good on his promises. And you needed him more than anything right now. "Please fuck me."

He was on you within a heartbeat.

One hand around your waist, pulling you into him, as the other one guided himself into you. He pushed into you in one smooth movement, pushed his hips right to yours, stretched you out like he hadn't in four goddamn months.

You were clenching around him, moaning his name, tears brimming in your eyes at the feeling of him again, finally. He was grunting, groaning behind you, his hands clasping around your waist as he settled deep inside you and let out a breath.

You hadn't felt so stretched out in so long. You hadn't felt him in so long. You needed more. You needed to feel more of him.

"Bradley", you whimpered. "Move."

His fingers dug even firmer into your sides. You bit down on your lip. He felt so good, so heavenly with his hands on your skin and his cock deep inside you, but you needed him to move, you needed him to move now, you needed him to fuck you and make you fall apart for him.

"Need a second, honey", he grunted, running his thumbs along your skin - along your new tattoo, just for this, just for him. "God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much."

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to keep still for him, even as your thighs burned with the need to move, the need for more, the need to finally come undone around him. You knew you were close already. You could feel it, had been feeling it, dancing around the edges of your perception, melting in your blood, scorching in your stomach.

"Missed you too, Bradley", you moaned into the pillow, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, honey, you are", he groaned. "So good. Perfect."

And then he was moving, finally, and you let out a sobbed kind of prayer, your eyes falling shut, your fingers digging into the sheets as he thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm - enjoying the feeling of you around him, letting you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

Just that you couldn't enjoy this.

You couldn't enjoy this because you were wound so tightly, wound so goddamn tightly that tears were pricking in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks and drop onto the covers. You needed him to make you fall apart, to make you come, you needed more. Just a little more.

You were teetering on the edge and he had you spiralling with how slowly he was fucking you. You needed him to send you over that edge, not build it higher and higher and higher up.

"Bradley", you whined, stumbling clumsily over his name as he ran a hand up your back. "More."

"Dunno if I can-" He broke off, his breath hitching, his fingers resting on your neck, brushing through your hair. "Fuck, honey, dunno if I can do more without coming."

You bit down on your lip at that, let out a moan so absolutely filthy that you were sure you would have been embarrassed of it if you'd had any more capacity to think - to think of anything other than him, anything other than how this god, who could fuck you for hours on end without tiring once, with so much stamina he could have you sobbing, coming for him four, five times on his cock alone, how this god was so desperate for you after four months that he was worried he'd come if he went any faster.

You were almost pushed over the edge just by that alone.

"I don't care", you cried, because you really didn't. "I don't need long, I need you. I'm so close."

Bradley grunted, his fingers brushing even higher up on your scalp.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey", he muttered, just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up onto your knees - into him, into his arms, your back flush to his chest. You dropped your head against his shoulder with a moan, let your eyes fall shut again.

He thrust up into you with vigor then, with more urgency, with less fear of coming undone, less fear of cutting this short. His hands smoothed over your sides, over your chest, holding you up against him, brushing along your breasts, along your stomach.

And all you could think was yes, this, this was it. This was what you had been imagining, what you had been picturing in a cold, lonesome bed every night, what you had been so desperate for.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, trailed up again, caught on your clit, drew a circle against that little bundle of nerves and you fell forward, doubled over, only held up by him, by his arms around you as you came undone, as you clenched around him.

Four months.

Four months and a tattoo.

And he hadn't even had you there for two minutes, had barely touched you, and now you were falling apart for him, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, legs burning, fingers cramping. You'd waited four months for this.

You could feel him spilling inside you, noticed it somewhere dancing around the edges of your perception as you gasped for breath, tears stinging your cheeks and your nails digging into your own thighs.

This.

Him.

Bradley's finger had stilled on your clit. You blinked your eyes open, refocused on your green wallpaper, on the pictures, the old vintage polaroids of you and him right above the bed until you could see them all clearly again, until you could see them and realise what they were, until you could manage to tilt your head back and rest it, once more, against Bradley's shoulder. Until you had come back to reality again.

"I missed you so much, honey", he muttered into your ear, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto your exposed neck. "Missed this so much."

"Missed you so much too", you mumbled, reached for his hands. He pulled his finger from your clit, let you intertwine your hands with his, rested them carefully on your stomach. "Love you, Bradley."

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips warm, oh so warm on your skin, soft and warm and you needed him to kiss you now, to press his lips to yours.

"I love you too, honey", he whispered, halfway to brushing another kiss onto your skin when you turned your head, met his lips with your own, cut him off by surprise.

This was a weird angle, you had to strain your neck to even slot your lips together somewhat well and you were sloppy with it, too, your chest still heaving and your mind returning to clarity just now, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not when he'd just made you come, when he was holding you in his arms, when he was finally here, right behind you again, as though the last four months hadn't happened at all.

When you pulled back, you were feeling more normal again - as normal as you possibly could feel, with him behind you, with him inside you still.

"You got a tattoo", Bradley breathed, a grin dancing around the corners of his lips. You chuckled.

"Just for you", you nodded, brushing your fingertips up his arms, up to his elbows.

Bradley kissed you again, all parted lips and breathing into each other. You felt almost melancholic when he drew back. But he was smiling - and when he smiled, you had to smile too.

"I'm never letting you go again", he said, loosened his grip on you to trail his hands slowly, softly down your body, giving you enough time to steady yourself without him holding you up anymore. "And I'm not letting you leave this bed until the sun comes up, alright, pretty girl?"

You had to bite down on your lip to keep from grinning, anticipation already bubbling in your veins again. You knew he could make good on that promise. And that he probably would.

"Yes, please, Bradley", you muttered, already bending down again, splaying out your hands to catch yourself on the mattress as you showed him your tattoo again, just for him to see, just for him to touch. Just for him. "Whatever you want. As long as you want. I love you."

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

[silentmoths]

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you. 

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.” 

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you. 

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead. 

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

-

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’ 

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb. 

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived. 

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on. 

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up. 

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?” 

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear. 

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him. 

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny. 

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array. 

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.” 

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing? 

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore. 

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!” 

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life. 

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.” 

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.” 

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack. 

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him. 

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it. 

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

-

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day. 

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips. 

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage. 

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive? 

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

-

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you. 

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired. 

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.” 

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated. 

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles. 

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so. 

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?” 

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing. 

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly. 

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles. 

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.” 

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him. 

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch. 

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens. 

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him. 

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it. 

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.) 

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play. 

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots. 

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now. 

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you. 

���Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…” 

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear. 

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand. 

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.” 

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter. 

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates) 

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass. 

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard. 

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you. 

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you. 

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful. 

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?” 

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.” 

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[dreadsuitsamus]

Cuddling With Saiyans Headcanons

author's note: i love snuggles. also once again the character banners you see in this post were created by the amazing @actuallysaiyan!! ❤️

pairings: vegeta x fem!reader, goku x fem!reader, broly x fem!reader, gohan x fem!reader

warnings: snuggles, mentions of nightmares, light nsfw if you squint

is not much of a cuddler, obviously

or is that just what he wants you to think?

Vegeta, like all saiyans, runs hot and will keep you warm if you let him

key being, if you let him

he will never initiate snuggle time

but if you pull him in, or simply ask him to, he folds

he'll scoop you up in those beefy arms and hold you just how you like

he personally likes to be the big spoon, but he'll never even admit he likes spooning at all

if you get up or move around at any point in the night, you've lost your snuggle privileges only because he sleeps so heavily that he won't be up to readjust anytime soon

and when he's up, he's at it and going to start the day's training

so consider your options carefully next time you have to pee and his arms are locked so tightly around you that it's squeezing your bladder for dear life

nine times out of ten, you'll wake up to find Vegeta on top of you, shielding your body with his

even during slumber, his top priority is your safety

Vegeta likes to rub the tip of that sharp nose against you, be it the curve of your neck and shoulder or against your cheek

he doesn't know it, but he used to do that to his mother as well when he was a young boy

playing with Vegeta's hair is the one surefire way to get him to sleep when he otherwise has a hard time doing so

don't start humming though, it makes him angry. he'll start muttering about his pride and how lullabies are for babies

he'd like you to keep giving him the sweet forehead kisses though

Goku is the king of snuggling

he's already always down for a nap, so if you need some quality Goku snuggle time, just get in bed and wait a few minutes

literally, he's got a sixth sense for these things

likes to tuck his face into your neck because you smell good, and he likes nuzzling into your natural smell that lies below the artificial scents you wear

runs like a damn furnace, so always make sure to wear a skimpy pajama set, or nothing at all

don't rile him up though or the snuggling is just gonna have to wait

he snores, but he's so soft about it that it doesn't bother you

Goku rarely ever feels particularly down or sad, but sometimes he does and snuggles are a perfect cure

sit on his lap and he'll take it from there, hiding his face in your chest and slipping his arms around you tightly

play with his hair a bit and he's putty in your hands, especially when you massage the top of his scalp with your nails

eventually he'll tell you what's on his mind, and after you talk it out, he's feeling better but very much still wants to cuddle

Goku does not. let. go. until he's had his fill

so DO NOT cuddle with him if you either haven't gone pee in a while or have errands to run later

he'd let go if you asked of course, but not without giving you those pitiful puppy dog eyes

so don't break his poor lil heart and just keep snuggling with him as long as he wants, okay?

nobody ever died from a lil bit of saiyan cuddling, after all

Broly isn't keen on cuddling at the beginning of your relationship

he actually craves comfort, but physical touch is hard for him to accept since the concept is so foreign to him

that being said, being around you is quite the comfort in itself for Broly, so laying in bed with you already works wonders

slowly he warms up to you, like sleeping just a tad closer than even the night before

he can feel the heat from your body, and the backs of his fingers curiously brush against the soft skin of your arm

he takes your hand in his one night, and keeps holding it even after you fall asleep

you're warm and soft and it's all he's ever wanted in his life

from that point on, he quickly warms up to your touch and is a clingy saiyan like no other

his hold is almost too tight, and when you start to wheeze is when you decide it would be in your best interests to ask him to ease up

but goodness he loves to hold you to his large chest, one hand on your hip and the other at the center of your back

Broly unfortunately suffers from nightmares

and though he'd never hurt you intentionally, it's definitely a risk to be near him when he's having a nightmare

there's nothing much you can do but wait it out and soothe him when he wakes up

he appreciates it nonetheless, and as your bond strengthens they become less frequent

Broly holds you like you're a teddy bear, and oftentimes will just scoop you up from your place and hold you

it is not uncommon to wake up completely on top of him and locked in those big arms

he loves to cuddle but doesn't quite know how to ask for it, so he literally will just pick you up and hold you as he pleases

if you tell him no then he will obviously respect that

broly is very big on consent, ever since you taught him just what it is and he realizes how he's been violated of it his entire life

he's a gentle giant, and you've really expected no less from him when it comes to cuddling

his tail will wrap around you as well, keeping you as close as possible

he does snore, but his sleeping face is cute so it's okay

Gohan can be a bit of a loner, as a result of his eventful childhood

so when he met you, he was cautious yet anxious to have a connection with someone not an alien or batshit insane!

so he takes your relationship slow and sweetly, and when you start staying over at his place or vice versa he is so excited

he's always touching you, kissing you, in general just being so damn sweet on you that he's practically buzzing

and he's internally kicking himself for being so clingy, so when bedtime rolls around he lays completely still

no touching at all

and it takes everything in you not to laugh at this silly, adorable man

when you finally roll over into his side and snuggle up to him, he relaxes and kisses your forehead while moving those deceptively strong arms around you

Gohan likes to rub his hands along your back and gently digs his knuckles in circles against any tense spots

he normally will wear a long sleeve shirt and a soft pair of pj pants to bed, but usually takes his shirt off before falling asleep since his blood runs so hot

likes it when you trace the lines of his abs, and that alone sometimes is the only reason he gets some training in

Gohan likes to watch documentaries before bed and takes great pleasure in explaining things you may not understand in greater detail

you, on the other hand, just like the look on his face when he's excited, so that's why you ask so many questions

your extended knowledge for trivia games as a result is just a nice little side effect

sometimes work and research can get to Gohan, and when you can't get him out of the office you resort to sitting on his lap and tucking his face into your chest

Gohan is literally defenseless against it and will have no choice but to relax against you and take a break

he takes after his father and hardly snores at all

not-so-secretly likes to be the little spoon

when Pan is born, they become the ultimate snuggle buddies and you only feel a little left out because they look so damn precious when they're cuddling

you're still Gohan's favorite though, forever and always

[clueless-fan-critic]

Why Helluva Boss Surpasses Hazbin Hotel In the Best Way Possible

The Helluva Boss Christmas episode dropped and I caught up with Season 2. I love this show so much for so many reasons. But that doesn't diminish Hazbin Hotel in any way at all. In fact, because of the show, it gives us a much deeper appreciation for what Helluva Boss is doing. I mean Hazbin Hotel was cool on Prime, but I want to talk about why Helluva Boss is the "Shrek 2" of the R-Rated animated musical series by a YouTube Animator. And that's a weird mouthful.

Getting Better with No Reward

Helluva Boss makes pretty clear that the "evil" demons of Hell are basically regular people with problems. Whether a majority of demons are born in Hell or damned souls, it's clear that they grow up from children to teens to adults. They have jobs, families, homes, and all the mundane things in our lives. And do in fact die. Possibly? That part is vague in whether they just get erased from existence or reincarnate Chainsaw Man style. But with those in mind, what would exactly be the point of being a "good" or "bad" person?

Throughout the series, many of the demons have some moral code, ethics, empathy, or rationale that sets them apart from the more chaotic and stereotypical demons. What I saw with a lot of characters is they willingly try and change for the better, all without Charlie Morningstar or the promise of Heaven, but redemption. This is especially in the case of Blitzø with a silent O.

Blitzø is one of the more unhinged characters you would see as a demon: immoral, selfish, hedonistic, all those demony things. But we, the audience, get to see his life, his failures, and his pain and how it shaped him. While it doesn't excuse his actions, it does make us understand. Once realizing these feelings, Blitzø tries to confront the consequences of his actions, with some trial and failure. Reconciling with his twin sister Barby: failed. Apologizing to his exes: failed. Talking with Fizzoralli: okay but still some scars, literal and figurative.

In fact, both Blitzø and Charlie share one major quality: attempting to change the status quo of Hell. But Blitzø wants to be seen more than a lackey to other higher demons while Charlie wants to prove people can change for the better. While Charlie's reason is more rooted in selflessness and hope, Blitzø's feels more human and genuine. From what I could see from the show so far, Hell is getting a whole lot bigger in what it can offer.

What's The Big Difference?

Helluva Boss is a more grounded and relatable show than the epic musical of Hazbin Hotel. The show allows for a lot of worldbuilding moments with the different rings of Hell along with their functions and associated demons. We're introduced to imps at the bottom of the demon hierarchy, demon royalty through Stolas and the Goetia royals, and six of the Seven Deadly Sins.

It seems the Seven Deadly Sins hold the most authority compared to the Overlords. It might be that the Overlords are more rich people like CEOs, industrialists, and entertainers while the Sins are like government officials, both holding power and influence but in different areas of life.

Whenever Hell is used in a show, it's represented in a myriad of ways ranging from classic burning pits to existential or nihilistic despair. It does make it clear that Hell is more a dark reflection of life on Earth, but more dirty, vibrant, and chaotic nonetheless. Even the Earth depicted in the show isn't really different aside from the whole demonic powers and magic stuff.

What Makes it More Interesting than its Predecessor?

Helluva Boss uses episodes as vehicles for their characters. Basically, getting to know who we're watching, why they're important, how they are as people, and so on. It doesn't have an overarching story that builds to a final battle. They're just chilling with exploring characters and their impact to others and the present stories in different episodes. Although there are interconnecting plots and stories, the show is mostly episodic.

Its strongest element include the characters, its main cast, supporting, and even one-off jokes, they all leave impressions on anyone who sees them. Millie is given more exploration in later episodes with why she always put up with Blitzø and believes in their business despite his total incompetence and hangups. You think Millie is just this bubbly tank, but shows a much more vulnerable side who wants to be seen more than her "intended role."

Stolas is another character is breaks the mold of his role. With disastrous results for everyone he cares for. Stolas is the love interest of Blitzø who aids IMP with his magic. He slowly breaks out from being a prince into someone else he hasn't found yet. We see his royal comfort implode in the Sinsmas finale, he loses his status, power, and even his daughter because of a perceived fantasy or escape that would free him. But, like a lot of caged birds, he doesn't fare so well in the real world. Now left with truly nothing but the very person he made his "sacrifice" for. Even uncertain of that as well.

But, the songs from both shows are incredible!!!!

My favorites include Loser, Baby performed by veteran Keith David and newcomer Blake Roman and U 2 Me performed in "Apology Tour" by Bryce Pinkham. Both those songs really connect with me while conveying character moments. The songs in Helluva Boss develop and explore character like a musical would use them for those big "Declaration of Something" anthem. Defying Gravity, We Don't Talk About Bruno, even Cell Block Tango, all are songs that explore one's mindset, opinions, and personal struggles.

Why Should I Watch...?

The Characters, the plots, the songs, the animation, so much F^$King things to admire and love that I can't... I just... 😣 😩 ... I don't know.

Just Watch It and See for Yourself!!!

[beaniegaebie]

i don't really have any solid conclusions about this yet but i noticed A Thing in a rewatch and i haven't found it mentioned elsewhere yet so here we go

(apologies for the appalling image quality you're about to see, i can't screenshot easily rn pls bear with)

OKAY so in the scene where crowley confronts gabriel about "shut up and die", something about the arrangement of book stacks caught my eye a little

the majority of the books are angled so that we mostly just see the page edges and not the spines clearly, EXCEPT for a particularly shiny and familiar colour combo right here-

but nothing too weird going on there, i thought, crowley coloured books in a bookshop so what? right up until i registered crowley's line when we get a closer look-

hhhhmmmmMMmmmm yes yes "everything just the way you wanted" huh, very interesting considering that we know how much thought goes into props huh

and for most of the shots we get of crowley in this position those freaking books are just quietly nestled right there in the corner-

look at that god damn framing i fuckin see you, you glorious bastards

so i paused to see if i could figure out what the hell was up with those fuckers and this is when i absolutely lost my mind, your honour

A and C you say?? in crowley colours???? framed like this?????? localised entirely within your kitchen???

anyway long story short they're two books from an Agatha Christie Crime Collection set (24 volumes, three stories per volume) and guess whats on the mfing front covers I'm-

(its a rant for another post but when paired with this other set of initials spotted in s2 i want to scream actually)

ANYWAY back to the books, through an absolutely unhinged comparison of the formatting of gold text blobs i reckon the two we have here are:

(on top) The Pale Horse; The Big Four, The Secret Adversary

(on bottom) 4:50 From Paddington, Lord Edgeware Dies, Murder in Mesopotamia

(I'm fairly confident but if anyone has a better image to confirm/correct this pls do)

now here is where I'll need a bunch of help from some Christie-heads out there bc I haven't read any of these and I've only seen the tv adaptation of one of them, so i dont know for sure if these are like A Clue, or A Cool Thing, or if I've just fully brainrotted myself into a fun lil corner here? wa-hoo

but here's some initial stuff that jumped out at me after skimming the basics:

(some of) the titles: Pale Horse/Big Four - death's horse ofc, the four horsemen mayb? the them+adam?? ; Mesopotamia is a very biblical choice bbz ; 4:50 From Paddington- azi likes trains i guess? idk that one's tenuous lmao ; honestly no idea with the other two but Secret Adversary feels a tad ominous

iirc Big Four just has kind of an unusual history, it was initially twelve short stories that she later compiled into one, and it was published fairly soon after christie's mysterious disappearance/reappearance

in Big Four, poirot fakes his death at one point and doesnt even let hastings in on it and I'm hoping sure its totally irrelevant to the ineffable bois

part of the Pale Horse story is a group of assassins that basically try to pass off all their murders as being actually caused by like ✨satanic powers✨ which is interesting

christie knew a fUCkton about poisonings thats why she wrote so many into her work and, while i don't believe the poison coffee theory myself, it sure is an interesting link with how cyanide is associated with almond smell/flavour and that metatron chooses almond syrup in particular

(ALSO random side note that is mostly meaningless but I've worked in a good few uk coffee shops and have never worked anywhere that stocks almond syrup; almond milk yes, hazelnut syrup yes, but never almond syrup...? prob just the places i worked though lmao)

EDIT forgotten point: I've seen some speculation that the bently's plate reading "CURTAIN" could be a reference to poirot's last story, along side that alternate scene of crowley ordering the sherry for "miss marple", its just one too many agatha christie references for my melted brain to handle and I'm SUS

so this is where i run out of idea steam and hand it over to you lot because i have no clue what this could mean, if it even means anything other than a cool set feature

is there something here actually or am i yelling into the void just for fun?

who knows, who cares!

[reds-writings]

rust cohle headcanons

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: here's some more rust brain rot on my behalf <3 feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: implications of sex, light cursing, etc. let me know if i missed anything! (minors shoo!)

word count: roughly 1k

-----

adding to the headcanon floating around of him being an acts of service type man through and through. yes, he can go on neverending tangents but sometimes words about his more sentimental/mushy feelings are better demonstrated by him being at your near beck and call whenever you’re in need

you don’t even have to directly ask him to do anything. it’s more like if you were to mention offhand that something in your car didn’t sound right or your fence needed some redoing they’d find themselves fixed within the coming days without so much as another word 

that man is crafty and i cannot be convinced otherwise! the little beer can people he made are just a small example of what he can do with his hands. one day in town you saw a beautiful chestnut dining table but it was just a tad out of your price range so you figured you’d save up a little more for it and get it the next time you stopped by 

rust had some downtime (more like made downtime during his bouts of extreme insomnia) and got to building. it was a while after and by that time you had long forgotten about the table you saw until one day you got home from work only to find an ornately designed table in your dining room. it was a bit different than the one you’d spotted at the shop but no less beautiful. in fact it was even more gorgeous with its polished shine and intricate details 

you had searched for a note or maybe even a sign left anywhere of the maker that it came from to then spot a neatly carved ‘RC’ underneath one of the tabletop’s lefthand corners 

your fingers grazed over the simple set of initials as your brain damn near short-circuited at the fact that this man built you a damn table. with his bare hands. rust cohle saw that you liked a table and decided to just make it himself

you’d made your way to the receiver on your wall after snapping out of your disbelief and rang him up

“You built me a table.” You said it more as a statement than a question instead of a normal greeting.

“I did.” His tone held no sense of pride or smugness at your shock. As if this were no big deal at all.

“You built me a table. When did you have time to build me a whole table? In fact, when’d you start bein’ able make tables in the first place-”

“D’ya like it?” He interjected in that lackadaisical way of his and you paused. 

“...I love it.” 

“Good.” 

“Well, I guess then it’d only be fair for me to invite you over for dinner so that we may put this lovely new table to good use. As thanks of course.” 

You heard him huff in fond amusement on the other line, “Yes, ma’am.” 

y’all put that table to good use alright 

he’s more of a grappler than a cuddler when it comes to sharing a bed

he holds you as if in need of tethering himself. it was as if he were to let go somehow this wouldn’t be real and your presence would flit away should he loosen his grip at any given moment 

if you get too hot in the night any point of minimal contact was still initiated like tangling your foot with his or linking pinkies just so he knew you were nearby (this happens longer down the line in your relationship when he feels a bit more comfortable having someone in his space a bit more constantly) 

quality time together isn’t necessarily always spent doing something totally stimulating or exciting 

it could be as simple as cooking dinner together or curling up on your sofa while he reads and you watch something soapy on television 

he’s a very private man so going out to do something super couple-y isn’t really up his alley. he won’t really ever deny you if you wanted to really switch it up and go to places like bars, the movies, fancy restaurants, etc. he’d just find himself more reserved in more public spaces but no less completely and utterly focused on you

he’s not much of a dancer but don’t get it twisted. his ass can dance. the man is from Texas so you best believe he has more than a few line-dancing routines ingrained in the depths of his mind

on the very few occasions you’ve gotten him to agree to dance with you when you’re out you nearly laugh every time with how seriously he takes it 

you find yourself cooking food for him often. not that he ever expects it of you but living off of cigarettes and beer can only do so much for a guy. he genuinely forgets that his body needs a meal when he gets all caught up in his work (you don’t bother nagging at him much because he’s grown and more stubborn than anything at times) 

if you aren’t available to check in on him you’re not above making Marty grab something for him when they’re stuck at work 

any kiss he gives you is not one made in passing. anything rust does has some level of deep intent behind it but he never kisses you or says ‘i love you’ out of routine or empty habit

he’s a deeply feeling guy and a lot more handsier the longer you’re together (usually still only in the privacy of your own home). it goes back to just having to feel tethered or connected to you! it comforts the more broken/scared bits of him knowing that you’re just there and present and real

his synesthesia can make things overwhelmingly intense so sometimes when you’re out or after certain activities he finds himself in need of longer moments to himself (which you never take personally) 

in less serious moments you find yourself asking him the dumbest questions you can about smelling colors or tasting places 

“So does that mean Marty’s got a taste to him? You've tasted your coworker?” You snickered as you lay beneath the weeping willow in your front yard with him.

“It don’t work like that.” He said around the unlit cigarette in this mouth, tone sounding as if he were entertaining a silly child. 

“Nuh-uh! You said somethin’ awhile back about my presence tastin’ like jasmine and clementines or somethin’-”

“Drop it.”

You poked your tongue in your cheek trying not to giggle. 

“I bet you Marty tastes like stale coffee and I dunno…regret-” You snapped out a surprised laugh as you felt a quick pinch on your side. 

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 1

Here we go! I have it planned that I will be updating this story on Fridays, so yay! I have 10 parts set out as of now, but we'll see where this story takes me.

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Friends with Benefits, ANGST, unrequited feelings, lots more to come!

Word Count: 1,200

Prologue

You were right to doubt Natasha's words.

Waking up next to Bucky just gets harder and harder as time goes on. Listening to his soft murmurs and heavy sighs, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Every time you find yourself between his sheets, you resent him a little. But it’s not his fault, it’s yours. Every time.

Because you know that if you ever take that one crucial step towards him, you’ll lose him. Lose this closeness, this connection.

So you don’t take that step. You haven’t opened up and told him how you feel for months now. And it drives a knife into your heart with every second that passes where you don’t confess.

Every time you sneak away from parties to some hidden room for a quick fuck, or when he’s pounding into you under a street light on some deserted road with your leg hiked over his motorcycle at 3 am, you can’t help but imagine that all this passion has to mean something to him. Like it means something to you.

So you test it.

You invite him on adventures between missions, visiting museums and parks and 24/7 diners that you know are perfect date spots. He always readily agrees to hang out and stays with you the whole time, his arm slung over your shoulders while he laughs in your ear.

Spending time with Bucky like this leaves you effervescent. You always leave his arms smiling like a fool – because that’s what you are.

Because these movie tickets are just an excuse, really. 

Bucky’s been so busy these last couple of weeks that you’ve hardly seen him, let alone spent any "quality" time with him. You’re currently on your longest dry spell you’ve ever had with him, and the lack of contact leaves you delusional.

Delusional enough to do something stupid. 

Delusional enough to tell Bucky how you feel.

The air is cold as you and Bucky stroll from the movie theater, your heart buzzing in your chest as you contemplate how best to approach the topic. Bucky gives you the perfect opportunity with his next sentence.

“Damn, dollface, forgot how much fun it was to hang out with you. Feels like it’s been ages.”

“We could always hang out more,” you respond coyly, taking his hand and curling yourself against his side. You don’t think you can look him in the eyes while you confess to him.

“Yeah, we should,” Bucky says, and you can’t hold back your next words.

“We could go on a real date sometime.”

You feel a nearly imperceptible jolt in Bucky’s muscles, and his voice is slightly bemused when he replies. “What?” 

There’s confusion behind the words, but you hope against hope that it’s because he’s thinking your suggestion through.

“Well, I mean, we’ve already kind of been going on dates and doing other things that couples do? It wouldn’t be so hard to just make it more concrete, you know?” Your words squeeze around the lump in your throat, your insides shivering in desperation.

Bucky stops in his tracks and pulls you off to the side of the street out of other people’s way. He turns you to face him, his palms resting on your shoulders, his blue eyes searching your face for any sign of the joke you must surely be playing. Because you’ve talked about this. He was very clear. And you had agreed all those months ago – agreed that it was just sex. Agreed that neither of you had any romantic feelings for the other.

“Uh, doll? What are you…?”

Your cheeks burn and your fingers tingle. Your heart can’t handle being scrutinized so intensely at this moment. You avert your eyes to where you’re scuffing your shoe back and forth, back and forth, across the pavement.

“I’m saying… I–I like you, Bucky.” Heart in youth throat, you finally look back into his eyes when you say his name. 

But his expression as he looks back at you isn’t the one you were wanting to see. Bucky looks panicked. Like you’ve just told him that you’re holding a bomb that’s set to detonate in seconds. 

“Jesus,” Bucky says your name in exasperation as he removes his hands from your arms and runs them through his long hair, “why would you–”

Fuck. 

You quickly back-pedal, trying to keep the panic out of your voice while scrambling to pick your bleeding heart off the dirty sidewalk.

“No, no, no. Wait, Bucky. Listen. I know we’ve talked about this before and you said you weren’t looking for anything serious.” Your hands are flying all over the place as you try and explain away your feelings. “But we’ve been hanging out a lot and maybe I just got the wrong idea–”

“Yeah. You did,” Bucky interjects, sending a dagger into the mess of an organ clutched desperately between your hands. “It’s flattering and all, but… you know I’m not interested in you like that.”

You’re successfully holding back tears against the burning in your eyes, but the need to release all the pain you’re feeling is overwhelming. You wrap one arm protectively around yourself and grab on to your other bicep, squeezing hard to feel the physical hurt instead of the emotional.

“No, yeah, you’re right. I’m – I just thought I should be honest? But, seriously, don’t even worry about it.” You hold your hands up in a placating gesture and give as convincing a smile as possible. “This won’t change anything, I promise. And besides, I’ll get over it soon enough!”

Bucky gives you a skeptical look, but nods his head slowly. “So… we’re taking sex off the table, obviously.”

You give a breathy laugh and try to roll your eyes playfully. “Probably not the best idea at the moment,” you respond.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, “probably not.”

You both stand in awkward silence, not really looking at each other. You can only stand it for so long until you casually throw a thumb over your shoulder and suggest heading back home.

It’s a long, long ride back on his motorcycle. But at least the wind lashing your face gives you an excuse for the tears that fall.

***

You make it to your floor without seeing another person, but your luck runs out when you find Nat and Wanda watching a movie together in your bed. The sight of your two best friends smiling warmly at your entrance shatters the last of your strength.

You can’t stop the hiccuping sob that leaves your throat – it refuses to be held back any longer. Both women’s eyes widen and they immediately start to sit up, but you’ve collapsed on top of the covers between them before they could move. You can feel Wanda’s fingers in your hair and Nat’s hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulders.

Your sobs eventually turn into sniffles, and that’s when Wanda speaks.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

You take a shuddering breath in before saying, “I was stupid.”

“What–” Wanda begins, but Natasha immediately knows what you mean.

“Fuck.” She sighs heavily and leans down to place a kiss on the crown of your head.

Part 2

[glassrowboat]

🐻 carnival prize

Another Shot. Lyney.

Author's note: Sorry this took so long. This piece was just fighting me the entire time for some reason :/

Word count: 2,400+

“You suck.”

You couldn't help but click your tongue as, once again, the blond across the sticky counter, no doubt from countless grubby fingers and spilled cups containing fizzy soda with lids that weren't quite put on right, missed his target. The bright red and white circles seemingly teasing him as they waved back and forth with the poster boards of some animals they were slapped onto.

Well, this was the ‘Hunters Paradise’ shooting game.

“I am trying here.” The blond protested with a slight whine in his voice that you welcomed the sound of far more than the same song you've been forced to listen to on repeat for hours. The entire duration of your shift always proved to have that song playing in your ears even as your head hit a pillow in hopes of some quality shut eye. Haunting you even in your dreams.

Behind him was a woman with a funnel cake and white powder staining her gloves. Not that she seemed to mind, though, as she asked if he really was trying at all.

Aka: the popular brother and sister act of Fontaine standing right before you, and failing at playing a simple game while they're at it.

“You know, magician, I thought you'd be a bit better at this whole rigged games thing considering your profession revolves around sleight of hand.”

Or that he'd be slightly self-aware enough to realize these were just a complete money sink. Not that it seems that way as Lyney once again placed a few mora on the counter, even when his sister's tail twitched at the sight.

Another shot at the game to be had.

“One more try?” He asked.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, even as you picked up the basket containing the ammo (they were really just rubber bullets) and filled the plastic gun he had been holding back up to its limit. Six shots for another six failures.

“Haven't you learned any better?”

“Well, maybe I just need a good teacher to show me the way.” Lyned said with a wink.

You shoved the gun back in his hands, gesturing for Lyney to continue. Arm outstretched much like you'd seen the very man…if he could be called that..do five minutes earlier when some kids came up to him and asked Lyney to show them a few tricks.

It was a cute sight and certainly far more humble than the shows you've come to know him for. There was no grand spotlight shining on everything, setting a stage alight, but there were eyes full of excitement trying to track his every move.

It's why you thought he came over here in the first place, to give one of those tiny hands a toy to play with, but his flirting had quickly changed your mind on that conclusion.

“Just shoot, cause I'm not taking students.”

Miss. Miss. Miss.

At this point, you were just sharing a look with Lynette and trying not to snicker too obviously.

“Brother, I'm surprised you've been missing the targets so much when you're usually so skilled with a bow.” Lynette said, and that was enough to have your quiet giggles breaking out into a full fit even as you tried to hide them behind your hand.

“Well, dearest sister, this is very different from a bow.”

You were rolling another one of those rubber bullets, ones that are purposefully made with a weighted side, between your fingers as you muttered: “Yeah, right. Sounds like someone's making excuses.”

“Shouldn't you be a bit nicer to me here? I mean, I am putting in money to the booth you're running and all.” As he spoke, Lyney's words slowly trailed off, like even he knew that point was mute.

“I don't get paid enough to be nice.” You said, sticking your tongue out at him.

Not on minimum wage, anyway. It's barely enough to keep your teeth from gritting as that damn song starts again.

“Besides, you're like a celebrity anyway, so I'd imagine you have the money to blow on this.”

Another miss.

“So you've heard of me then? I didn't know my name was so popular in Fontaine. Especially not with such a lovely individual as yourself.”

“Yeah, I heard about you cause of that murder case trial.”

This time, you couldn't blame Lyney as he missed, not with the way he flinched at being called out. An accidental trigger poll. “Ah…well…I was on trial for another thing too if you didn't hear. I can tell you all about it.”

“Alright.” You said as you picked up another handful of bullets, already expecting Lyney to pay for another attempt as they rolled into your awaiting palm. “Regale me, magician.”

“Gladly. Now, picture this: a grand scene. One that has everyone holding their breath in sheer anticipation as I was brought to the stand as a thief. You see, the crime I committed was stealing your heart.”

As he spoke, Lyney was dramatically gesturing to himself with his open hand. Chest right over his heart. Or better yet: the frilled ruffles of his shirt.

(That outfit was not doing him any favors with the twink allegations.)

“He really does say some strange things.” Lynette said, trying to speak around the bite of her cake she had just taken. A notion you couldn't help but agree with.

As he missed again, you poked the pink stuffed rabbit hanging above you, the fuzz brushing against your finger as you forced it to swing back and forth from being jabbed at. Its little feet almost hit your head as you ducked under it. “You do know it would be cheaper to just go to the store and buy yourself a stuffed animal, right?”

“But, it wouldn't be the same, now would it?” Lyney reached up, grabbing the rabbit's leg to force it to stay still as he smiled at you. “This one would be given to me by you.”

You couldn't help the sigh that left you, not when he was such a persistent little bugger. Especially over something you're pretty sure your supervisor mentioned was bought in bulk for fifty bucks. “Next round then?”

Lyney nodded in agreement, repeating your words as you got everything ready again.

“I wasn't aware your downfall would be a single stuffed rabbit, brother.” You heard Lynette say as the trigger was pulled again.

“It's a big compliment to the thing, at least.”

“Thing.” She rolled your words on her tongue for a moment before shaking her head, and you couldn't help but wonder if her cat ears naturally twitched with the movement. “Perhaps we should give it a name. Maybe then it will convince my dear brother to actually be good at this game.”

“Reginald?” You asked.

Two sets of eyes landed on you, both with a raised brow right above them, clearly questioning why you chose that name of all things. “I've been in a regency romance kick. Don't worry about it.”

Lyney muttered a small “....Right.”

“Just-” You tapped the gun, only slightly annoyed by how you could feel a sticky residue left behind. Something you've had to wipe away countless times now only for it to return as another customer happily runs up to try their hand at this. “Just get back to playing the damn game.”

His laughter had you ducking your head, eyes cast down on the ground to count the few popcorn kernels around your feet.

Though you did smirk the second you saw Lyney missing the target again. A dancing deer going back and forth as if it came to life long enough just to stick its tongue out at him only to return to normal a split second later.

“So, you don't have any special tools to help you in that hat of yours?”

“Unfortunately, a magician can only hold so many items in these things without them being so tall they'd fall off my hat just by walking through a door.”

“I wouldn't worry about that then, I doubt you're even tall enough to touch the doorframe. Let alone have it knock anything of yours off.”

He shot the next bullet at you, hitting you right in the forehead before it fell to the ground with a soft plink.

“Oh now you can aim.” You rolled your eyes. “Don't make me take that from you.”

Much like one would with a misbehaving child.

“Well, I may be out of luck with my hat, but a magician always had a few cards up his sleeve.”

A shuffle of papers graced your ears, barely heard over the sound of the passing crowd and children's screams as they whirled around on the nearby roller coaster that spun your hair in its breeze everytime the carts rolled by, as Lyney suddenly held a few cards in his hands. Shuffling the small deck between deft fingers only for it to seemingly fly in the air with a mock surprised look on his face. One you rolled your eyes at to stop from focusing on the pout he put on only for the cards, or confetti really, to disappear with a flash.

“See?” He asked, just waiting to see your awed expression.

“Impressive. Anyway.”

As you turned away from him, you caught Lynette covering up her laugh as Lyney looked back at her, head snapping. Only to start whining a second later. “Here I am, the greatest magician in all of Teyvat being kind enough to share a free show, and I only get an ‘anyway.’”

Nodding Lynette replied back with: “You did get an ‘impressive’ too.”

“In a tone that clearly said our lovely booth vendor here didn't really think much of it!”

You were half tempted to pipe up and say you have a name, only pinned onto your chest in bold font and surrounded by stickers you slapped onto the badge, but you held your tongue. They'd figure it out eventually as you walked over to the dancing cardboard animals.

Moving up and down endlessly.

Maybe they really were taunting him, you thought as you pushed one over and a loud ringing that caused you to flinch back, despite the fact you were expecting it. A robotic voice calling out "you did great, hunter” in what had to be the most half-hearted attempt at sounding cheery (and you work with teenagers) catching the twins’ attention.

“Congrats, Teyvat’s best magician, you won.”

Holding back on your urge to mock his bow at the end of each show, you pull the pink stuffed rabbit Lyney was playing with early off the hook it was hanging on. Floppy ears whacking your arm as you held it out to him.

“Wait, but I didn't even shoot the target myself. I can't say I won anything if I didn't do it myself.”

“And that matters why?” You asked as you shoved it into his arms.

“Well- I-” Lyney hugged the rabbit tight, wrapping his arms around it as he fumbled over his words. Struggling to get just the right sentence that would catch your attention. “You see, Reginald here-”

“Because the rabbit was supposed to be for you.” Lynette piped up. Hands clapped together as she dusted off the powdered sugar clinging to them, letting the few crumbs left of her dessert fall to the ground.

“I was supposed to tell them that, sister!”

You looked down at the rabbit, big ears the same as always, and a bow tied around its neck suddenly seeming slightly more tolerable after all the stuffies you had to fix when the shipment first arrived. Sewing them back where they belonged took hours and left your fingers pricked and stained red to high Celesta. You had cursed them then…but now.

“For me?” You asked hesitantly.

Lyney rubbed at the back of his neck, the fabric of his shirt rustling slightly with the movement as it just barely concealed a nervous bead of sweat sliding down his skin. “That was the intention, lovely booth vendor. You see, I saw you watching my performance earlier and thought you would like a personal show. One that may or may not have included pulling Reginald here out of a hat.”

“And because he thought you were cute.”

“Sister!” Lyney cried. “Please, can you stop outing me?”

You found yourself watching the two, fingers twitching into the rabbit’s plush fur. Truly, it was amazing how bad of a wing woman Lynette was, but considering Lyney wasn't doing himself much favors before, maybe she isn't doing too bad of a job. Even if she is currently looking upset with him, ears pulled back at the sudden change in his volume.

“Sorry. My apologies, truly, just..please allow me to take it from here. A magician sometimes has to perform a trick or two without their assistant.” He playfully tipped his hat, Lyney’s expression just out of your sight as the twins stared at each other.

“You know,” you interjected, right when Lynette was about to open her mouth, “I wouldn't mind seeing that trick. Or two.”

Spinning around on his heel, Lyney looked at you, eyes wide. Not that you could blame him after being so abrasive, but to be fair, he did that to himself.

“I'm serious.”

“Really? You are?” Lyney asked, hand taking your own that was still keeping the rabbit dangling in the air that carried the scent of fried food on it.

With your confirmation, he pushed the rabbit back towards you with a smile. The same one you saw Lyney giving those children who were running around him as he performed trick after trick at their behest. “Then I'll entrust Reginald to be in your care. And um…”

Your brow raised as you waited for Lyney to finish his sentence, but he kept looking back between the rabbit you were now hugging to your chest and you.

Though, you were half expecting Lynette to chime in with another comment even as she stood to the side watching you two with a deadpan expression.

“And if you happen to actually win the game,” you pointed back towards the dancing cutouts that were once again primed to be shot at, “then your prize can be a date with me. If I get to pick where and when.”

“Well then, our lovely booth vendor,” Lyney said as he placed the coins on the counter, a small chime coming from the handful of mora as they bounced against each other. “Can I have one more round?”

Let's just hope giving him another shot works in your favor you thought as you once again filled the plastic gun full of ammo.

[charlidos]

This all-time favourite of all the Viggorli treasures out there deserves a special post, I feel. The vicious attack of the wild elf on the human scum is what set off the whole fandom, I believe.

Orlando really manages to sneak up on Viggo here. It looks like he's about to just walk past - seemingly not going anywhere in particular - but instead deciding to jump on poor Viggo. Startling an old man like this could be dangerous!

Orlando seems to take a pretty strong grip on Viggo, holding him in place while he nuzzles his forehead? eye? going in for a kiss on the mouth? nose? But my favourite bit is that silly little play fighting they do. All of a sudden, completely lost in themselves, oblivious to the reporter for a second. Reverting to how they were on set, I bet. Loving, rowdy, physically close and comfortable. Being themselves, completely.

And then Orlando attacks again, and kisses Viggo's cheek/almost mouth, cheeky bugger. And he's so damn pleased with himself. And perhaps a tad drunk? My favourite thing here is Viggo's brief look and smile towards Orlando. Like he's also quite pleased, a little proud (and a lot shy) of being molested by such a pretty, wild boy-elf.

There's a good reason for this to be a classic clip. It's brilliant.

And the rule of the whole kingdom to the person who one day supplies a good quality version of this.

Also, there's very unreliable intel from some japanese source from a long, long time ago, that after this clip ends, Viggo also licked Orlando's ear or something? And that they were seen walking hand in hand on the beach...

[hiraeth-ink]

Busy Man (a Joel Miller fic)

Summary - pre-outbreak!Joel x reader - Joel has been so busy and overworked for a while and all you want is some good dick, something Joel is very willing to give.

Word Count - 2,941

Warnings - smut!! p in v, ass play, swearing, slight angst?

my first smut! I'm nervous

Joel was late. Again. So late dinner had already been eaten, a portion for Joel set aside. So late that Sarah had already gone to sleep, tired of waiting for his return from work. So late that you had abandoned your hope for the quality time he had promised you that morning. 

“I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately darlin’ it’s just, you know how work’s been,” he’d said this morning, full of promises of a dinner with you and Sarah, a movie and what you’d been constantly thinking about for days now; sex. Your busy schedules had never been a problem when it came to intimacy before but with Joel and Tommy’s big new project the last couple of weeks, Joel was reduced to an exhausted, low energy and grumpy version of himself. He came home, kicked off his work boots with a struggle and lazily shuffled to the shower before landing himself on the couch with a grunt. He would eat dinner quickly, a starved expression on his face, followed by a satisfied rub of his stomach and expressing his thanks for the meal. Not long after, he’d kiss you on the forehead, grumble a tired apology, “M’sorry baby but I gotta head to bed, m’exhausted and I’m out early tomorrow, I love you”. His heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs and he was already asleep by the time you had finished your night routine, light snores being carried through the open door of the bedroom. 

This routine was followed almost precisely for the last couple of weeks; work, eat and sleep. Joel worked hard at his business, long days of physical labour to appease his clients and support his family. You worked too, but your hours were not as long as Joel’s and nowhere near as physically demanding as his work either, so in support of him the least you could do was make sure a home cooked meal was ready for him when he arrived home after a long, gruelling day, a massage on the days he didn’t retire to bed almost immediately after eating. 

But your hunger has not subsided over the last week, your cravings have only grown and grown each day he hasn’t touched you, simmering inside of you, threatening to boil over when you see him walking through the front door. His tight, almost too tight, t-shirt displaying his biceps was enough to weaken your knees, but the sheen on his arms, the way the shirt was subtly sticking to his back and chest almost destroyed you. You felt feral upon seeing him again, almost embarrassed at your animalistic reaction to such a simple thing as Joel’s sweat, but the embarrassment was forgotten when he quickly pulled off his boots, straightened his back and wiped the sweat off his brow, showing off his strong arms once more. 

As he walked into the kitchen and towards you, he immediately started apologising, but you struggled to listen as the heat built up inside of you, your body’s reaction to him so strong that your mind was struggling to concentrate on what he was saying. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, baby. We got caught up at the site and then Tommy forgot to do the damn paperwork, it was a whole mess”, he exhaled as he reached to the top shelf of the cupboard for a glass. You were lost for words, a response appearing in your mind and disappearing just as quickly as he reached the top shelf, his shirt riding up and flashing a sliver of his soft tummy, even catching the top of the dark hairs that led to the exact thing you’d been craving. 

“Baby? You ok?” he asked with slight concern, but you only noted how deep his voice sounded, the low baritone going straight to your core as you imagined his voice in you ear while he rutted in and out of you, uttering the most filthy words you could imagine, things only Joel could get away with saying to you, as he played your body the way only he knew how to do, effortlessly coaxing multiple orgasms out of you. 

As you looked at him with your lips slightly parted, as if you were ready to finally break your silence, your mouth was dry but you didn’t bother getting a drink, not caring about water or anything else. You were thirsty for him, hungry for him. You felt feral again as you rushed to him, wrapping your hands around his thick neck and, lips searching for his, kissed him with all the want in your body. His hands wrapped around you, sliding down from your back to grab your bum, squeezing the soft flesh as he let out a groan. 

“I need you to fuck me Joel, missed you so much,” you breathed as you released his lips from yours, staring into his eyes, watching them switch from fatigue to hunger as he lifted you into his arms effortlessly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him again as he carried you up the stairs and into the bedroom. He grumbled something about, “I’ll eat later, been neglecting my baby recently”, to which you replied with a whimper, feeling his cock hardening through his pants against your soaking core. 

He threw you on the bed and wasted no time taking off your shorts and spreading your legs, keeping hold of your ankles. His presence was overbearing, the difference between the hurried kisses and short hugs you’d exchanged recently, and now being in such close proximity to him, his face so close to where you needed him most in this moment. You felt him everywhere, his intense gaze on you, switching from the patch of wetness on your underwear to your face, his warm breath on your clothed core, the strong grip he held your ankles in. 

“Please Joel”, you panted desperately, bucking your hips up in search of something, anything to relieve the ache between your thighs. 

His hands moved from your ankles to the backs of your thighs, his big, rough hands gently caressing your skin along the way and pushing your thighs towards your stomach, folding you into place. 

“You missed me baby? Missed me touching you?” he said before teasingly licking a stripe up your folds and circling your clit through your panties, all while looking into your eyes. You whimpered and couldn't help but attempt to roll your hips into his mouth, but his steady grip on your thighs held you still. 

“Please Joel, I need you so bad, been thinking about this all day, all week” you begged, looking into his eyes with a pleading look. You were hungry for him, desperate for him to do something, to feel his fingers or his cock or his tongue if he would just take off your-

“Fuck Joel oh my god”, he pulled your panties to the side, and sucked your clit into his mouth, suddenly frenzied and impatient as he licked and sucked at your clit, groaning at your taste. You couldn’t fight the whimpers and moans that climbed up your throat and escaped your mouth, you couldn’t control your sounds, Joel was forcing them out of you with every lick through your folds, every stroke of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

He pushed two fingers inside you, forcing more animalistic sounds of you, and curled them, reaching deep inside of you and coaxing your first orgasm of the night, of the week, out of you. You came with a loud cry of his name, your hips bucking up to meet his mouth, legs shaking and twitching uncontrollably as you came down, breathing heavily and crying out once more when he removed his fingers. 

“Fuck me Joel, I need you inside” you mumbled deliriously, your orgasm not having fully subsided yet, but the need for him to fuck you stronger than ever. The need to have him inside, close to you, was all you could think of. 

“I will baby, I will,” he said as he hurriedly removed his clothes, using your slick to wet his hard cock and stroking it once, twice, before lining up with your entrance. He looked at your face with dark eyes, “Been neglecting this little pussy haven’t I baby? You’re so fucking wet for me, came so quick too, been waiting for this huh?” he drawled, cockiness oozing from his words, but he wasn’t wrong. You were dripping, a wet spot surely growing on the sheets beneath you as you looked at his thick cock, the pink head almost angry looking and a small bead of pre cum dripping out, enough to make your mouth water with need, 

You were ready to beg for him again, but as soon as you started, you broke out into a broken moan, suddenly feeling full as he thrusted his cock all the way into you in one, smooth stroke. The stretch of him against your walls had your eyes rolling back, desperate whimpers being forced out of you again as he pulled all the way out and back into you with a groan. He set a slow but forceful pace, allowing you to feel every inch of him, hard and thick and overwhelming. His hands were gripping your thighs, pushing them back onto your stomach so you felt him impossibly deep, his tip lightly kissing your cervix, not enough to cause any pain but enough to make you release a whimper everytime it happened. 

“You sound so pretty darlin’, all for me,” he said as he circled your clit with one hand, his other moving up your body to your neck, lightly squeezing your nipple on the way, before wrapping his hand around your neck and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

He chuckled at the way you smiled when he choked you and in his low Texan drawl said, “Dirty little thing, tell me how much you love it, how much you missed it”. His length thrusting in and out of you, slowly but hard and deep, coupled with his fingers rubbing your clit in steady circles rendered you unable to form a coherent thought. All you could muster was unintelligible moans, causing him to break out into a cocky grin before demanding you to answer him. 

“When I tell you to do something, you better do it baby. Wouldn’t want me to stop would you?” he taunted, continuing to fuck you and rubbing your clit quicker than before.

“I love it Joel! Love it so much, missed it-Oh fuck. Can’t live without it Joel please don’t stop-Please,” you cried out quickly, your words all morphing together, worried he would stay true to his word and stop, robbing you of the relief you desperately needed. 

“That’s right baby, my good girl, come for me,” he cooed, aware of how hearing him call you his good girl affected you and you came almost instantly, whimpering his name over and over. His name ran through your mind quicker than you could follow, a continuous chant of Joel Joel Joel Joel, until you came down from your high, relaxing instantly. But Joel didn’t give you any time to relax or adjust as he rolled you on to your front, expertly manoeuvring your body so that you were on your knees, your cheek resting on a pillow, and thrusted into you again from behind. 

He’s relentless now, fucking into you hard and fast, no longer fighting the groans and grunts that leave his mouth as he loses himself in the way you feel around him.

“So fucking good peach, wet and warm,” he interrupts himself with a guttural groan as you clench around him at his words, “so fuckin’ tight, fuckin’ perfect baby”, the words topple from his mouth as he loses his restraint. Your endless whimpers only spur him on as he continues to push his hips into you. 

“Missed this pussy so much baby, never going this long without fuckin’ you again,” the words make you cry out in agreement. You want to speak, to tell him you can’t do it either, that you need this as much as possible but the words fail you. All you can do is take it, take whatever he’s willing to give you and be grateful for it. 

“You can’t even talk can you sweetheart? ‘M’I fuckin’ you so good you can’t think straight? My dumb little girl,” his words go straight to your core, squeezing around him as he continues to spit the filthy words from his mouth.

“Ohmygod Joel” you almost scream as you feel his thumb circling your tight, puckered hole, the sensation sending new waves of pleasure to your core, doubling as he pushes his thumb inside, both you and Joel letting out a groan as he does. 

“My good little slut, lettin’ me do whatever I want huh baby? Hm, bet you’d let me fuck your ass right now if I wanted to wouldn’t ya?” he says through gritted teeth, you know he’s close and so are you. Everything he’s doing has you hurtling towards another peak, his cock fucking you with urgency, his thumb inside your tight hole, his words, him moaning and groaning above you. You’re speeding up to the peak, unable to stop the moans tumbling from your mouth as his thrusts speed up and up until your mouth opens in a silent scream and you come. You come hard. Whole body shaking as he fucks you through it, you barely hear him calling you his good girl, your whole body burning with pleasure, lighting up in flames as your eyes squeeze shut, vision going black and you can do nothing but take it. As you start coming down you hear him again, coming with a groan of your name, stilling inside you and catching his breath. 

Your legs collapse on the bed as he moves away from you. You somewhat hear him saying something along the lines of, “gonna clean you up darlin’”. But when he comes back you don't feel a warm cloth cleaning you, instead you feel his big hands spreading your cheeks apart, groaning at the sight of his come trailing out of your puffy, used sex. Unexpectedly, he licks at your folds, and pushes his tongue inside your entrance, licking up his come, before pulling you up into him so that your back rests against his chest. He cradles your chin softly and turns your head, slotting his lips to yours and pushing his tongue inside your mouth, pushing his spend past your lips. You take it all, moaning at the taste of both of you mixed together. Joel continues to kiss you passionately, as if still trying to make up for lost time. He pulls away to catch his breath and carefully places you on your back. Reaching for the warm cloth, he wipes your folds and your inner thighs before tossing it in the washing basket in the corner of the room. 

“How you feelin’, sweetheart?” he asks as he climbs in bed next to you, pulling you into his warm embrace, tenderly kissing your forehead. He looks at you lovingly, but you can’t miss the guilt filled expression written across his face. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately. I promise after this project is done I’ll have more time for you an’ Sarah. Kills me that I’ve been neglecting you both,” he continued, his voice, usually strong and commanding, was now small and quiet, conveying his guilt and insecurity of his shortcomings when it came to you and his daughter. 

“Joel baby, you haven’t been neglecting us, you’ve been working. You work long and hard hours, you do it for us, so we can live a good life. We both understand baby. Sarah knows you love her more than anything Joel.” 

“And you?” he questions quietly, “Do you know how much I love you?,” his question melts your heart, his brown eyes staring into yours with so much love and appreciation forces you to smile up at him, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at his attempt to reassure you of his love for you. 

“Of course I do, Joel. And I love you too. So much,” you profess, heart constricting at finally having him close after feeling so far away from him. But you know it isn't his fault. 

“I love you and I appreciate all that you do, Joel,” you reassure him, trailing circles into his chest with your nails. He lifts your chin, slotting his lips to yours in a kiss but you’re interrupted by the loud growl of his stomach, a reminder that his dinner was forgotten downstairs. Abandoned in exchange for his hunger for you, your hunger for each other. You laugh as you pull away, telling him to eat and hurry back to bed so you can cuddle. 

“Will you come sit with me while I eat? We can watch that Western we’ve been dyin’ to watch,” he suggests with a sly grin, pulling on his sleep clothes, stomach still angrily rumbling as he throws you a fresh set of pyjamas. 

“We’ve been dyin’ to watch? Are you kidding me, Joel?” you bark out an incredulous laugh at his suggestion, though you know that you would watch whatever he wanted if it meant  you could cuddle up to Joel on the couch, his strong arms wrapped around you, head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Anything to be close to him.

[lianaloverr]

I hate you, right?*: ･ﾟ

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Yes she’s back! With a part 2! After a year…

Summary: You go over Alex’s house to do the project, but other things end up happening..

Warnings: no fluff surprisingly😲, dirty talk, mentions of intercourse, pet names (baby, sweetheart, amor, princess), Alex is dominant😝😜 , y’all i did not proofread this (update:i did, shouldn’t be any bugs!)

Word count: 1k+

“”You know your really something yea? How we get here so damn fast.”

*THE WEEKEND*

New text from: Alex🙄

hey, we still working on the project?

you: no but i’m coming over anyway

aw come on baby, your gonna have to get used to it

you: don’t call me that

call you what, baby?

you: oh my god i can see your smirk through the screen

can you now?😏

you: send me the address you dummy

since you asked so nicely princess..

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

“Thanks for dropping me off mom! i’ll be done at around 10!” I say when I pull up at Alex’s house. “Of course honey! see you later!” I waved as she pulled out of the driveway to make her way back home. An audible groan escapes from my mouth has you look at the house. Well, I have no choice, is what I think as I start walking up to the door.

.

One knock on the door was all it took until it opened. “Well, isn’t it my favorite girl?” the boy said in front of me. dammit he needs to stop calling me that, it makes me feel some type of way. I can’t explain it. “Oh, i’m your favorite? i’m flattered!” I say sarcastically, “okay cut the crap. Where are we setting up?” I asked curiously. “We can go to my room, just follow me.” he says as he walk around the corridor and toward the stairs. As I close the door and follow him, you look around the places I’m passing. The living room, kitchen and I see pictures all across the walls. Pictures of Alex, and his family. huh, he doesn’t look like a complete a-hole in these pictures. He actually looks sweet and a good boy in them. ew, good boy? What is wrong with me.

-

“Here is mi habitación.” Alex says to me while turning to face mine. “Wow, it’s a wreck. Have you ever heard of cleaning?” I say joking, knowing that will work up his nerves. “You sure know what to say huh? One day i’ll shut up that pretty mouth of yours.” he mumbles that last part. “I’m sorry what did you say?” I asked, but I already knew. “You heard me, baby. I’ll shut up that pretty mouth of yours by pushing my cock inside your mouth.” I didn’t say anything, I just stood there, motionless. “Don’t know what to say princess? Did I work you up?” he says stepping closer, when I step back it makes me hit my back against the door, causing me to stop walking. “What are you doing?” “What do you mean sweetheart, I’m not doing anything.” he says, oh what is he doing? Even though I hated him with a passion, i’ve always had a foreign feeling about him too. It was sort of euphoric state of mind, like I hated him but I also had fantasies about him too. “What do you want baby? tell me and I might give it to you.” he whispers in your ear, breathing on your neck while doing so. “What are you talking about?” I try to sound confident but fail as a whimper falls on my lips when i feel his touch on my waist. “Just say the words baby.” “Please..” I said. “Please what, sweetheart?” he says. “please, I need you.” I mew, eagerly. “aww, is that what my baby wants? the be screwed over while screaming and begging for more?” he says coldy. “Yes, that’s what i want. Please!” I basically shout, I can’t do this anymore. “Well that’s to bad isn’t it? Come on we have a project to work on.” he’s says while pushing of if you and going to sit in his chair and getting on his computer.

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

What.The.Hell. I stood there in shock. Did he really just make me beg and when to sit down? This is so frustrating yet intriguing at the same time. I like to be teased, now that I think about it, Alex has all the qualities I want in a boyfriend. If it wasn’t just the way he was it would be fine. “Are you just gonna stand there or are we gonna work on this project?” he asked, looking up at you. “Don’t rush me. What was that?” you said, asking a question back. “What was what Sweetheart?” he says, looking at you smirking. He knew what he’s doing and he knew it was getting to me. But I weren’t gonna have it. “Nevermind.”

.

It’s 10 now. Me and alex have been working for the past 2 hours. “You know, you not as dumb as I thought you were.” Alex says to me. “Why are you lying? I won the science fair in 6th grade and you were runner up.” I smirked in his face knowing he didn’t forget that. “Okay that voting was rigged!” he shouts, half-joking. “Okay dude, that was 6 years ago get over it.” I say laughing and he just laughs with me. This is actually much nicer than all the bickering. “I should go home, it’s getting late.” I tell him. “Aw, do you really have to go home? Why can’t you just stay the night?” stay the night? He gotta be going crazy.

.

“Stay the night? Since when did you like me enough to let me stay the night?” I ask. “I’ve always liked you princess.” oh wow. “Oh my god stop calling me that!” You half yell in frustration. “Why princess?” “Because you know what you’re doing!” I say, looking directly at him. “And what exactly is that?” he said smirking while looking at my body up and down. “You know what? Forget it, i’m calling my mom.” “What? amor, I was just kidding! Don’t call your mom, stay here it’s too late anyway.” he walks in front of me. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What would your mom say, what would mine say?” “My mom’s out of town for the week, it’s just me. You can just tell your mom you’re staying over a friend’s house.” “mm I don’t know Alex..” I say hesitantly. “Please amor?” he begged, looking at me with desperation in his eyes. “Fine. But this is the only time!”

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Y’all. I know, it’s been a year since I wrote part oen. But y’all deserve it, it’s been a year😭 I fear I cooked(i’m actually cooked 🤓☝🏽). Part 1 is def getting a revamp. I read over it and was like “what possessed me to write this” so that’s getting reworked, also y’all are getting a part 3 and maybe even a part 4 and 5???😳

Sorry @kalihq003 for making you wait for part 2😭 here it is

(literally had to make my own sparkly thingy bc i couldn’t find any😭)

[lizzyk137]

What about Tony flirting with the new head of NCIS & not knowing they are married to Gibbs ?

Flirting With the Boss' Wife- An NCIS Short (Tony/Gibbs X Gibbs' Wife)

Warnings: None, just fluff! Thank you for asking for this!! I haven't written in a while, and it was nice to sit down, watch NCIS, and write something! Hope you like it!! :)

Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

"Have you seen the new director yet?" Tony asked McGee as they sat at their desks during a quick break between doing paperwork.

"No, I can't say I have." McGee answered back, not at all interested in another one of Tony's rambles about a girl. "I doubt she'll be paying any attention to us, though, since it's her first week here."

"Eh." Tony looked around the office, tiring of the conversion, and decided to set his sights on the gorgeous women that had just walked out of the elevator. "Damn..."

This woman dressed in a suit that clung to every curve she had and had black heels that helped elongate her body, making everything sit right where it needed to be. She put everyone women he's been with and all the women at N.C.I.S to shame. She was naturally gorgeous, not to the point where she looked faked, but just enough to catch your breath when you looked at her.

She made her way up to their bullpen and smiled at both men who had watched her walk up, jaws slightly hanging. "Hello, gentleman. Do you know where I might find Special Agent Gibbs?"

Tony stood and flashed his thousand watt smile. "Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. Gibbs is out, but what can I do to help a beautiful woman like yourself?"

"Is this how you greet everyone women who come to the office, oh Very Special Agent DiNozzo?" The woman said with a playful tone.

"Not unless they're you." Which earned Tony a snort from McGee.

The woman walked over to Gibbs' desk and sat down, resting her chin on the back of her hands as she leaned against the desk with her elbows. "I doubt that much to be true, but I'm flattered nonetheless. I don't mind waiting for him, do you know when he'll be back?"

"I would say soon, but with Gibbs sometimes, you don't know." McGee answered before Tony could rely with another flirtatious remark. "Special Agent McGee, ma'am."

"It's nice to meet you, McGee, I've only heard good things about you so far." Both men stared at her questioningly, and she answered before they could ask. "I'm the new director. Call me Liza, for now."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am." McGee said with a short nod.

Tony came up to Gibbs' desk and leaned against it, a smile still on his face. "And have you heard anything particular about me? I can assure you, I have many good qualities."

"Oh, yes, I've heard quite a few things about you, DiNozzo." A small smirk forming on her lips. "One of the top things is how obnoxious your flirting can be."

DiNozzo looked at her with a small amount of shock for a second before replacing with a smile and a small chuckle. "You can't always believe what people say. I guess we just gotta spend some more time together, say how about tomorrow night, 7 o'clock, I'll pick you up?"

Before Tony could hear a reply, a hard slap to the back of the head made him grunt and turn to see Gibbs walking up to the new director and giving her a kiss on the cheek before he turned to Tony to ask, "Are you hitting on my wife, DiNozzo?"

[bejeweledblondie]

Phillip Graves Headcannons

A/N: These are supposed to be somewhat realistic, I lived in Texas for three years on an Army Base & Jesus Christ they’re flooded with plenty of Phillip Graves

Phillip Graves x F! Reader

• You met Phillip while he was on a four-day weekend at a UT vs. Baylor football game

• You were one of the cheerleaders on the sidelines & you caught his eye immediately

• I mean c’mon those shorts & chaps mixed with Pom Poms (The UT Cheer uniform is so stinkin’ cute)

• Your friend pointed him out to you at first

• “Girl that man has been staring at you”

• He was nearly focused on you the entire game, you kept smiling & giggling at him the more he looked

• He found you as you were walking out of the stadium, he asked you out & ofc you said yes

• There’s 100% an age gap (this man’s ego is equally as large as big as Texas)

• If you’re in a sorority he attends the formals with you

• he drives the most lifted extra pick up truck you can imagine

• “Babe can you even see over the damn steering wheel?”

• As you graduate college he proposed to you (with a two carat diamond) & you had a elaborate wedding on his family’s ranch in Texas

• You had multiple wedding dresses designed by Berta bridal

• Surprise Pom dance for him with your cheer teammates

• After the wedding you honeymooned in Italy

• Ofc y’all decided on off post housing so you be able to have every commodity on the planet

• hear me out indoor swimming pool

• Even though you went to college, Graves is a very traditional man he doesn’t want you to work

• You have different hobbies, go to cycle class, shop ofc, get Botox done etc.

• Since he’s a very traditional man I do feel like he’d hold some old fashion views that were engrained in him from childhood

• He’s a religious man to some extent (he’s from Texas there’s no way around that)

• He 100% loves to show you off on & off post

• His Shadows at first were in pure disbelief that he married you, hell some of his Shadows are closer in age to you

• Buys you lululemon work out clothing for the “quality” he loves the way your body looks like those damn align leggings

• You guys do go line dancing & the both of y’all are pretty good at it

• He loves to go to the range to shoot in his free time, & he’s a hunter (I apologize to my fellow animals lovers) but not a trophy hunter

•He conceal carries a handgun at all times

• He makes delicious Deer jerky

• This man collects old Allied WW2 firearms

• He loves History Channel documentaries on WW2

• full on dad stance in front of the tv while watching

• “Honey come look at this!”

• He’s not that old but due to his time in the Marines & current job he does have bad knees, a bad back etc. the cracking his body does is insane

• He does take pills for that & you have to remind him to take them

• Whenever you ask him to read something he whips out his old man glasses

• He is always losing them too, so at work he will wear contacts (no one knows about this at his work)

• “Turn the radio I can’t see”

• He adopted a golden retriever puppy & a German Shepard puppy for you

• They’re your guard dogs when he’s away

• You got pregnant a little bit later in your marriage solely because Phillip was focusing on work a lot in the beginning of your marriage

• He was over the moon excited that you were pregnant

• Your gender reveal was powder inside of a target & be shot at it

• It was blue, you were having a little boy

• He made sure the nursery was set up prior to him leaving

• When you went into labor Phillip was about to go on a mission & it was the most excruciating experience knowing something horrible could’ve happened

• He watched your baby be born on FaceTime. It hurt him to see you upon so much pain & just surrounded by medical staff

• Due to a miscommunication & an ambush he unfortunately got held up

• He didn��t meet your son until a month after you delivered

• He looked at the photo he had of you in his plate carrier in the safe house he was held up in wondering how you & his newborn son were doing

• His Shadows & their significant others gifted you the most beautiful baby gifts once they returned from the missions

• Graves would fall asleep with your baby on his chest in the living room after feeding him in his recliner

• Your son’s little face would be smushed up against Graves’s chest drooling on his t-shirt

• He too would bring your son to work, but once he started crawling (I swear if there’s one thing that will break any hardened military man is a baby)

• Once your little boy is old enough he would play football & baseball

• Graves also helps coach when he can, he too played those sports as a little boy

• He’d also probably take him hunting too & teach him how to live off of the land

• The saying Once a Marine Always a Marine rings true in the Graves’s household

• Just like his old man your little boy joined the Marines

• Graves is a true traditional family man at heart & does everything he can to shield you guys from his line of work

✨NSFW✨

• huge daddy kink, his ego is already big & he loves the idea of you having to rely on him

• Loud office sex whenever you’d visit

• Cockwarming him while he does paperwork

• You’d wiggle around & he’d hold you down

• You went topless in Italy when you went to the beach on your honeymoon, & he constantly was grabbing at your tits

• You adopted the habit of tanning like that in the privacy of your backyard

• Major breeding kink too

• He loves finishing inside of you

• He’ll also use you to take his frustrations out when he’s had a rough day at work

• Lingerie especially red lingerie is his favorite

• He’s 100% a boob man & he’d be happy to pay for fake tits if that’s what you wanted

• You’d 100% wear his cowboy hat while riding him

• He spanks you as a punishment

• You do have sex in the back of his pick up truck under the infamous Texas starry nights

• You two have made so many sex tapes together from all different angles

• He also has so many nudes of you

• One or a couple may have accidentally gotten leaked to his team (this just fed his ego more)

• You’d also probably wear his old marine dress blues for the Marine Corps birthday as you rode him