#trailin

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[malsmind]

“𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞.”

contains ➛ ★ unprotected sex ★ dirty talk ★ pet names ★ big dick!matt ★ dom!matt ★ creampie ★

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

word count: 1.8k

you’d been pushing him all week. the eye rolls. the biting little comments. the short, clipped responses. acting like every word out of his mouth was a burden. he’d let most of it slide—at first. just threw you a look every now and then, that tight-lipped glance that meant cut it out. sometimes with a hand at the small of your back, sometimes with a muttered “fix the attitude.” but tonight? yeah. tonight was the last fucking straw. because you’d done it again—in front of everyone. you’d spent the entire dinner brushing him off, arms crossed, giving him one-word answers like you weren’t sitting beside the man who’d die for you. and he’d warned you, low in your ear as his hand slid around your waist:

“fix the attitude before i do it for you.”

but you didn’t listen. so the second the door shut behind you both back home, it was over. you barely got two steps inside before your back hit the wall with a quiet thud, matt pressed flush against you, both hands braced at either side of your head, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grind.

“you done?” he asked, voice low, rough.

you blinked up at him, half defiant, half breathless. “with what?”

his head tilted, tongue pressing into his cheek.

“don’t play stupid,” he muttered, voice tightening. “you know exactly what.”

his eyes dragged over your face, down to the lips you kept pursing in annoyance all night, then back up again.

“week straight of attitude. talkin’ to me like you don’t even wanna be near me. and then tonight?” his hand slammed flat against the wall beside your head, making your breath hitch. “you think you can embarrass me in front of everyone and i’ll just take it?”

you swallowed hard, heat crawling down your spine.

“what, you gonna yell at me now?” you mumbled, trying to keep the bite in your voice.

but matt just scoffed, dark and humorless, his hand dropping to your hip, gripping it hard enough to make you squirm.

“no,” he said, leaning in close, lips brushing your ear. “not gonna yell.”

he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“gonna fuck that attitude outta ya.”

your breath hitched. he dragged you away from the wall with one hand locked around your wrist, leading you to the bedroom like he was sick of wasting time, like he’d already decided exactly how this was gonna go down. when he shoved you onto the bed, it wasn’t rough—just firm. controlled.

“on your back.”

you hesitated for half a second too long and got a warning look that made your stomach twist. you laid back. matt stood at the edge of the bed, shirt pulled off in one smooth motion, belt unbuckled slow just to make a point.

“you wanna act like a brat, baby?” he muttered, climbing over you, eyes locked on yours. “fine.”

he kissed you hard, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, swallowing the little gasp you let out. “but don’t think for a second you get to run this.”

you barely managed a nod before he was dragging your clothes off, tossing them carelessly to the floor. his hands were rougher than usual—still careful, still him—but full of frustrated tension, like he’d been holding back for too long. and once he was inside you, there was no mistaking it—this wasn’t slow or sweet. he was deliberate. deep, punishing strokes that made your thighs shake, your fingers scramble for something to hold on to.

“still mad at me?” he growled into your neck, hips snapping forward so hard your back arched.

you whimpered, shaking your head, breathless.

“didn’t catch that, baby.”

“n-no,” you gasped.

his lips brushed your jaw. “you gonna keep talkin’ to me like you don’t need me?”

you couldn’t even answer. his rhythm didn’t slow—not until you were trembling beneath him, hands fisting in the sheets, eyes wide and watery.

only then did his mouth soften against your skin, kisses trailing down to your shoulder, his hips easing slightly as he murmured, “there she is. my girl.”

you barely managed a breath.

“next time,” he muttered, voice still rough but steadier now, “you got a problem? use your words.”

you nodded, dazed. he kissed you again, gentler now.

“that’s what i thought.”

you could’ve just laid there. breathless, aching, legs still shaking from how he’d just handled you. you could’ve let the tension melt away, softened under the way matt hovered over you like he wasn’t still pulsing inside you, like he didn’t still have all that fire smoldering behind his eyes. but you didn’t.

you looked up at him—smirk tugging at your lips, voice hoarse—and said, “you done being dramatic?”

matt blinked. a beat. then his jaw set.

“you think i’m bein’ dramatic?” he asked slowly, one eyebrow twitching.

you nodded, eyes glinting with something daring. “mhmm.”

his palm came up to cup your throat—not tight, not dangerous, just enough to ground you in the sharp shift of mood. you knew that look. you loved that look.

“alright,” he muttered, pulling out just to flip you over in one smooth motion. you gasped, barely catching your breath before he gripped your hips, dragging you up onto your knees.

“since you got so much attitude left—lemme take care of it proper.”

you tried to shoot back another snarky comment, but the second he sank back into you, deep and unrelenting, the words died in your throat.

“mhhh, got nothin’ to say now?” he growled, thrusts hard, rhythm brutal. “all that mouth, and now you can’t even talk?”

your hands scrambled forward, clawing at the sheets, your voice caught between a moan and a cry. he was big—he always felt big—but right now, he was everywhere, knocking every breath, every sound, every thought straight out of your body.

“go on, say something else smart,” he taunted, hand coming down hard on your ass, a smack that made your thighs tremble. “or you finally learnin’?”

you gasped, tried to say his name—tried to sass him again, even if your voice shook. but he leaned over your back, chest flush against you, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to hold you down while he fucked you through it.

“nah, baby. you wanted this,” he murmured low against your ear, still relentless. “you wanted to push me. so don’t go gettin’ quiet on me now.”

your knees were giving out, voice cracking, body wrung out and twitching under him. still, you tried. one last push.

“m-maybe if you weren’t so easy to piss off—”

he cut you off with a sharp thrust that made your vision white out.

“what was that?” he snapped, hand curling around your waist to slam into you harder, deeper. “say it again.”

you choked on a moan, body jerking.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought.”

he didn’t stop—pace brutal, control firm, hand gripping your hips like he owned you. it didn’t take long before your cocky defiance fell apart completely, reduced to gasps and broken whimpers, your head turned into the mattress as your body trembled. and finally, when you couldn’t take another second, when your pride cracked like glass under the weight of him, you sobbed it out,

“m’sorry—i’m sorry, matt, i swear—”

his rhythm slowed just enough to let the words land, breath heavy behind you.

“yeah?” he muttered, voice dark and breathless. “you done with the fuckin’ attitude now?”

“yes—yes, promise—i swear—”

“exactly.” his grip tightened. “you don’t fuckin’ talk back at me. not like this. y’got it?”

you nodded frantically, tears hot in your eyes.

“good,” he whispered. and then he kissed your shoulder—soft, sudden. the only softness he gave you.

but it was enough. because you trusted him. and he knew exactly where the line was—and how to pull you back once he’d walked you right up to it. matt’s grip softened just enough for you to breathe. his pace remained relentless, but there was something different now. something deeper. the power in his hands, the way his body leaned into yours, wasn’t about punishment anymore. it was about something heavier—something that tethered you to him in ways words couldn’t explain. you were shaking. your muscles ached, and every inch of you felt alive, stretched, and full of him in the most overwhelming way. you couldn’t quite catch your breath, your chest rising and falling with every thrust that was filling you so completely. you were in that sweet space between surrender and craving—where everything was just a little bit too much, and yet you needed more.

“matt,” you gasped, voice barely more than a whisper, broken and desperate. he heard it, though. he always heard you. always knew when you were on the edge.

his hand slid up your back, pressing you further into the bed, keeping you grounded as his hips surged forward again, rough but calculated. his size was a consuming force, but he used it with purpose, each movement deliberate, forcing your body to adjust, stretch, give in to him.

“y’feel that?” he breathed into your ear, his voice strained with effort but still commanding. “feel how fucking big i am inside you?”

you nodded your head, biting down on your lip to suppress the cries threatening to break free. your body was overwhelmed, but in the best possible way, and the pressure was building—slow and steady, until it was unbearable.

“say it,” he muttered, breath hot against your skin. “tell me how much you love this fuckin’ cock.”

you barely managed the words through the tightness in your throat. “i love it—fuck—matt. s’ so f-fuckin’ good”

he groaned, his thrusts deepening, the rhythm relentless, pushing you toward that final edge.

“good girl,” he muttered. “good fucking girl.”

it wasn’t long after that—when the world went white, and your body tensed as the release hit. everything tightened, your back arching off the bed, your breath catching in a final, desperate gasp as you finally let go. matt followed right after, his own release spilling deep inside you, the tension in his body unraveling as he collapsed over you. he wasn’t gentle as he settled into the bed beside you, both of you panting heavily, slick with sweat, bodies tangled together. for a moment, neither of you moved. the only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized breathing.

finally, matt spoke, voice softer now but still carrying that possessive edge. “you good?”

you let out a breathless laugh, your chest still rising and falling unevenly. “yeah. definitely good.”

he smiled, a small, satisfied curl of his lips. his hand found yours, squeezing gently. “good. i ain’t gonna be so nice next time. swear to god you need to fix that fuckin’ moody shit.”

and in that moment, all the tension, the teasing, the power play—everything—melted away. you were left with nothing but the feeling of him, still close, still real, holding you through the aftermath.

© 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

lace divider by @kodaswrld

[starliis]

(2) milk & honey— sinners.

 pairing

elias "stack" moore & elijah "smoke" moore x black! reader.

 synopsis

one knew better than to look twice at the smoke-stack twins. but ain’t nobody ever said that once they set their eyes on you, it would already be too late. between their rough hands and honeyed lies, you learned real quick— it ain’t no sin if you ain’t plannin’ to repent. you belonged to them now. and they weren’t the kind to truly ever let go.

 warnings

sexual content, in other words smut, childhood lovers, mentions of possessiveness, some pining, romance, infatuation. african american reader; black representation. rooted in the 1930s, language heavy; cursing. written in a southern tone.

•  part one of milk & honey.

Their lips felt like honey—so rich with delicate temptation, soft, but burnin’ with passion.

In the thick of the moment, their hands started roamin', greedy and sure—like they was tryna memorize every inch of you. They always had them big ol' hands, the kind that gripped your thighs like nothin', pushin' your body around like it weighed air. Feelin' their lips on your skin, slidin' over the silk, then findin' yours—it had you moanin' soft, breath catchin' in your throat. The feel of it all was too damn familiar.

"Hol' on," Smoke muttered, glancin' 'round like he was scannin' the treeline. "Not out here."

"Why? You scared, nigga?" Stack let out a low, rough chuckle, that devilish grin stretchin’ across his face as his mouth kept workin’ that sweet, sensitive spot on your neck—slow an’ sinful, like he knew just what he was doin’. He tugged you in closer, strong hands findin’ your waist as he leaned back against the hood of the car, real casual-like. The metal was warm from the engine, but it was nothin’ compared to the heat rollin’ off him—an’ Lord, you could feel that pressure buildin’ in his slacks, plain as day. Firm, thick, and waitin’.

“Don’t need nobody layin’ eyes on her. I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—an’ you damn well know that.”

"Nigga, we ain't playin' when it come to her—,” Stack shot back, smooth as whiskey, eyes never leavin' you. “I’d beat a muhfucka down, no talkin’. Easy.”

Lettin' out a low laugh, you start draggin' a finger slow down your thigh, eyes bouncin' between the two of 'em.

“Y’all talkin’ like I ain’t standin’ right here,” you purred, voice syrupy sweet as molasses. You slipped from their grip, slow and deliberate, pullin’ the shawl from your shoulders and lettin’ it fall to the dirt like it ain’t cost a damn thing. “If they dumb ‘nough to be out here watchin’, then we oughta’ give ’em a lil’ show.”

With a soft grin, you slid the straps of your silk dress down, lettin’ it fall around your ankles, leavin’ you standin’ there in nothin’ but your underthings. Both of ‘em froze. That look in their eyes? Pure trouble. Jaws tight, muscles flexin’, like they were fightin’ every urge not to tear into you right then and there.

“Damn,” Stack pushed off the car, his voice thick when he muttered, “Pretty lil’ thing.”

He swept you up without missin’ a beat, landin’ a sharp smack on your behind that made you let out a startled laugh. He set you down on the hood of the car, the metal still warm beneath your thighs. Then his lips found your skin—trailin’ slow and sure down your front. His mouth was hot, even through the thin fabric, makin’ you shiver where you sat, half-laid out on that shiny, elegant hood like a gift waitin’ to be unwrapped. He nuzzled lower, breath warm, lips pressin’ through the cloth restin’ over your chest. His tongue flicked just enough to pull a gasp from your lips, your hips jerkin’ up toward his mouth like you didn’t have no shame.

Smoke let out a low breath, tension easin’ from his broad shoulders. He stood close, watchin’—dark eyes locked on yours—as his hand reached for yours, thumb drawin’ slow, lazy circles over your skin while he licked his lips like he was starvin’.

Breathless, your head fell back, eyes on the rustin’ roof beams of that old sawmill, breath comin’ shallow and quick. The cicadas screeched louder now, like the world was tryin’ its damnedest to drown y’all out. But it couldn’t. Not over the sounds you were makin’. Not over the feel of their hands on you.

Stack glanced up, eyes dark and heavy, full of heat. “You want this, baby?”

‘Course you nodded—barely though. Couldn’t even find your voice. Your fingers cradled the back of his neck, tuggin’ gentle, but firm enough to tell him yes. That’s when Stack leaned down again, kissin’ a slow trail up your belly, toward your thighs.

“Ain’t no goin’ back now—,” he drawled against your skin, shootin’ one last grin up at you. He hooked the tips of his fingers ’round the edge of your panties, draggin’ ‘em down nice and slow, ‘fore settlin’ in like a man on a mission. “We gon’ ruin ya’ good.”

And Lord, you wanted 'em to.

His dark eyes glazed over at the sight of your glistenin’, pulsin’ little button, soaked and achin’ for attention. He slung one of your legs over his shoulder, then sank right in—tongue teasin’ them folds before slidin’ up to your clit, lickin’ like he’d been starvin’ for you. Every stroke was intense, unhurried, and filled with a kind of reverence that made your breath hitch and a moan slip loose from your lips.

Stack had them strong, calloused hands grippin’ your thighs firm, keepin’ you open for him. That brown skin of yours was soft as sin against his palms, and he groaned low in his throat, mouth still workin’ you like his favorite meal. Ever since the first time, he knew he was addicted—couldn’t get enough of your thighs, couldn’t stay away from bein’ buried between ’em.

A hum rumbled deep in his chest when he felt you rub on his head, your hips twitchin’ as he devoured you, slow and greedy. He loved watchin’ you fall apart—loved the way your pretty little moans echoed off the walls like a hymn. You tasted so damn sweet on his tongue, he was damn near dizzy with it.

“Fuck. Elias.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, refusin’ to come up for air. Didn’t mean he wasn’t watchin’ you though— both of ‘em watchin’ the way your face twisted up in pure pleasure. See, Stack was a student of your body, and he’d learned every little thing that made you melt. Smoke, grew impatient, he leaned against the hood and took a perked nipple in his mouth. Suckin’ and addin’ to your buildin’ pleasure.

Takin’ it like a prayer, chest risin’ with every shaky breath as he slid his middle and index fingers along your slick entrance. And when he worked ’em inside, it was like the world faded out—all that existed was sensation. You arched back, gaspin’ like you were drownin’ in him, beggin’ without words for more.

And Lord, he gave it.

He gave until your thighs were tremblin’, until his chin was glistenin’ with that holy nectar only you could give. He didn’t speak—just looked up at you with them deep eyes full of care and heat. Even with all that hunger, all that want, he still held you like you were precious.

But still, that sober mind of yours couldn’t help but feel a little shy, a little overwhelmed at how easy it was to come undone beneath him. Like he’d seen parts of you too tender, too raw. Like he was worshipin’ you—chastin’ you with every stroke of that tongue.

Smoke had moved in—quiet, steady, his eyes never leavin’ you.

“That’s ‘nough,” he said low, voice smooth like aged bourbon, but firm as steel. “Ya’ got her all warmed up. Now move on ‘long.”

Stack backed off with a smug little smirk, tongue runnin’ over his bottom lip. “Don’t take too long. She already tremblin’.”

And you were. Smug muthafucka. Your thighs, your hands, your breath—all of it flutterin’ like a moth to flame. He was a certified eater, somethin’ different.

Smoke stepped between your legs, thumb draggin’ across your cheek before his fingers slid into your hair, tiltin’ your head just how he wanted it. His gaze searched your face, slow and intense.

“I missed you, Silk.”

That sweetness caught you off guard.

He usually kept his feelin’s locked up tight, like he was scared to let too much show. Sure, he had his vulnerable moments—but this? The way he said it? It weren’t just words. It was low and honest, full of weight. Like it crawled straight outta his soul. You felt it in your chest, breath hitchin’, heart knockin’ hard against your ribs like it recognized somethin’ in him. Like it’d been waitin’ on that exact moment.

He was lookin’ at you different now. Eyes a bit softer. Jaw relaxed. Like he’d finally dropped whatever wall he’d been hidin’ behind. You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinkin’ back a tear you didn’t even know was there.

“I missed ya’ too,” you whispered, pullin’ closer till your chest brushed his. Your hands reached for his face, thumbs grazin’ along his jaw, tender. “So fuckin’ much.”

His arms came around you then—strong, warm, familiar. And for a second, the whole world got quiet. None but him breathin’ into your neck, and you holdin’ him like he might slip away again if you didn’t.

“You trust me?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe.”

“Nah, baby—,” he murmured, leanin’ in so close you could feel the heat of his mouth brushin’ yours. “You gone have to say it.”

“I trust ya’,” you whispered, and that was all he needed.

He kissed you then—deep, claimin’, the kind that made your toes curl. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, the other slidin’ down your back to press you closer, chest to chest. His mouth moved like he knew every part of you already, like he’d dreamed it a hundred times over and now he was finally starvin’ no more.

When he pulled back, your lips felt swollen, dazed, and he just looked at you for a second, real quiet, like he was tryin’ to memorize this moment before he ruined it.“Lay back f’r me—,” he drawled, voice thick as sin and twice as temptin’.

With even hesitatin’, you leaned back, stretchin’ out across that car hood like you belonged there. Moonlight slid over your skin, kissin’ it like silver fire—makin’ you shine just for him.

And Smoke? He got to work quick, fingers unbucklin’ his belt with practiced ease.

“Told ya’, Silk,” he muttered, hand slidin’ down to free himself, his voice low and hungry. “I don’t play ‘bout what’s mine—now lay real still and let me show ya’ just what that means.”

Lawd, it was a sight. Both them men. Built like sin dipped in honey. Shoulders broad, arms carved from hard work, and bodies that knew nothin’ but sweat and fight. Ain’t no fluff on ’em—just muscle, power, and pure heat. But it was what sat between his hips that had you strugglin’ to breathe. Long, thick, and pretty—veins standin’ proud like they was waitin’ for your touch. It pulsed like it remembered you, just as much as your body remembered him.

It’d been a minute since you laid eyes on it, let alone felt it. But your body didn’t care nothin’ ’bout time. Nah, it answered him loud and clear—heat rushin’ through you, thighs shiftin’, breath catchin’. You was embarrassed by how fast your want rose up, but damn if you could help it. You wanted him.

Eager. Desperate. Drenched in need.

And the worst part? He knew. They knew.

Stack was watchin’, strokin’ himself to the sight of you.

He was leaned back against the car, one hand workin’ slow, eyes locked on where Smoke had you laid out like a feast. Lips parted, breath shallow, dick heavy in his grip—he looked damn near feral, but patient. Like he was savorin’ every second before it was his turn.

His eyes traced every curve of you, glintin’ like heat lightning in the dark. “Look at our girl—,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse with want. “Laid out like a blessin’.”

Smoke, then stepped in between your legs, slow and sure, like a man approachin’ his altar. He gripped your thighs, thumbs pressin’ soft circles into your skin, and leaned down—mouth ghostin’ over your lips before he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d missed it. Like he’d been thinkin’ ’bout nothin’ but you since the last time you let him in.

“Ain’t nothin’ else in this world I need more than this right here,” he murmured against your mouth, voice all thick molasses and heat.

Then he slid in—slow, deep, heavy. A groan rumbled out his chest, rollin’ over your skin like thunder as your body stretched around him, pullin’ him in tight. He moved with that Southern patience, like he had all night. Every stroke hit deep, tender and steady, makin’ you whimper, makin’ your eyes roll back.

“Elijah,” you whine softly.

“Mmm-hmm,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, filled with that soft fire. “There she go,” one hand came up to cradle your jaw as he rocked into you. “Look at me, [Name]. Let me see ya’ fall ‘part.”

And you did.

Bitin’ your lip, body tremblin’, you let go beneath him. Let him love you how only Smoke could—full of control, full of reverence. When you clenched ‘round him, cryin’ his name like a prayer, he dipped his forehead to yours, ridin’ it out with you, stayin’ buried deep until every bit of his need poured into you slow and warm.

He pulled back, breathin’ hard, eyes heavy-lidded with affection and heat. But before the sweat even cooled on your skin—

“Move over, nigga,” came Stack’s voice, low and wild with a grin on his lips and sin in his eyes.

Barely catchin’ your breath, this crazy-ass boy went and hooked your leg up high, steppin’ between them thighs like he owned the whole damn place. Stack didn’t ask—he never did. He just took, like the firecracker he was. Picked you up like you weighed nothin’, holdin’ you flush against him, muscles flexin’ under your hands.

He’d always been the wild one—reckless, hungry for life, always lookin’ for the next thrill. And this? This position he had you in? Had you clingin’ to him like a lifeline. Arms wrapped tight ‘round his shoulders, legs locked at his waist, breath hitchin’ as his mouth got busy on your neck—kissin’, suckin’, bitin’ like he was claimin’ you all over again.

His hand slid down, rough and eager, guidin’ that thick wood into your heat—feelin’ every bit of what Smoke had left behind. And Lord, he growled, deep in his throat.

“Damn, ya’ messy,” he laughed, but there was nothin’ but hunger in his voice. “Been thinkin’ ’bout this all damn day.”

He didn’t ease in like Smoke. Nah—Stack hit like fire.

He filled you up with one smooth, greedy thrust, and you damn near lost your mind right then and there.

“Shit,” Stack hissed, head droppin’ to your shoulder as he held you up like nothin’. “You so tight ‘round me—clenchin’ like you missed it.”

And truth be told, you did.

His hands gripped under your thighs, holdin’ you steady while he started movin’—hips rollin’ like waves, not just slammin’ into you, but grindin’, hittin’ deep, hittin’ home. He wasn’t just tryin’ to fuck—he was tryin’ to make you feel it in your bones.

“Shit. Yes,” you moan ‘loud.

“Look at ya’,” he drawled, kissin’ your jaw, your ear, voice thick with pride. “Already shakin’ f’r me, baby. Damn. I ain’t even got started yet.”

He walked you to the side of the car, settin’ your back flat on the hood while his body hovered over yours—all heat and hunger. The stars above flickered like they was watchin’ in awe. Stack ran his tongue down your chest, takin’ his time, suckin’ at every dip of skin like he was memorizing it all over again.

“You know I love ya’, right?” he murmured against your breast, voice crackin’ soft like a secret. “Love how ya’ moan, how ya’ take me, how ya’ let me go wild wit’ it.”

Then he buried himself again, this time rougher—hips smackin’ against you as he let go of all that restraint. His hand reached down to circle your clit, thumb movin’ in perfect rhythm with each thrust, and your back arched clean off the car.

Cryin’ out his name, and he laughed—boyish and breathless.

“That’s right, baby. Say my name, say it loud. Let Smoke hear it too.”

Then you came hard, legs lockin’ around him, body shudderin’ while he kept drivin’ into you like a storm rollin’ through the bayou. Voice gone, body wrecked from one man and bein’ broken in by the next—but you loved it. Loved them. The way they touched you different, but held you the same. Like you were somethin’ precious. Somethin’ theirs.

And Stack? He didn’t stop ‘til he gave you every last drop he had—spillin’ into you like it was his God-given right. Chest to chest, skin sticky with sweat, he collapsed on top of you with a low groan.

“Damn near saw the Lord just now,” he muttered against your collarbone, laughin’ breathlessly.

Smoke came up behind y’all, kissin’ your temple, that slow smile on his lips.

“You good, baby?” he asked, hand slidin’ over your stomach, down to where the mess of love and sweat clung between your thighs.

All you could do was nod, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, heart poundin’.

Because between the two of them—you ain’t never known a love so wild, so deep, so Southern. Your body was still tremblin’, nerves hummin’ from bein’ stretched and filled by the both of ‘em. Sweat clung to your skin, coolin’ in the soft night breeze, and your breath came out in shaky little puffs like you’d just outrun a storm.

Stack was the first to move—he always was. Still catchin’ his breath, he lifted off you careful-like, like he didn’t wanna let go but knew you needed space to come back to yourself. His palm slid over your side, reverent, his touch whisper-light.

“Aight now, c’mon baby,” he said softly, voice deep and syrupy. “Let’s get ya’ cleaned up, yeah?”

He reached into the backseat, grabbin’ one of them soft flannel shirts he always kept around, and gently wiped between your thighs—tender, like you were made of glass. You winced a little, and he stilled.

“I got ya’,” he whispered, kissin’ your knee, your hip, your stomach like he was sayin’ sorry without the words. “I ain’t mean to go so rough—just… damn, I missed ya’.”

Reachin’ down, your hand tanglin’ in his beard, thumb brushin’ his skin.

“I know, baby. Me too,” you murmured.

Smoke came round next, eyes darker now, but soft. He crouched beside the car hood, layin’ a gentle hand on your cheek. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, then your jaw, eyes studyin’ you like you were his favorite book.

“You good, Silk?” he asked, voice quiet, almost boyish. “Need some water? Somethin’ sweet?”

Shakin’ your head slow, still dazed, eyes glossy with love, you answer him softly. “I don’t need nothin’ else. Just y’all. I love y’all.”

Stack came back, slidin’ his strong arms under you like he’d done it a thousand times. Lifted you like you didn’t weigh more’n a breeze, settin’ you gentle in his lap on the old blanket stretched out in the back of the car seats. Your back rested warm against his chest, his heartbeat steady behind you.

Smoke slid in close beside you, stretchin’ out with a little grunt as he curled up at your side. His palm found your thigh, drawin’ slow, soothing circles like he was tryin’ to anchor you right there with him.

Above y’all, the stars were shinin’ like spilled sugar across black velvet—bright, scattered, holy. The cicadas had gone quiet, leavin’ behind nothin’ but the hush of wind and the thump of three hearts beatin’ close.

“We love you too,” Smoke said low, his voice thick like molasses on a warm biscuit. “An’ we gon’ keep on lovin’ you like this… ‘til lonely ain’t nothin’ but a memory.”

Stack leaned down, pressin’ a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, arms still wrapped tight ‘round your waist.

“Our girl,” he murmured against your skin. “Always have been. Always will be.”

And you—tired, full, wrapped in their warmth like a lullaby—just smiled. Sunk deeper into the cradle of their bodies, heart settled, soul quiet. Let yourself drift, safe and loved, right there in the arms of two men who’d burn the whole damn South down for you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

[gweelczz]

“Roots and remedies pt. 3”

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x reader (Honey)

Genre: fluff with a hint of angst (if you squint and tilt ya head)

Warnings: None

Summary: this here is part three to my original post, Stack had asked Honey a question and he wants an answer

The world held its breath.

Stack stayed knelt on the scuffed wood floor, his hands tremblin’ just a little now, holdin’ onto Honey’s like a lifeline.

Honey’s eyes brimmed full, glintin’ like sunlight catchin’ the edge of a river.

Her mouth opened — then closed — then opened again, her chest risin’ and fallin’ fast under her apron, like she was battlin’ a storm inside her own ribs.

She reached up slow, one hand trailin’ against his rough jaw, thumb brushin’ soft over the edge of his mouth — like she was makin’ sure he was real.

“You know what you askin’?” she whispered, voice thick, catchin’ in her throat. “You know what it mean to love a woman like me?”

Stack’s jaw set, heavy with conviction.

“I been knowin’,” he rasped. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world or the next gon’ scare me off you, Honey. You hear me?”

Honey’s hand slid down, thumb pressin’ to the steady beat of his pulse at his throat.

“I’m Black. I’m a woman. I pray to spirits folk call wicked. I sell roots and blessings folk call curses,” she said, voice breakin’ around the edges. “You marry me, Stack… you marry all that.”

Stack squeezed her hands tighter, leanin’ into her touch.

“Good,” he said low. “Then I’m marryin’ a queen. Ain’t nothin’ sweeter in this world.”

Honey let out a choked sound — half a sob, half a laugh — and dropped to her knees right there with him, skirt rustlin’ against the floor.

She cupped his face between her hands, tears slidin’ hot and easy down her cheeks.

“Yes,” she breathed, voice tremblin’. “Yes, baby. I’ll marry you.”

Stack exhaled a heavy, shudderin’ breath, like he’d been holdin’ it for years.

He wrapped her up in his arms, liftin’ her clean off the floor, buryin’ his face against her neck, his heart hammerin’ wild against hers.

For a long while, they just stayed there, breathin’ each other in, the kitchen glowin’ soft around ‘em like a halo.

Finally, Honey leaned back, wipin’ at her eyes with the back of her hand, laugh-shakin’ in his arms.

“You gon’ make me ugly cry in my own kitchen, Stack,” she teased, voice still thick with tears.

Stack grinned, that rare, crooked grin he only ever gave her.

“You already the prettiest thing God ever laid hands on,” he murmured, forehead restin’ against hers.

She laughed again, soft and breathless, and then pulled somethin’ from the deep pocket of her apron.

It was a little silk pouch, stitched with red thread and smellin’ of sage and cinnamon — a new mojo bag, tied just for him.

“For protection,” she said, pressin’ it into his hand. “For every step you take from now ‘til we say ‘I do.’”

Stack took it solemn, tuckin’ it under his shirt, right over his heart, lettin’ it rest against his skin.

“I believe you,” he said simply.

No question. No hesitation.

Just a man puttin’ his faith in the woman he loved — and whatever gods walked beside her.

The juke joint was jumpin’ so hard the walls damn near sweated with the rest of ‘em.

Smoke and Stack’s place — Smokestack— was packed from the front porch to the back door, folks laughin’, stompin’, spinnin’ in wild circles across the sawdusted floor.

The hot Delta night rolled in through the open windows, thick with the smell of fried catfish, corn liquor, and sweet honeysuckle.

Up on the stage along the back wall, Sammie was wringin’ his heart out on the guitar gifted to him by Smoke and Stack— singin’ ‘bout his love for the blues and promises made under the moons.

When he hit that last note, holdin’ it out like he was squeezin’ every drop of pain outta his chest, the crowd roared — clappin’, hollerin’, stomp-clappin’ in rhythm.

Sammie tipped his hat, grinnin’ wide, and stepped back.

The band kicked up a rowdy, boot-stompin’ tune, and couples spun out onto the floor, skirts twirlin’, boots thuddin’, whole room alive like a storm catchin’ fire.

Stack leaned against the bar, hat tipped low, Honey tucked right against his side — one hand restin’ possessive on the curve of her hip.

Smoke nursed a drink next to ‘em, with a stoic expression, Annie tucked under his arm, as she whispered in his ear.

Stack felt the weight of the moment in his chest — all that buildin’, all that waitin’ — and when Honey turned up to look at him, eyes shinin’ in the dim light, he knew it was time.

He lifted two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle that cut through the music clean as a knife.

The band stumbled to a halt.

Heads turned, folks quietin’, lookin’ toward the bar.

Stack pushed off the counter, Honey still at his side, and stepped into the open space in the middle of the floor.

The light swung overhead, throwin’ long shadows on the wood.

Sammie clapped him on the back with a wink and a grin, then leaned in and said low so only Stack could hear,

“Go on, cousin. Tell ‘em.”

Stack adjusted his vest, thumb hooked lazy in his pocket, and cleared his throat once.

“Evenin’,” he drawled slow, voice cuttin’ clean through the chatter. “Ain’t gon’ keep y’all from dancin’ too long.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.

Stack took Honey’s hand in his, liftin’ it up where everybody could see the shine of the ring he’d slid on her finger two nights ago.

Honey bit her lip, cheeks glowin’ warm, but she didn’t pull away.

Stack’s voice dropped lower, firmer, carryin’ like a Sunday morning sermon.

“This woman right here — this is mine. Ain’t no ifs, no maybes, no halfway about it.”

A murmur rolled through the room — some women fannin’ themselves, some men noddin’, a few folks clappin’ already.

Stack grinned, slow and proud, the kind of grin that made men step aside and women lean closer.

“And in two weeks’ time,” he said, “we gon’ be man and wife.”

The place exploded — cheers, whistles, glasses lifted high.

Annie whooped loud enough to shake the rafters, grabbin’ Smoke’s arm and bouncin’ on her toes.

Sammie jumped back up on the stage, strummin’ a raucous chord, and hollered,

“Y’all heard the man! Let’s dance for love tonight!”

The band launched into a wild, thumpin’ tune, and just like that, the floor was alive again — but now folks dancin’ with even more fire, celebratin’ like they was kinfolk at a family feast.

Stack pulled Honey in close, hand splayed strong and sure against the small of her back.

“You sure you ready to marry a roughneck like me?” he teased low in her ear, voice all heat and honey.

Honey laughed, pressin’ closer so he could feel the warm curve of her body against him.

“I was born ready,” she whispered back.

They spun slow in the middle of the chaos, the world fallin’ away until it was just the two of ’em — a man, a woman, and a love tough enough to burn through hell itself.

Previous Chapter

[b1eedthefreak]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Blue Hair

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: you loved daryl, he loved you, but he couldn’t let himself feel.

⌇warnings: angst angst angst

⌇word count: ~4.6k

a/n the request i got was if i could write based on the lyrics of blue hair “i guess ill just miss her, even though she isn’t really gone. things are just different.” <3 (notice how i made the title blue instead of pink? haha get it blue hair— ok ill stop..)

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It was supposed to be a simple run. A trip outside the gates for medicine, maybe some canned peaches, and whatever else they could find for the pantry. You and Daryl had done this countless times. He scouted, you kept track, made sure nothing got missed. You loved it. You loved any excuse to be near him, in the woods, on the road, or even driving back in silence with the sun warming his cheek. It was simple with him. Or maybe it used to be.

The day turned on its head somewhere between the old gas station and the back lot of a feed store. You weren’t paying attention, you saw a box of vitamins in a tipped-over cart and bent to grab it. You didn’t even hear them coming. Daryl did.

One guy had a knife pressed to your throat. Another was patting your pockets. It all ended in seconds… blood on the pavement, Daryl breathing hard, crossbow still aimed.

You looked at him with wide eyes, whispering, “I’m okay.”

But he didn’t take your hand. Didn’t ask if you were sure.

Instead, he exploded.

“What the hell were ya thinkin’?!” His voice was sharp, louder than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t ever look around, do ya? Always trailin’ after me like some damn dog. You even know how to protect yourself?”

You stood there, frozen.

“I ain’t always gonna be there, y’know!” he growled. “One day— one day I ain’t gonna make it in time. Then what?”

You said nothing.

And that was the last word between you both until you made it back to Alexandria.

The gates opened with a low groan and Aaron greeted you with a wave. “Hey! You two find anything good?”

You nodded faintly, holding a box of fruit. Daryl said nothing.

As you walked toward the pantry, Aaron clapped Daryl on the shoulder. “Man, I swear. You’re lucky. She’s sunshine.”

Daryl didn’t answer. Just turned and walked off toward the infirmary, needing space, needing anything but the echo of his own anger in his ears.

An hour passed. The sun was lower. And when he made his way back to the house you shared, the silence was deafening.

He climbed the stairs, expecting the quiet hum of your voice, maybe you brushing your hair or folding laundry like you always did when you were trying to settle your nerves.

Instead, he found you packing.

Your dresser drawers were open. Your bag half zipped. Your small stack of books was already tied together with string.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, voice low, heart thudding in his ears.

You looked at him. Calm. Tired. Empty.

“I’m leavin’,” you said simply.

He frowned. “Leavin’? Where the hell you gonna go?”

“I’m staying in Alexandria,” you clarified softly. “Just not here.”

You picked up a blouse and folded it carefully. “Daryl… I love you. But I’ve spent every day trying to reach a version of you that won’t let me in.”

He shook his head, confused, defensive. “I let you in.”

“No,” you said, gently. “You didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, eyes glassy but strong.

“You won’t let yourself feel anything, not really. You carry the whole world on your shoulders and forget that maybe I want to carry some of it too. But every time you push me out. Every time you explode or shut down or pretend I’m not someone you can lean on.”

He tried to step toward you, but you stepped back.

“I understand why you are the way you are. I do. You’ve lost people. You think if you stay hard, you’ll survive. But love isn’t weakness, Daryl. And I can’t keep being a stone next to someone who’s scared to feel.”

His jaw clenched. “I have to be strong.”

“I never asked you not to be.”

“I ain’t the boyfriend you want.”

Tears were slipping down your cheeks now.

“You’re the man I want,” you whispered. “But I can’t beg you to want me the same way back.”

He raised his voice then. “I do! I just— I can’t— You want me to sit here feelin’ everything all the time? People die, alright? Everyone we know — they could be gone tomorrow! So yeah, I shut it off. I have to.”

You stepped toward him, placing your hand on his cheek.

“Then I hope one day, you realize that loving someone doesn’t kill you, Daryl. It saves you.”

You kissed his cheek and walked toward the stairs.

He followed. “Where the hell are ya goin’?!”

“I told you.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your elbow.

“Leave then,” he snapped, more out of fear than anger. “I never needed anyone! Been fine by myself!”

You paused at the door, looking back one last time. “I know.”

Then you left.

The door shut behind you.

And everything fell silent.

Daryl stood there for a long moment. Then something cracked. He stumbled back, hand in his hair, chest heaving, and knocked the side table clean over. A glass shattered. A lamp hit the floor.

He sank to his knees and cried. For the first time in years, he cried.

—

Three months later,

You still lived in Alexandria. You had your own little cottage now near the gardens. You opened a bakery with Carol’s help. Cookies, breads, muffins, it was the coziest thing in the whole community.

People smiled when they saw you. You smiled back. You were okay.

Daryl watched from afar.

He never left Alexandria, but he never tried to talk to you again either. He wasn’t sure you’d want him to. He wasn’t sure he’d even know what to say.

He passed you sometimes. Once you were helping Judith decorate cupcakes. Another time you were sweeping your porch, music playing low from a small solar radio.

You looked happy.

He tried to be happy too.

And then one day, he went on a run again. Alone.

While sitting around a fire with a few good people they’d met, someone asked, “You ever lose someone?”

He stared at the flames for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I did. I miss her.”

“What happened?”

He paused. Picked at the label of a water bottle.

“She ain’t really gone,” he said, voice rough. “But things’re just… different now.”

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to.

The fire cracked, and Daryl sat back.

And somewhere, deep down, he wished he’d just let himself feel.

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[rav1377]

Not There!

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish x fem!reader

tw:more smut guys ;), piv, anal, Johnny being Johnny, fighting, biting, squirting, etc.

lmk if I leave anything out!! pt3 of the But Sir! series

p1 But Sir!…p2 Call the Fire Department!

you’re lounging in Simon’s office, perched on his lap, working on Kyle’s report. John’s sat on a couch against the wall, reading a thick book. A hand traces up and down your clothed spine.

“reckon you oughta go visit our boy Johnny. think ‘e’s got some paperwork for you, luvie.” Simon rumbles behind you. you whine, “he’s always behind on his paperworkkkk.” your head slumps down to the table and you pout for a few moments before John growls out, “go. visit. Johnny.” your bottom lip juts out and you sit up, opting to recline against Simon’s thick thighs. he smirks, pressing his lips behind your ear. “‘e’s been slacking off, ‘as he? might need to teach him a lesson?” you chuckle but your smile drops once John rises. his heavy steps echo as Simon rotates the chair to face him. you curl inwards into Simon’s arms that are still wrapped around you. John lets out a whistle that apparently means something, because Simon’s arms immediately drop from your waist. John leans in close, unbuttoning the first two buttons of your blouse before leaning in and pinching your left nipple, hard. you mewl, bucking on Simon’s lap. “you’re going to be good and go get Johnnys paperwork, yeah?” John growls, pinching until you nod vigorously, and lets go, smirking. “that’s what i thought.” he smiles and pokes your nose before grabbing your arm, pulling you onto your feet, sending you out of Simon’s office with a slap on your ass.

you scoff, buttoning up your blouse before rolling your eyes. “get his paperwork, my ass.” you mumble. maybe you could if you could find the man. Johnnys office was locked, and he wasn’t anywhere to be found. you’d checked the break room, the other men’s offices, and the mess hall. usually his normal haunts. one last place to check, the gym. you push open the doors and are hit with the stench of musk, sweat, and traces of blood. it’s empty at this late hour, but you hear men’s grunts coming from a boxing ring tucked into the corner of the gym. walking over, you’re relieved to find Johnny and Kyle sparring with each other, shorts hung low on their hips. you’re entranced how they move, they dance on the balls of their feet, jabbing at each others faces. blood drips down Johnnys nose and seeps into the black mouthguard he wears, causing his teeth to be visible. he gets in a good slug to Kyle’s face, and the other man stumbles backwards towards you.

Johnny grins, it looks almost grotesque and animalistic. he finally sees you, and his eyes go wide, pausing his movements. Kyle gets right back at it, but stops when he sees Johnny’s stopped. Kyle looks back at you, your plump figure staring at them. the dark haired man lets out a breath through his nose and pulls out his mouthguard. “hey darling, what you doing here?” he grins, bending the rings straps so he can exit comfortably. Johnny stays unmoving, panting through his nose, eyes looking straight at you. you’re convinced he looks even more like an animal now.

Kyle walks up to you, leaving some distance between y’all. “uhm, i need Johnny. have some papers i need to get from him.” you say, but your words are shy and hesitant. Kyle cocks his head at you, and turns back to call at Johnny. “hear that, you mutt? told you your paperwork was late!” he laughs and takes off his gloves and guard, stowing them safely in his duffle bag at his feet before throwing on a sweatshirt over his chest. (thank god, you were trying not to get caught staring. spoiler, he caught you anyway.) “well, i’ll leave you two to it.” he smirks knowingly and presses a sweaty kiss to your cheek before walking out of the gym. once you here the door close, you look up at Johnny who is still panting like a dog in the ring, a combination of drool and blood dripping down his chin, trailing to his hairy chest. his mohawk is damp, and hangs limply in strands from all the sweat. he gestures at you with two fingers, beckoning you into the ring. so like a lamb to a slaughter, you go, lifting up the side of the ring and walking to him, stopping just an arms length away.

he doesn’t say anything, just stares hungrily at you, and your body. you shift uncomfortable in your skirt and heels, not sure what to do. you get the feeling that paperwork isn’t the only reason Simon and John wanted you to seek out Johnny, or the reason Kyle left you alone so quickly. you opt instead to look down, eyes inspecting his hairy calves and the slight tan line on his ankles. “i can just go too. sorry for interrupting. didn’t think this was how this was gonna go…” you murmur. that’s when Johnny makes his move, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you towards him, pressing his lips to yours. his hands snake to hold either side of your neck as you try to flinch away out of instinct. his mouthguard makes the kiss awkward, the rubber clashing against your teeth, but you’re not complaining. he picks you up by the waist, and your thighs hook on top of his hips before he sinks down to his knees, and lays you flat on your back.

Johnny finally rips the mouthguard away, and shoves his tongue back into your mouth and you mewl when it feels like it’s too much. his large hands make quick work of your blouse, unbuttoning it pushing it off your shoulders, and he’s quick to do the same with your bra. he growls into your mouth as he rucks his hand up your skirt and yanks down your knickers. you learned after your encounter with John not to wear tights anymore. you move your hands down to shimmy out of your skirt but he pins them above you. “no.”he growls against your teeth. “that little skirt of yers steys on.”he says before flipping you over onto your stomach, tits pressed into the dirty floor of the ring. you’re beginning to feel out of it, focused on what Johnnys doing, rather than where you are. your hips still sit on his thighs practically, but your knees are spread outwards, casing his legs together. you look back at him, only to see him shucking his shorts, revealing his lack of anything underneath. he’s already solid and slicked up from all the sweat. the panic of him trying to do this with no prep enters you, but vanishes as you see him get lower to the ground, and forcing you up more, before placing his bloody mouth on your cunt. your head drops down, and you face forward, burying your face in your arms. he licks for a solid few minutes, throughly coating you in slobber and blood, but you’re too blissed out to care. he pulls away and kisses your lower back, right where soft hair grows and peeks out of your low rise skirt.

you hear him gather spit in his mouth before the sound of it makes contact with his hand, and he spreads his length with it, before pressing his mushroom tip inside you. “nghh-jeez, bonnie, ye take Price and Ghost and yer still so taight.” your ego swells at that and you push back on him, past the initial pain to get him in further. “och-i ken, lass. i’ll fill you up.” he murmurs before pushing in harshly, causing you to yelp. but before you know it, he’s bottoming out and you're a moaning mess. he throws his head back and laughs. “ye don’t ken how long ah wanted this, bonnie.” he groans, and he begins rutting into you like there’s no tomorrow. his chest presses into your back, and the bloody drool mixture rubs into your clean skin. you’re clamping on him, causing him to just stay even more encouraged, thrusts short and hard, bullying the sensitive spot in you. “oh-god-mmph…please please Johnny, c’mon, lemme come, please” you whine, legs about to give out. “cmon then, it’s all yers, do it then.” he growls, reaching a hand down to rub out your release as you scream. his left hand is right in front of you, and you bite his wrist to muffle the sound. he merely grunts, not losing his pace at all. you hear him groaning behind you, and he twitches inside before pleading with you, “let me fill you up bonnie, please?” he’s using his manners so well after all, and you pull away from his wrist, inspecting the blood dripping from the wound before crying out, “yes, Johnny, all yours!” and shaking as he fulfills his promise. his jaw goes slack and you feel drool dripping onto your right shoulder. if you looked back, you’d see his cunt-drunk face and glazed over eyes. he almost looks pathetic really, just how he does when he’s taking Price or Ghost.

that gives him an idea. you’re shaking from the high of it all, and he leans back, hands spreading apart your ass before letting a glob of drool hit your other hole. you on the other hand, still don’t comprehend what he’s doing quite yet. he rubs it around for a moment before pulling out of you, and presses his soaked member against the puckered hole, pushing in. that’s when you feel the intrusion, and you gasp, rearing your head back at him. “not there!” you cry out but it’s too late. he pushed in halfway already and your squirming, scrambling away from him. you manage to almost get off of him but he growls before yanking you back on him, leaning on his haunches before pulling you all the way down on his cock, causing you to moan out in pleasure and pain. he grins, and his right hand comes up to clear sweaty hair from your face, and finally curls around your neck. his fat bicep sits right in front of your mouth, so you bite down firmly, and keen as you hear him groan, thrusting into your hole even more. god it does hurt, but you just feel too good at the same time.

tears do fall from your eyes though, and you begin to sniffle, thrashing in his grip. he then takes pity on you, remembering what it was like his first time. still he keeps you planted firmly, it hurts less if you don’t move. “oi. none o’ that, bonnie.” he murmurs in your ear before bringing his left hand down over your cunt. you mewl out, and bounce on him slightly. he presses his forehead to your shoulder and screws his eyes shut. “ng-ah! yer so bloody tight, bonnie.” tears continue to spill down your cheeks at the stretch, and you let out a sob as he rubs your clit furiously. you’re getting used to the sensation of having this hole filled and you start to bounce on him tentatively. he loosens his grip at your motions and lets you work, pushing up to meet you. your so so close to the edge again, now firmly bouncing on him, the whole thing pleasurable due to his fingers practically vibrating on you. he feels it too, picks up on the little noises you make. “c’mon then, come on me, know ye want to.” he grunts, and slaps your cunt again, before you release, he growls before digging his sharp canines into your shoulder, spilling into your hole. you groan lowly at the whole ordeal, feeling your own blood drip down your chest and over the curve of your tits.

he finally lets go and flips you onto your back again, pulling out slowly as to be careful. “ye ever have anything in there before?” he asks into your neck. you shake your head no. he tuts and slowly pushes into your now absolutely soaked cunt. “ye deserve an extra reward then, did so so good. better than my first time. ah couldn’t stop cryian like a wee lad.” he bottoms out and fishes his fingers to our overstimulated clit, rubbing slow circles. you gasp, and buck onto him again, but no words leave your mouth. closed closer closer is all you can think. he begins grunting again as you both approach impending release. he digs his nose behind your left ear and the skin between his shoulder and neck is exposed right to your waiting mouth. the coil in your lower stomach builds up again, and you swear your going to have abs after this, muscles screaming at you.

your release finally hits you and you lean forward, digging your teeth into his pale freckled skin, drawing more blood as your eyes screw shut and something just feels different about this one. it’s so much more and it’s so wet, you feel too good and start to shake before you see white, mouth releasing Johnny and eyes rolling back into your skull, and your head hits the mat. Johnny lets out an animalistic noise as he feels you clench around him, harder than before, and he feels why. you’re squirting around him, and he buries himself in you so you can’t push him out, shoving his cum so deep inside you he swears it’s in your womb already. when he hears your head hit the mat he thinks you’re just riding it out as well, and he rolls his hips into you a few more times as your aftershocks squeeze him dry. he pants into the side of your neck before pulling back and looking at your pretty face.

“oh christ!” he cries at your closed eyes. his hands immediately find your face and he panics. you’re out cold. he pulls out and gives some small shake to your head, still nothing. “ach ahm in trouble now.” he growls before standing up and reaching out of the ring for his backpack, digging for his phone. his legs are so shaky, but he gets back to you, petting your hair back, dialing Price’s number. John picks up after the second ring. “what happened?” John’s rough voice asks. Johnny brings the hand to the back of his neck. “erm-she sort of uh-passed out…” he practically mumbles the last part but Price hears him enough, hanging up the phone and storming out of his office. Simon and Kyle look at each other from the couch before following their captain.

when they finally reach the gym, they’re hit with the scent of pure sex and blood. Price lets out a groan and jogs over to the boxing ring, quickly stepping in. you’re covered in blood, spit, and sweat. Johnny looks about the same. he inspects your sweet form, and leans over your head, checking if you’re even breathing, it seems you’ll be alright though. “jeez Johnny, you really put ‘er through the ringer.” Kyle says, smirking. you’re tough, he knows you’ll be okay. Johnny moans helplessly, still bare, and covers his face in his hands. “ah didn’t mean tae! it was going olright until the end! she squirtead and just passed out!” Johnny continues to blubber and tears well in his eyes. “i did nae mean to hurt ‘er, I didn’t ken!” they threaten to spill over, he feels awful that he hurt you. Simon pats his head. “you're alright, she’s fine.” he says, throwing Johnnys shorts at him. Kyle’s practically dying trying to hold back his laughter, fist pressed against his mouth. John finally manages to get you to awake, (he shoved a flask of strong whiskey under your nose.) and you groan. Johnnys eyes shoot up and he clambers over to you, now (somewhat) clothed.

John helps you sit up, rubbing at your shoulders and cooing in your ear, praising how well you did, how good you behaved for Johnny, doing your sweet little job so well, taking him so nicely! Johnnys spewing apologies at you immediately. “ahm so sorry hen! i did nae mean it, ah wasn’t paying attention, please you got to believe me hen, ah will make it-“ he’s cut off when you press your plush lips to his salty ones. he groans into the kiss and Kyle attempts to hide his growing length. Simon simply looks on quietly, arms crossed. John chuckles, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “Johnny did that good, huh? made you pass out on his cock?” you nod, mouth still connected to Johnnys. “uh-huh, so good.” you bite his bottom lip and he gasps. Johnny retreats and blushes. “sorry.” he whispers out one more time.

“right. get her cleaned up and bring her back to your office. you got some paperwork to catch up on.”John says, picking you up underneath your knees, too weak and sensitive to walk on your own. Johnny rises as well, and takes you from his captains arms. you nuzzle into his neck, smiling at the bright red bite mark you left. you begin to lick it clean, blood staining your tongue. “och-none of that, you heard the captain.” you smirk as the two of you walk to the showers and the rest of the team to Johns office.

Johnny takes his time cleaning you, making sure every inch of you is wiped of sweat and blood, and cleans any open wounds you might have. you reciprocate, and spend extra attention on washing his hair, giggling as you make his mohawk stand up pin straight with shampoo. Johnny merely rolls his eyes and shakes it off like a dog. “Kyle was right, you are a mutt.” he guffaws and turns off the shower, reaching for a towel to dry you off. “aye, but ahm yer mutt now.” you grin up at him as you pats your hair (mostly) dry. ever prepared (thanks to Simon), he has an extra pair of boxers, drawstring shorts, and a way too big SAS tee with ‘Riley’ on the back for you to put on. Johnny slips your soiled discarded skirt that’s covered with both of your juices in his backpack before slipping on some clean clothes of his own. y’all walk out of the showers clean, both sporting red bite marks that will definitely scar on your necks in a week or so. you take Johnnys right hand in your left and make your way to his office. as you walk, his gaze drifts to his left wrist, where another bite mark lays. he might just get that inked up tomorrow, permanent reminder of who he belongs to now.

[zenniefox]

yote trailin'

commission from twitter!

[slowdrawl]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader|

| 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 8: Tomorrows Problem | wordcount |3.8k| {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | we're picking up from the bar fight and shit is about to get even more real, messier, tell me if you like it so I have motivation to keep this thang going plz.

“I’m not scared of much, but I’m fuckin’ terrified of this, of loving you. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, fighting, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, intoxication, strong language, emotional vulnerability, age gap dynamics, possessive sex, guilt, mentions of grief, cum play, spit, grinding. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory

Your voice cuts through, hoarse and jagged. Joel and Tommy don’t budge. Joel’s got Tommy’s collar twisted in his fist, knuckles white, gaze scorching under the cap’s brim. Tommy’s smirking, taunting, chest puffed like a rooster. The bar’s dead quiet. Neon hums louder than the crowd, every drunk asshole staring, waiting for blood.

This is humiliating.

Joel’s jaw grinds, grip tightening. “You’re done, Tommy. Back the fuck off.”

Tommy laughs, low and nasty, shoving Joel’s hand away. “Done?” he pulls out his cellphone, holding it up to Joel, “Maybe I’ll call him now.”

Joel’s stare flares, pain and rage cracking. He throws a hook, catching Tommy’s jaw, sending him staggering into a stool, his phone sliding across the floor. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Joel snarls, voice snapping.

Tommy, spitting blood, shakes it off and then swings a punch, gloating still. “Why not? You’re fallin’ apart over her, sad old bastard. Sarah’d be real proud, her dad droolin’ over her little playmate, bet she’d puke.”

Oh, shit.

Your gut twists, breath catching. You lunge, shoving Tommy hard. “Leave her out of this!” Your voice cracks, hands slamming Joel’s chest next. “And you, back the fuck off!” Joel’s rigid, glaring past you, ready to snap.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Tommy leers, wiping his lip. “Ask him, Bird. Ask why he’s trailin’ you like a lost dog. Your daddy picked him to watch you, not fuck you. Ain’t that a twist?”

Joel’s eyes lock on you, fierce and wild, desperation spilling out. Jesus Christ. You glare back. 

Tommy keeps taunting him, “What, Joel? Spit it out or get out.” Tommy’s on him again, shoving harder.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy. Stop,” you snarl, pushing him again. “Don’t drag them into your bullshit.” Joel just stands there, shaking his head. You can’t quite tell if he’s giving up or if he’s just restraining himself at this point. Either way, seeing him act calm all of a sudden is even scarier.

The bouncer’s moving, big guy with a shaved head, pushing through. “Break it up, now!” he barks, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder. You put your hands on Joel's chest, heart slamming. “Enough, Joel, go!” He stumbles back, pushing your hands off of him.

“Get off me,” Tommy snaps, shrugging the bouncer off, still sneering. “He started it, fuckin’ has-been.”

Joel’s breath’s ragged, hands shaking. “You’re a goddamn punk,” he mutters, turning away.

Damn liar.

The bouncer glares. “Another fucking word and I call the cops.”

Tommy laughs, bitter. “Run, Joel. Let Kev sort you out, bullet’s got your name on it.”

Joel doesn’t even look at you, storms toward the door, shoving through. You’re stuck, legs locked, pulse racing, Tommy’s arm brushing yours like nothing happened.

“Get the fuck away from me,” you snap, pushing him off. The bar buzzes again, band kicking in, voices rising, but you can’t drink this away.

//

You’re left standing there, whiskey sour in your gut, Joel’s shadow gone but thick. Tommy slings an arm around you, pulling you back to the table. “Fuck him,” he says, grinning, blood on his lip. “Can’t believe he thinks he’s got a chance. let’s drink.”

Fuck.

You sit, numb, as he waves down more shots. Whiskey glints neon-red, you knock one back, throat burning, head spinning. Tommy’s hand’s on your knee, heavier, sliding up. “Told ya I’d fix you, Bird,” he murmurs, leaning in, breath hot.

You force a laugh, but it’s hollow. Joel’s wild stare flashes. I’m fuckin’ haunted by you. You shove it down, grab another shot, down it fast. Tommy matches, grinning like he’s winning, but you’re vibrating. His touch feels wrong, too light against Joel’s.

“See?” Tommy says, wiping his mouth. “He’s outta your hair, my turn now.”

I think the fuck not.

You lean back, trying to ignore it,let the buzz take over instead. It’s not working, Joel’s words   echoing with every pulse, flashbacks of him desperate on top of you last night playing in your head. Tommy pulls you to the dance floor, even gruffer this time, off beat. You sway, half-there, his hands tugging close, whiskey and sweat, no fire. The crowd blurs, but you’re sinking, not burning Joel out.

What the fuck am I doing?

Tommy’s lips graze your neck. You tense. “You’re mine tonight,” he murmurs, like it’s settled. You laugh, bitter, pushing him back a fraction. He doesn’t let go.

“Chill, Bird,” he says, smirking. “Ain’t no old man here to cockblock me now.”

Screw you too.

You’re dizzy, booze, tension, Joel’s snarl. Tommy’s hands feel like chains. You shove harder and stumble back, catching your breath. He laughs, grabbing your wrist, pulling you in. “Where ya goin’?”

“Let go,” you snap, voice low, yanking free. His grin falters, eyes narrowing.

“What’s your deal? Do you want me, or you plannin’ on fuckin’ him instead?”

Is there a third option? Can I have that?

You’re spiraling, Joel’s “I can’t stop,” Tommy’s ���she’s mine,” Dad’s trust, Sarah, all crashing in. You turn, headed for the bar, needing air, something. Tommy follows, slower, muttering, “Fuckin’ tease.”

You lean on the counter, order water. The bartender slides it over, eyeing you up and down. “Rough night?” he grunts.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mutter, gulping it down, head pounding. Tommy’s back, arm brushing yours, but you’re done. Joel’s weight’s too loud, Tommy’s too shallow.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, cutting the haze. You fish it out, hands unsteady. Screen glows, two new texts.

(10:15 PM) Sarah: Hey babe, u free tomorrow? You ghosted me—need to catch up, miss u xo

Fuck.

(10:40 PM) You: sorry sarbear, been busy. Facetime me in the am? We can do video brunch lol

Your gut twists, her laugh, Joel’s mouth crashing together. You swipe to the next.

(10:35 PM)Dad: Where u at, Tweety? Heard there’s trouble at Sam’s—u ok? Okay Austin ain’t that fuckin’ small, who’s calling him from here? Actually, who cares, not doing this tonight

(10:42 PM) You: I’m just leaving everythings fine, call you tomorrow. Love u most xo

Tommy’s behind you, hand on your shoulder, leaning in. “Who’s that?” he says, smirking. You’re frozen. Joel’s gone, Tommy’s here, Dad’s voice creeping in. You're overwhelmed, overstimulated, over it.

Fuck this noise.

You shove the phone into your pocket, and turn to Tommy. His grin fades. “I’m leaving,” you mutter, voice flat, pushing past. He just stares, eyes narrowed like he’s pissed, like he really thought you’d end up staying after that stunt earlier. You turn, headed for the door, letting his “Fuckin’ tease” trail you out. The crowds parting too slow. You shove through it, crashing through the double doors into the night air, sharp and biting. bar noise fading behind you, you stop short. Joel’s still here, leaning against his truck, cap off now, staring down. His head lifts, his gaze locking yours, loaded.

Of course he’s still here.

“Are you fuckin’ waiting for me?” you snap, voice slicing the quiet lot. He straightens, jaw tight.

“Get in,” he says, low, nodding to the passenger side.

“Piss off,” you fire back, stepping closer. “I’m not your damn kid to drag home, cowboy.”

“You’re drunk,” he mutters, steady. “Ain’t leavin’ you with him.”

You laugh, bitter. “What, gonna find somewhere else to embarrass me? Always fuckin’ there, just go already.” He doesn’t respond, just walks around to the passenger side and opens up the door. “You guys are fucking crazy, making a scene like that, pathetic.”

His stare narrows, a possessive edge flickering. Tommy’s hands burn in his glare. “Get in,” he repeats, voice firm, sober as stone. You glare, fists clenching, buzz fading but blood hot. Tommy’s “Who’s that?” bites. Fucking whatever, you stomp over, climb in, slamming the door hard.

Bullshit.

Joel gets in, starts the engine, and pulls out slow. The cab’s silent, just the rumble and faint country static. His knuckles whiten on the wheel, focused. Streetlights blur past, clock ticking toward 11. You stare out, his weight from earlier pressing your mind. You clamp your thighs together, hating yourself for the ache.

“Whats your deal?” you mutter, venom seeping. “Why can’t you stay away?  Fuckin’ shadow.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, jaw ticking. “Ain’t about stayin’ away,” he says, clipped. “You’re pullin’ me back, Bird, every damn time, told you that.”

“Then stop comin’,” you say, turning. “All talk, ‘mistake’ this, look at the stunt you pulled. What’s that say?”

He glances, stare searing, then ahead. “Says I’m fucked,” he mutters, low and gruff, leaving it there. The silence stretches, your pulse loud, his presence a furnace you can’t dodge.

Yeah, right there with you, pal.

The truck rolls up to your place, dark and empty, Dad’s in Dallas, no one to stop this. You stumble out, head clearing, even more pissed, even more brave. Joel follows you like a stupid puppy. You turn on him under the porch light, shadows sharp.

“Go to bed, Joel,” He’s at the steps, pulling a flask from his jacket, cracking it open, taking a slow pull, whiskey in the air.

“Ain’t leavin’ you like this,” he says, stepping closer, eyes locked. “Not after that.” Your phone buzzes in your bag, a sharp jolt cutting through the haze—Dad or Sarah, you’d bet, someone sniffing out the mess Tommy’s probably already spilling. Who cares.

You laugh. “Like what? Done with your games? After Tommy? Fuck, you are a jealous old man. Go break someone else. Just leave.”

He grabs your arms, pulling you close, breath hot against your face. “Just listen to me,” he says, voice breaking, raw and low. “I don’t wanna ruin this—ruin you. But I’m runnin’ scared, ‘cause if I don’t, I’ll hurt everyone, it’s what I do, Bird.” You wrench free, stepping back, tears stinging your eyes. “So you kiss me, fuck me, then vanish—think that’s fair, Joel? You think I don’t understand the risks here? What even am I to you, an Itch you can’t scratch?” You shake your head, choking back the tears, angry. “Why are you even here.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then drags a hand through his hair. “Cause I want you, Bird. I see you with him—Tommy, anyone—and it’s like a knife in my gut.” He walks back over to you, grabbing your wrists now, gentle and says  “I’m not scared of much, but I’m fuckin’ terrified of this, of loving you. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Oh. Did he? I mean he did but he didn’t, but he… You freeze, the words sinking in, chest tight with a sob you won’t let out. “Stop fighting it, that’s what's fucking this up, Joel,” you whisper, grabbing his shirt, yanking him inside. “Stop runnin’ and show me that you want this.” You stumble down the hall, his boots thudding behind. He kicks the door shut, flask hits the floor—spilling, tomorrow’s problem. You stumble up the stairs, no need to think about the creaky step.

//

You’re on him in the bedroom, hands clawing at his flannel, tearing it off his shoulders as the hat falls somewhere behind him, leaving his curls a wild mess. His shirt snags on his arms, and he yanks it free, chest bare, skin flushed from the night. You rip your tank over your head—no bra tonight—and the air hits your skin, cool against the heat rolling off him. The room’s dim, shadows dancing from the moonlight through the window, and he’s on you, hands roaming your torso, calloused palms rough against your ribs, thumbs grazing your nipples until they harden under his touch.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all damn day,” he growls, voice thick with need, mouth crashing into your neck. His lips are hot, teeth scraping as he sucks a mark on your collar, the sting blooming into a bruise you’ll feel tomorrow. You gasp, shoving at his chest, but your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, nails biting his skin. He steers you toward the bed, your legs hitting the edge, and you stumble back, springs creaking under your weight as he looms over you.

The air’s heavy, thick with sweat and anticipation, his broad frame casting a shadow that swallows you whole. He smirks, breath teasing your ear, hot and uneven. “You’re squirmin’ already,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble that sinks into your bones, sending shivers racing down your spine. His fingers trail along your inner thigh, feather-light at first, teasing the sensitive skin beneath your jeans. You squirm, hips twitching up, and he presses harder, palm flat against you, rubbing through the denim with a slow, maddening precision that lights up every nerve.

He’s over you now, deft hands unbuttoning your jeans, tugging the zipper down with a scrape that echoes in the quiet. He peels them off, slow and deliberate, denim dragging against your thighs, leaving faint red trails on your skin. His fingers hook into your panties next, lace catching on your slick, peeling off wet, leaving you bare beneath him. The cool A/C kicks on, hitting you, sharp against the heat pooling low, and you’re already trembling, exposed. “Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, voice rough with awe, kneeling between your legs, spreading them wide with his hands. “This all f’me?” He asks, then his mouth trails your thigh, sucking a soft bruise into your skin, then shifts to the other, teeth grazing, a gentle nip that makes you jolt. “Somethin’ bout you nearly breakin’ someone's jaw over me did that I think,” you reply with a laugh. You feel his lips twitch into a smirk on your skin, moving higher, brushing the crease of your hip, and sucking lightly. He continues up to your stomach, leaving a trail of faint red marks, each one a claim that sears into you.

You’re impatient, hips lifting, desperate for more, but he pins them down with a firm grip, bruising and steady. “Hold still,” he growls, voice a warning, and you whine, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. He shifts, getting up and lying back on the bed, propping himself up with two pillows. He grabs you, coaxing you to turn around and then pulls you over him with a rough tug. “C’mere, Bird,” he says, guiding your hips up, positioning you straddling his chest, knees on either side of him, you look back meeting his eyes; dark with hunger.

You’re buzzing, hands fumbling with his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers in one impatient pull. His cock springs free—thick, girthy, veins pulsing under the skin, the head glistening with precum—and you can’t wait, wrapping your lips around the tip, tasting salt and heat. The weight of him fills your mouth, heavy and warm, and you moan around it, the sound vibrating through him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, hand fisting your hair, gentle but firm, his hips twitching up as you work him slow. His other hand slides between your legs, fingers brushing your slick folds, teasing your entrance before pressing one inside. You gasp around his cock, the stretch sharp and sudden, and he adds another, pumping steady, matching the rhythm of your mouth. Your tongue swirls along the underside, tracing every ridge, savoring the way he fills your jaw as his fingers fill you, hitting that spot that makes you shudder.

You tease the tip, licking slow circles around the head, tasting the bead of precum there, and he growls low, a sound that rumbles through his chest. You dive back, taking him deep again, nose brushing the coarse hair at his base, throat full, humming around him. The vibration makes him buck, a sharp hiss escaping his lips, and his fingers speed up, fucking you harder, slick dripping down his hand. You’re trembling, thighs shaking, you feel him tense, fighting to hold back. You pull off slow, spit stringing from your lips to his tip, panting, wrecked. You turn around, your eyes flicking up to meet his—black, blown wide, staring back at you like you’re a goddamn vision.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants, jaw slack, voice thick with awe and want. He grabs you under your arms, pulling you up his body with a rough yank, then flipping you onto your back beneath him. The bed creaks under his weight as he settles over you, pinning your hips with his thighs, his cock hard and heavy against your stomach. “Can’t stop wantin’ you,” he mutters, mouth crashing into yours, kissing you deep and sloppy, tasting himself on your tongue.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wide, and he shifts lower, pressing himself against you—his shaft slick with your spit and your own heat, sliding through your folds, the head brushing your clit with every slow rock of his hips. You gasp into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, the friction raw and electric. He’s not inside you, but the weight of him, the thick slide of his cock, feels like a tease that’s lighting you up from the inside out.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails he’ll feel later. He’s relentless, grinding against you, the slick heat of him dragging over your clit, building a slow, burning pressure that’s got you trembling beneath him. His breath’s hot on your neck, ragged and uneven, and he’s muttering your name, low and broken, lips brushing your skin as he moves. You arch up, hips meeting his, chasing the heat, the ache, every thrust of his cock against you stoking the fire in your gut.

He shifts his angle, pressing harder, the underside of his shaft rubbing you just right, and you whimper, the sensation sharp and overwhelming. Your hands slide down his sides, nails digging into his hips, urging him faster, and he obliges, his hips snapping with a rhythm that’s desperate, needy. The wet sound of skin on skin fills the room, his cock gliding through your slick, teasing your entrance but never slipping in, and it’s driving you wild—every nerve alight, every touch a jolt that’s pushing you closer.

You’re panting, sweat beading on your chest, dripping behind your knees, and he’s no better—his forehead’s slick, breath coming in short, rough bursts against your ear. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, voice cracking, kissing you again, teeth clashing as he presses himself closer, the heat of his body searing into yours. Your hand slides down, finding his cock between you, wrapping over the top of it, fingers curling over the shaft as he grinds. The added pressure, your grip guiding him, makes him shudder, a low groan tearing from his throat.

“Goddamn, Bird,” he rasps, hips stuttering as your hand tightens, the friction intensifying with every rock against your clit. You’re guiding him now, stroking him through your slick, the head of his cock catching on you over and over, and it’s incredible—the slide of him against you so perfect it’s dizzying. Your clit’s throbbing under the pressure, each pass of him sending sparks up your spine, and you’re climbing fast, the heat coiling tight in your gut. It’s not enough, though; he’s so close, brushing your entrance but not filling you, and it’s agonizing—your walls clench around nothing, desperate for more, the pleasure so sharp it’s almost pain.

You’re trembling, thighs shaking around his hips, and he’s muttering filth into your ear “Fuckin’ mine,” his voice wrecked, pushing you higher. He pulls back just enough to spit, a hot, wet line landing where his cock slides against you, adding more slick, more heat, and it’s filthy, primal, sending a jolt straight through you. Your hand moves faster, slick with your own heat and his spit, guiding him harder against you, and you’re there, right on the edge. It hits you sudden and fierce—a white-hot wave crashing through you, your hips bucking up, a broken cry spilling out as you cum. It’s overwhelming, the lack of him inside you making it sharper, wilder, your body pulsing with an ache that’s equal parts bliss and torment.

He feels it, your shudder, the way you tighten—and his rhythm falters, hips jerking harder, more erratic. “Fuck, Bird—” he groans, voice breaking, and you don’t let go, jerking him faster, your hand slick with you both, guiding him over your pussy. He comes hard, a guttural growl ripping from his chest, thick ropes spilling hot and messy across your folds, coating your clit, dripping down your thighs. You keep stroking him through it, hand tight and steady, milking every shudder, his breath ragged against your lips as he kisses you, riding out the last waves.

In your head, it’s a goddamn storm—his cock against you, your hand on him, the wet heat of his cum mixing with yours—it’s so fucking good, a raw, primal thrill that lights you up, better than anything without him inside you should be. But it’s torture too, the absence of him filling you a screaming ache, your walls fluttering, begging for what he won’t give. It’s overwhelming, incredible, and agonizing, all tangled together. It’s driving you wild, the edge of it lingering, sharp and insatiable even as you come down.

Fuck. He rolls onto his side, hand dipping between you, fingers slipping through the mess—his cum, yours—and he brings them up, pressing them to your lips, then sliding them into your mouth. You taste him, salty and sharp, mixed with your own slick, and he pulls them free, slipping them back down to your pussy, pushing them inside you. “Ride it out,” he mutters, voice broken and gravelly, and you do, hips rocking against his hand, the last tremors of your orgasm pulsing around his fingers, drawing it out longer, sweeter, until you’re gasping, spent.

He slumps beside you, panting, sweat slicking his chest, his cock softening against his thigh. You’re sharp now, buzz gone, wrecked in a different way, the heat of him still lingering on your skin, his cum sticky where it’s smeared across you. He reaches beside the bed, grabs his shirt, and wipes you clean, slow and careful, the fabric dragging soft over your pussy, catching every drop. He tosses it aside, then pulls you into him, arm locking around your waist, lips brushing your hair—tender but firm.

“All mine,” he mutters, softer, holding you close, skin on skin grounding you. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re spent, boneless, no strength left to argue, just a nod and a shaky whimper against his chest. The room’s quiet again, A/C humming faint, but your pulse thunders. His breath slows, chest rising steady beneath you.

After a few minutes, woven together, the haze settling, you murmur, “Joel.”

He tilts his head down, voice thick with sleep. “What is it, Birdie?” He presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Stay.”

“I’m not goin’ nowhere,” he mumbles, drawl slurring, hand resting heavy on your back. “Not tonight.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy,” you breathe, a half-laugh slipping out.

Your phone buzzes somewhere.

Sarah, Dad, Tommy, ignored for now—you’re stuck there, spent, his hold a promise of more.

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, grinding, spit, cumplay, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh @jokesonthem

[rheeblogs]

★ — ON THE ROCKS

★ — pairing : maggie rhee x fem!reader

★ — being a bartender had it’s good days, and it’s bad days too. but one of your regulars always seemed to turn your night around—and turn you on.

★ — warnings : alcohol consumption, sexual content, bartender reader, men

🔖 : @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa

the nights were quieter than they used to be. the sound of a jukebox playing old country songs filled the bar as you wiped down the counter, stealing a glance at the regular perched at the far end. maggie rhee. she wasn't a loud drinker, nor was she particularly outgoing with the other patrons, but she had a way of commanding the room with just her presence.

and then there was her smile—sharp, teasing, and unmistakably directed at you.

----

"y'know," maggie drawled as she swirled the amber liquid in her glass, her eyes pinned on you, "if i didn't know better, i'd think you were ignoring me."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the grin tugging at your lips. "i'm working, maggie. some of us have to make a living."

"oh i don't doubt it," she said, leaning over the counter just enough to close the distance. her voice dropped, soft and low. "but don't think i didn't notice your eyes trailin' every now nd' then. it's cute."

your cheeks flushed, but you played it cool. "must be my bartender instincts, keepin' an eye on all my customers."

maggie's smirk widened as she moved a strand of hair out of her face. "mmm. is that what you're callin' it?"

you couldn't suppress the laugh that escaped you. maggie had been coming here for weeks, and every time, her flirtation grew bolder. part of you loved the attention; the other part worried about what she was trying to get out of it.

"well," you said, sliding another pour of whiskey, "if you're gonna keep me on my toes, at least tip well."

"oh, darlin', i always pay what's due," she murmured, the double meaning lingering in the air between you.

----

it wasn't always easy working at the bar, especially when the crowd got rowdy. tonight, you were dealing with just that. a group of men had stumbled in, drunk and loud, and one of them, in particular, had taken a keen interest in you.

"hey, sweetheart," the man slurred, leaning over the counter. "why don't you let me take you outta' here, huh? bet you'd look real good on my arm."

you stiffened, forcing a polite but firm smile. "not interested, buddy. just here to pour drinks nd' get my check."

"oh, come on," he pressed, his tone turning darker. "don't be like that."

before you could respond, maggie's voice cut through the din like a blade.

"she said she wasn’t interested, right?" maggie said, her southern drawl carrying an edge that made the man pause.

the drunk turned to her, clearly sizing her up. "and who the hell are you?"

maggie stood, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp and dangerous. "someone who doesn't take kindly to men who can't take no for an answer."

the man laughed, but it was uneasy. "you got a problem?"

"yeah," maggie replied, stepping closer, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her knife. "my problem is you. now, i'd appreciate if you'd apologize to her, nd' go about your night."

the room went quiet, all eyes on the confrontation. the man, clearly was outmatched, raised his hands in mock surrender. "fine, fine. didn't mean no harm."

"good," maggie said, her tone final. she watched him retreat back to his table before turning to you. "you alright, darlin'?"

you nodded, your heart pounding. "thanks for that."

"anytime," she said, her voice softening. "but next time, don't wait for me. you've got more fight in you than you think.”

----

the night had finally slowed down, and maggie was still sitting at her usual, nursing her drink. the two of you had exchanged glances all night, the tension building to an almost unbearable degree.

you were wiping down the counter when she stood and made her way toward you, her eyes locked on yours. "you got a minute?"

you nodded, swallowing hard as she led you to the back hallway where the restrooms were.

the second the door closed, she was on you. her lips crashed against yours, and you gasped, gripping her jacket to steady yourself. she pulled back enough just enough to murmur, "been wantin' to do that for weeks."

your breath hitched. "you don't waste time, do you?"

she grinned, her hands sliding to your waist. "when it comes to you, no, i don't."

her lips found yours again, and this time, the kiss deepened, all-consuming and hungry. the bathroom was small, but neither of you seemed to care as she backed you against the wall, her hands exploring with a mix of confidence and restraint.

"tell me to stop, darlin'," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her forehead resting against yours.

you shook your head, your hands tangling in her hair. "never."

she gives your hips a squeeze, starting to grind you against her. you can feel the roughness of her fingertips gliding across your bare thigh, the lowrise jeans under your apron discarded on the tile of the bathroom floor.

you were left in soaked panties and the black fitted shirt you were required to wear for work, the low cut vline leaving almost too much to maggie’s imagination, the thoughts of bending you over, pressing you against the hardwood of the bar counter, and absolutely taking in your body, swarming her mind.

you whimper at her touch, making a light switch in maggie’s mind. she slithers a hand down to the bottom of your shirt, and swiftly pulls it over your head. your hair falls back into place, as she snakes her hand down your stomach.

“look at you…” maggie says, as her fingers work their way to your panties, moving them to the side slightly. “you’re soaked, honey.”

“maggie, please.” you managed to moan, as her rough hands circled your clit. she was gentle, and she took her sweet time with you.

“please, what? huh honey?” she teased, curling her fingers inside you, catching you off guard completely. “got you all worked up, yeah?” she says, letting out a low laugh.

“fuck, maggie—,” her fingers are deep. you’d never been this wet for many people before, but the way maggie carried herself, the confidence and edge in her persona, the way she took down walkers with ease, and most of all, the way she looked at you. like she needed you.

just you.

“buryin’ my fingers in this pussy, yeah, baby?” she was pumping her digits in and out of you with ease, the slick slowly leaving you, making things so much easier for her to take control.

“i’m so close, maggie—so fuckin’ close.” she speeds up, her pace overstimulating you. the sly grin on her face appears when she realizes how fucked up you are, because of her. she wanted you all to herself.

“you wanna cum, don’t you, darlin’?” she says, getting close to your ear to mess you up more than she already has.

“please…” you cried out, feeling that warm sensation slowly overriding your stomach, signaling you were bound to snap soon.

“such a good girl, baby,” her praise made you whimper, the way she made you feel, complimenting your ever move made your knees damn near give out.

“all over my fingers, honey. let it all out for me.” and with that, moans spill from your lips, the attempt to catch your breath being incredibly difficult.

“fuck…you make me crazy, honey.” maggie said, looking down at the mouth watering sight, the substance adorn on her palms and fingers—all from you. she takes her hand in her mouth, cleaning up the mess you made.

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot - oral (m receiving), missionary, a bit of fingering, unprotected & rough p in v, f!Reader Synopsis: Geto and you can't help but get all fired up for each other

MASTERLIST

You stood there in silence, waiting for the elevator. Suguru still had a hold of your hand, though that tender gesture did little to mask your insatiable desire to get up to his room and let him blow your mind by fucking your cunt. You would have to remedy that.

As the elevator doors slid open, you quickly realized your earlier assessment of the hand-holding had been off the mark. Before you could react, Suguru had you pinned against the wall. No kisses this time; instead, his mouth claimed your neck with teasing nips that sent shivers racing through your body. You could swear he felt the effect it had on you as your nipples hardened against his chest. Suguru pressed even closer, emitting a low groan. His cock was hard, and he pressed his bulge against you as his lips continued their fervent exploration of your neck.

Your heart raced as his hands roamed your curves, grazing the side of your breast and then boldly cupping your ass, pulling you tightly against him. The desire was unbearable, and you were only moments away from shedding your dress and crying out for him to take you when the elevator abruptly halted.

Suguru retreated, catching his breath and grinning with a hint of apology as the doors opened. "I couldn't resist," he claimed. He clasped your hand once more, and together, you both hastened down the hallway. Or rather, he moved quickly, while you stumbled in your eagerness to dive into his desires. Suguru retrieved his key from his pocket, briefly fumbling with it before successfully unlocking the door. His hand rested gently on the small of your back, guiding you into the room ahead of him. You stepped inside, turned to face Suguru, and with the door barely closed behind you, your hungry lips met his.

His lips were velvety soft, a stark contrast to the rough, calloused hands that were caressing your arms. His mouth opened, and his tongue sensually brushed against your lower lip before gently nipping at it. A moan of longing escaped your lips. He couldn't move fast enough for your liking. Your desire pulsed within you, and you yearned for him.

Your fingers found their way between you both, coaxing his jacket from his shoulders. Suguru nonchalantly shrugged it off and swiftly divested himself of the vest. Then, he reached around you, his touch deliberate, and started the tantalizingly slow process of unzipping your dress. The gradual reveal of your back to the cool air sent shivers coursing through you. Every nerve, every cell in your body hummed with a relentless craving, making your skin feel like it was aflame from the heat of desire.

As your trembling fingers continued their journey, loosening Suguru's tie and undoing his shirt buttons, you were only halfway through when his powerful hands guided your dress off your shoulders. You paused briefly, lowering your arms to slip them out of the sleeves, and then resumed your endeavor with his shirt. Meanwhile, your dress cascaded down your legs and pooled around your feet, leaving you only in your lacy lingerie.

A soft groan escaped Suguru's lips, and you were brought back to the moment. His eyes were fixed on you, trailing over your body, particularly lingering on your breasts. Suddenly, self-consciousness gripped you, and you felt uncertain about what to do with your hands or how to express your thoughts. When you met his gaze after a few moments, an unspoken connection passed between you.

"You're so fucking hot," he whispered, and in one swift motion, his tie and shirt were discarded. He pulled you close, and your lips met in a heated kiss as you both gravitated toward the bed positioned in the room's center. Just before you reached the bed, you kicked off your high heels. Moments later, you found yourself lying on your back with Suguru hovering over you, his kisses trailing from your jaw down to your cleavage.

Arching your arms behind your back, you deftly unhooked your bra, and within seconds, it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing. 

Suguru's mouth descended onto the top of your left breast while his hand gently fondled the other one, expertly tweaking your erect nipple, causing you to gasp. He kissed and licked the sensitive area between your breasts, teasingly nipping underneath, nearly driving you to climax right then and there. Then, he took your nipple into his mouth, applying a gentle suction.

Your gasps and writhing beneath him seemed to amuse Geto, and he alternated between your nipples, lavishing equal attention on each with his mouth. 

"Fuck, Suguru, please..." you panted, your desire evident, "I don't want you to tease me right now, I need ya to fuck me."

"And I think you do," he chuckled, his laughter dripping with desire. One of his hands began its journey southward, gradually reaching your throbbing pussy. A loud moan escaped your lips as he slipped his hand into your tiny, lacy panties, easing the ache by running his fingers along your drenched slit. He skillfully avoided direct contact with your clit, lightly grazing it as he traced the outline of your wetness.

The teasing was pushing you to your limits, and you realized that there would be time for that later. At that very moment, what you craved was his dick.

"Suguru, I need you," you pleaded again. 

He looked up at you. 

"Please, please, fuck me..."

Without uttering a word, he moved your panties to the side. In that brief moment when he gazed at your exposed body, your hands were already on his pants' waist, undoing the buttons and working hastily to slide them down his legs. His laughter filled the air as he stood up, shedding the remainder of his clothing. For a fleeting moment, you momentarily forgot what you had been eagerly anticipating.

His body was truly remarkable. His chest, broad, toned, and exquisitely defined, didn't possess the exaggerated bulk but rather reflected the strength and authenticity of a real man. A flat stomach hinted at well-defined abs, sculpted through hard work in a physically demanding environment. Your gaze then descended to his erect, robust dick, glistening with precum oozing from the slit of his tip.

You moistened your lips, and almost instinctively, you found yourself sitting up and inching closer to him. 

His eyes remained locked on you, and he remained still until you were on your knees at the edge of the bed. Gently, you wrapped your fingers around his throbbing member and swirled your tongue around the tantalizing tip, savoring his essence with a loud moan. His deep groan reverberated through the room, and you felt his knees slightly waver as his hands found purchase on your shoulders, steadying himself.

You thoroughly explored every inch of his pulsating ick with your tongue before slowly taking it into your mouth and applying a gentle, deliberate suction. 

Suguru couldn't hold back a deep groan, and one of his hands found its place in your hair, tenderly resting there as you initiated a rhythmic motion along his length. 

You endeavored to accommodate as much of him as you could, feeling the fiery pulsations of his member fill your mouth. Suguru's grip on your hair tightened slightly, and you could hear his ragged gasps as you expertly worked your mouth on his shaft, relishing the taste of his precum as it oozed onto your tongue.

Sucking cock had never been a particular source of enjoyment for you in the past. It often felt one-sided, lacking in reciprocal pleasure. However, with Suguru, the experience was entirely different. There was something delectable about his dick, and his reactions sent electrifying waves of desire through your being. Although his fingers intertwined with your hair on the left side, he didn't pull - instead, he allowed his hand to rest against your head. His right hand traced a delicate path from the top of your head, down your cheek, along your jawline, and then to your neck, where his fingertips teased your skin before journeying to your shoulder. Soft, guttural sounds escaped from his throat as he gently guided his hips, syncing with the rhythm of your oral ministrations.

You were becoming so deeply immersed in the act that you were almost disappointed when Suguru withdrew his cock out of your eager mouth. It was then that you noticed his rapid panting and the reddened, swollen state of his lips from his own fervent biting.

"You are going to make me cum way too soon," he said, frowning.

"That would be bad," you replied with a mischievous grin. "You promised me a hard fucking."

He chuckled softly. "I made no promises, but it's clear you want to be pleased, so..." His words trailed off as he gracefully climbed onto the bed, positioning himself over you and gently compelling you to lie on your back. His lips were on yours in an instant, delivering a passionate kiss. You allowed your teeth to graze his lower lip, prompting a low, guttural groan from him. His hand descended down your body, finding its way into your panties once more. 

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as his fingers finally made contact with your throbbing clit. Within moments, his fingers were slick with your juices. Afterward, he guided them further down, collecting the slickness along your slit and then gradually easing one finger into your dripping cunny. A moan escaped your lips, and your hips eagerly rose to meet his hand as he expertly stimulated you, his palm rhythmically stimulating your clit with each slow motion. His skillful, calloused fingers deftly parted your folds, tracing a tantalizing path back and forth while his passionate kisses continued. It wasn't long before those digits were completely drenched in your arousal, a testament to your undeniable desire. The burgeoning pleasure in your body was pushing you toward the precipice of an orgasm when, to your frustration, Suguru abruptly halted.

You let out a nearly exasperated scream, a small whimper escaping your lips. 

Suguru's chuckle washed over you. "I've got something even better in mind for you," he whispered, his hands firmly gripping your hips, and with a deliberate motion, he slid your panties down your legs. The moment they cleared your ankles, Suguru flung them across the room and gently urged your legs apart. Eagerly, you complied, reaching down to guide his rigid dick toward your entrance. Your hand dropped when you felt the tip of his hardness nudging at your entrance, and a simultaneous moan escaped both of you as he slowly, almost fluidly, pushed into your dripping core. In an instant, he was fully engulfed in your pussy, and there was a moment of stillness as both of you savored the sensation of his cock buried deep within your warmth for the first time. With more self-control than you could have expected, Suguru began to move, each thrust driving you wild with desire. You craved more.

Squirming beneath him and attempting to find the perfect angle to stimulate your clit, you glanced up at Geto. "Would you just fuck me, Suguru?" you gasped. 

He slowed his pace even further, a sly grin on his face. "Ask nicely, Y/N," he demanded, a note of teasing in his voice. 

Your whimper of frustration hung in the air. "Please. Please, please, please, please, please fuck me right now!" you pleaded desperately. “I want you to abuse my pussy, please!”

Whether it was your fervent begging or Suguru's own resolve crumbling under your desire, he obliged. He thrust into you with a passionate intensity, his body pressed against yours, your hardened nipples grazing his well-defined chest. Your arms enveloped him, clutching his back as he reached between you to stimulate your clit at the same furious rhythm of his thrusts. You panted, gasped, and moaned as he penetrated your pussy, your core pulsating with his throbbing cock buried within.

He deftly hoisted one of your legs, draping it over his shoulder, altering the angle in a way that made his cock expertly caress all those delectable, sensitive spots within your moist cunny. A guttural moan escaped him, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he intensified his rhythm.

Suguru's mouth was insatiable, trailing along your neck, a mix of sucking and nipping, and leaving its fiery mark behind. His breath, hot and heavy, caressed your skin, his moist lips pressed against you. A throaty moan escaped him as he feasted on your neck, his fervor unabated. 

The only sounds that enveloped the room were the rhythmic symphony of flesh slapping against flesh, the chorus of sultry moans, and the tantalizing melody of heavy panting.

You took your leg off his shoulder and wrapped both of your legs around his waist, resulting in a shared moan as his cock delved even deeper into your dripping core. His mouth continued to work wonders on your neck, and deep within you, the crescendo of an impending orgasm was undeniable.

“I’m about to cum!” You gasped out this revelation to Suguru, who offered a whispered response against your neck, though his words remained unheard amidst the symphony of pleasure. 

His balls smacked against the curve of your ass with every powerful thrust, and the tip of his hard cock delved so deep that it seemed to plant sweet kisses upon your cervix with each forward motion Suguru was delivering. 

In mere moments, your body ignited like a wildfire, a blazing climax engulfing you. Your legs clamped around Suguru's waist, your hips uncontrollably bucked, and your back arched so intensely that it felt as though you might black out. Only as you gradually descended from the heights of ecstasy, feeling returning to your toes, and a profound sense of sated pleasure washing over you, did you become aware that Geto was approaching his own climax. His heated, thick cum surged deep within your satiated pussy.

Suguru's mouth descended on yours, kissing you fervently.

You both remained entwined for a lingering moment, sharing tender kisses as his softened member remained nestled inside you, his warm body enveloping yours. When he finally broke the kiss, you opened your eyes, realizing they had been closed, and observed as he shifted to lie beside you on the bed. Uncertainty flickered for a brief moment — did he expect you to leave? Yet, that concern proved fleeting, as Suguru turned to look at you and extended his arms, gesturing for you to come closer. You eagerly moved to him, and he pulled a blanket over the two of you, all the while wrapping his arms around your form. "That was amazing," you sighed contentedly.

"Yeah," Suguru replied sleepily, "I've been wanting that for a while."

"Really?" You couldn't have guessed that. "Me too, Suguru..."

You sensed the soft, tender press of his lips against the crown of your head, and after a few minutes, the gentle sound of his snores filled the room. With your eyes closed, you relished in the comforting warmth of his presence beside you. You understood that there would be much to sort out in the coming day, but in that moment, you embraced the joy of the present, content with where you were and the company you shared.

[testingthewatersss]

Panic Trigger warnings for PTSD and torture, wintersolider flashbacks etc.(&bad russain) Bucky Barnes x F Reader (ft. Steve Rodgers) Oneshot 3550 words Angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI The first time a Code White is called is also the last.

The siren that has been splitting the air in the tower is quieter, here. In the common room, with the thick white carpets and furniture to muffle the sound.

Steve is frantic. He’s frozen in position, breathing shallow as his brain fights to come up with any way to respond to the situation he’s facing.

He’s facing Bucky.

Bucky, who, until 2 minutes ago had been doing just fine.

But now he’s not fine, now he’s hysterical.

FRIDAY had set off the code white alarms, helpfully alerting the other residents that something wasn’t right, and all Steve had been able to do is back pace, horror in his eyes as he’d watched the infamous Winter Solider curl up into a ball on the floor.

“Lets cut that noise”

Y/N’s instruction has an instant effect. The shrill ringing is gone as quickly as it’d started.

The door locks behind her with a dull click, and now she’s pacing towards the scene.

Unlike Steve, she doesn’t look afraid at all.

If anything, she looks curious.

“Hey boys” she greets mildly, coming up on Steve’s flank, “What’s goin’ on in here?”

“We” Steve gulps, trying to gather himself, “We were just talking and then…”

“And then?”

He blinks at her prompting, mouth suddenly dry.

“He started freakin' out- speakin' Russain” he explains, looking urgently at the man on the floor, “and then- I- I don’t know what happened, he just—“

Y/N tilts her head.

“He didn’t collapse or anything” he says, “He just—“

“Sat down on the ground?”

He’s hardly sitting, but he doesn’t know think there’d be another way of explaining the situation without making him feel sick.

He nods, and so does she.

She looks understanding, now, rather than curious.

“Hey, Buck” she calls, taking a slow step towards him, “You doin' okay?”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at her. He just stays still, burying his face in his knees, arms looped protectively across his brow.

“Y/N” Steve cautions, “I don’t know if he can hear us”

“Sure he can” she replies, almost with humour, “even if what your thinkin’ is right— which I don’t think it is, by the way — Do you think he magically goes deaf?”

He blinks at her dumbly, brain working overtime.

That does sound a little ridiculous, but he’s not an expert on the effects of brain washing, so he decides to forgive himself for that, at least.

“You said he started speaking Russian” Y/N says, “That’s why you called a code white?”

Steve nods, guilt stirring inside of his chest.

Was I wrong? he thinks, did I make this worse?

“Lets try this, then” she says, taking a smaller step closer, “Baki, chto sluchilos’?”

The russian words pour easily from her lips. Steve blinks again, thinking about how strangely soft she’s managed to make them sound. He’s always thought the language was harsh, but her voice is gentle, even now.

Bucky seems to notice her question this time. Although he doesn’t move as much as he flinches in response to her words.

“What were you talking about?” She asks suddenly, head snapping back to Steve, “Before he swapped languages.”

His brow furrows, arms over his chest as he thinks back.

“I…” he says, “I’m not sure exactly… nothing serious, I mean, just— stuff”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah” he agrees, “Childhood stuff, yeah- Yeah that was it— He asked me if I remembered something, a store where he used to work on Tuesdays— and then we were talkin’ about the guy who owned it, and about how he used to go crazy at us for trailin’ mud into the front of the shop…”

“Right” she presses, “and then?”

“And then” Steve sighs, frustrated, “Uh, I said—“

He stops. Realising exactly what he’d said.

Y/N raises her brow, urging him to continue;

“I said” he gulps, looking suddenly ashamed, “I said “I guess we were lucky that he didn’t take us outside and beat us” for half the stuff we did”

Yeah, she thinks, That’d do it.

Steve opens his mouth to apologise, but she cuts him off,

“What did he say in Russian, do you remember?”

“No” he says quickly, remorse making him dizzy, “No, I— I didn’t really get it, it was so fast, he was just, mumbling and backing away and then…”

She nods, understanding.

“Darlin', I-”

“It’s fine” she says, closing the last few steps between her and where Barnes is still hiding on the floor.

It’s not fine. Steve knows it’s not, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I think he said insvinte?” he offers, desperate to be helpful, to right this wrong somehow, “Or something close-”

“Izvinite” she corrects quietly, dropping to a crouch.

Her tone is soft again, and Steve can’t help but wince a heavy ball of dread hits him square in the chest.

It must mean something, then. It wasn’t just incoherent rambling,

“What does it mean?” he hears himself ask, not really wanting to know.

“Sorry” she answers, voice barely audible, “It means I’m sorry”

“Jesus christ” he mumbles, backing away towards the arm of the couch. He leans on it, not trusting his legs to hold him up as he paws at his face in despair.

Y/N reaches out carefully, letting her fingers run over the folded metal plates of Bucky’s arm, before they finally reach his hair. It’s damp by his temples. His whole body is shaking so quickly it’s almost invisible.

“Tebe ne nuzhno izvinyat'sya, dorogaya…” she whispers soothingly “…ne togda, kogda ty ne sdelal nichego plokhogo.”

You don’t have to be sorry, Sweetheart… not when you haven’t done anything wrong.

The back of his shoulders jump with a concealed sob.

He’s terrified, plain and simple and the idea of him being so scared, being so, hopelessly afraid and then being hit by a terrible, loud siren is almost too much for her to bare.

No wonder he’s trying to hide.

No wonder he’s making himself as small as possible in the furthest corner of the room.

“Hey” she soothes, hoping that he’ll respond to English now she’s touching him, “You’re okay…look at me… it’s just me, it’s okay…”

Steve watches, horror stricken as Bucky slowly edges his face up from behind the wall he’s made with his body.

His chin stays hidden behind his forearm, but his eyes are red and streaming.

Y/N shakes her head, hushing him as he starts to choke on air, suddenly feel obscenely exposed;

It’s clear from his expression that he’s too far gone. That scared doesn’t cover it anymore. She’s not fully confident that hysteria covers it, anymore.

His panicked gaze drops to the floor, and she watches as he chokes on a breath that seems to hurt him. Her head shakes, and she lets her hand fall away for a beat as she considers what might be best to say;

“Soldat” she murmurs, knowing he’ll take notice of that, “Glaza na moi”

…Solider…. eyes on me…

That does the trick.

The way his gaze snaps to hers is automatic. It’s instinctual and instant.

“Khoroshiy mal'chik” she soothes, knowing he needs her to be kind more than anything else, right now, “You’ve gotta slow your breathing down— In and out, with me now, okay?”

He blinks at the gentle Russian praise, and then he shivers.

Y/N doesn’t like using his conditioned submissive to her advantage. Not when she can help it, but he needs to stop dragging in aching bursts of air, he needs to calm down-

“In…” she instructs, “…and, out…”

He obeys instantly. Matching the rise and fall of his chest with hers even though he’s having to fight through every fibre of his body to do so.

His discomfort is obvious. She can see that he’s only following her commands because they’re commands. That it’s not a natural way for him to be breathing right now. That it’s hurting him to fight his reflexes so plainly.

“…Deep…” she whispers, trying to soften her voice again, “…Deeper, now, Soldier, and slow, you’re okay- you’re safe, right now, everything’s alright.”

Something flickers across his eyes as tears spill down his cheeks, again. Y/N tilts her head and moves her hands around to cup his jaw. He’s still half hidden, but she knows he won’t fight the contact. She smiles as she wipes her fingers across his face, and nods encouragingly as he changes his inhalation’s to match her new instructions.

Steve is watching from his perch across the room, fighting the urge to cry himself. This is torture, he thinks, though he feels guilty for the thought the second he has it. He hasn’t been tortured— He has, though and that’s why he’s curled up in a corner while Steve gets to watch. He hates the way he’s daring to feel badly. He hates this whole situation

“Can you tell me your name?”

Y/N’s voice snaps him out of his bout of self-deprecation.

He’s watching, desperately hoping for a reassuring response, for some sign that he’d been wrong after all—

“Hmmm?” she presses gently, “Teper' tvoye imya, dorogaya.”

Tell me your name now, sweetheart.

This time, her voice seems to confuse him. He draws in another wet breath before nodding a fraction.

“J-James Bu-channon B-Barnes”

She beams at him and watches his face relax a fraction when she doesn’t have an issue with his answer.

“And what’s my name?” she asks after a pause, “Teper' my govorim po-angliyski, soldat”

We’re speaking english now, Solider.

This time, he looks more nervous.

“Y/N?” he whispers uncertainly.

“Right” she agrees instantly, “Good”

That seems to settle him a fraction.

He inhales deeper, and doesn’t seem to suffer quite as much on the exhale.

“You’re safe” she promises next, swiping another set of tears away from his cheeks, “…Nothin’ bad’s coming…”

He looks at her for the first time since she’d arrived in the room, he really looks at her face, and she sees something behind his gaze give way.

“-I— I di-didn’t m-me-mean t—to d-do an-anythin— wrong” he stammers, frantically trying to tell her, “I- I’m s-sorry— I- I didn’t- I- I c-c-can't—”

“Shhhhhh” she soothes, shaking her head before leaning in to press a kiss against his brow, “We’re breathing right now” she says, smoothing his hair back, “That’s all you need to think about”

It’s a bit of a low blow, really, cutting him off like that, but she knows he’s too far gone to have a rational discussion about everything else right now. A panic attack worsened by the addition of an alarm which she’d wager had been just a touch too familiar is a whole lot of trauma to fight through at once.

He needs to focus. He needs to breathe. And she knows him well enough he won’t disobey something as close to a command as her words. Not given the circumstances.

She’s right. Just like before, his body takes over.

He reverts to mimicking her exaggerated breathing pattern and letting his eyes loose focus.

This time, she doesn’t interrupt him straight away. Not even to praise him. She just watches silently as he forces his chest to rise and fall in a mechanical rhythm that she’d curated to deliberately ease his most primal responses.

Steve paws at his eyes, pressing back his own tears now.

This is all my fault, he thinks, the reality of the situation hitting him now, There was no code white, he was just scared and I made things ten times worse—

Y/N just sits with him for a few more minutes, waiting until she notices him starting to shiver, before she reaches out to stroke his cheek again.

“Good” she whispers, affection heavy in her voice now, “That’s better, huh?”

“I-I’m t-t-trying” he stammers weakly.

“I know” she agrees, leaning in and pressing a kiss against his brow, “I know, Bucky, I know you’re doin’ good…”

He nods a fraction and that’s how she knows that he’s ready to take back control. To at least start deciding what he wants to do, again.

“Want some water?” she offers, beaming proudly when he shakes his head, “No? Okay… What do you want, huh?”

“C-can… C-can I… Can I- have… have a h-hug pl-please?”

“A hug?” she checks, “Sure… Sure you can, c’mere—”

And then, her arms are open, and Bucky feels himself moving, rocking onto his knees so that he can to cling onto her waist.

This is all he wants. He just wants to hide his face against her neck, and hold onto her and—

“Sweetheart” she murmurs, “You’re okay, it’s all okay, I promise…”

And then, he’s back to sobbing.

His adrenaline is crashing, and he feels dizzy and sick and he’s crying like a baby in her arms.

None of this feels right. He doesn’t understand how he’s ended up on the floor in the corner of the room. It’s all a blur of panic, and loud, shrill noises that always mean terrible things are coming and— and he remembers feeling useless, of not being able to be understood—

“We're sp-speaking English, now” he sniffs, “W-we’re sep-peaking, English now, I- I’m sorry I- c-couldn’t before.”

Steve’s heart breaks in his chest when he hears that. When he hears his best friend weeping and earnestly trying to convince them that he knows he’s meant to be speaking the same language as they are.

“…Shhhhh, now…” Y/N soothes, “…It’s okay… you can’t help it, it’s not your fault…”

“I- I t-tried” he bleats, upset making his Brooklyn drawl stronger somehow, “Doll, I— I tried b-but my head…”

“I know…” she promises, “…It’s alright, sweetheart— I’m sorry— I’m sorry ‘bout all that noise…”

He clings to her so tightly that her t-shirt tears under his metal thumb.

The memory of the skull splitting siren making his whole world spin for a moment;

“We won’t do that again” she promises, “I’ll get Tony to figure somethin’ out— even if there ever is a need for somethin’ like that, we can’t have it be so loud…”

“—I’ll be good-” he promises pathetically, “I- I s-swear, I— I- Please, I- I c-cant t-take that n-noise, again…”

That’s more than Steve can process. He pushes up and leaves the room in silence, hoping that the route back to his suit is deserted. He doesn’t think he can handle a run in with anyone. Not with how full his own eyes are now.

Y/N barely notices his departure. She’s too busy hushing the cowering man in her arms. Because he is cowering in her arms now. He’s shaking like a wounded stray, chest heaving with sobs.

He’s too big to hide against her, really, but some how he’s managing.

His entire face is angled downwards, obscured from view as he presses his brow into her shoulder.

All she can do is hold him. Hold him, and murmur out gentle streams of praise until he finally starts to settle down.

Until his body caves in and he drifts off into something that could almost pass for sleep.

Y/N thinks it might’ve been more convincing if his hands hadn’t stayed furled in the fabric of her top.

“C’mon, handsome” she sighs, “If you wanna’ try and get some rest we should get you a little more comfy”

She watches curiously as Bucky edges his face up, slowly revealing wide, blue eyes that look awfully sore.

His cheeks are red, and damp, and she can’t help but lean in and press a kiss against his chin starts to quiver.

“We’ll stay here” she promises him quietly, “We’ll stay right here, okay? but you can lie down—”

“W-wi-with you, right?”

Her chest aches as looks into his eyes and nods.

As she sees how terrified he still is.

“Yeah, Buck… we can lie down together, would you like that?”

He offers her a jerky little nod before sniffling sadly and averting his gaze.

She nods, too and starts to adjust her position, carefully rearranging their bodies so that she is the one curled up, with Bucky against her flank. He keeps both arms locked around her waist, and lets out a sad series of gulps as he fights the urge to tuck his legs into his chest.

It’s hard. He wants to protect himself, to bring his knees tight into his front, but he also wants to be held. To let Y/N protect him, while he really, really needs her too.

“Shhhh” she soothes, eager to ease the quiet little whimpers that are suddenly vibrating against her jaw, “Baby boy, you’re alright…”

Bucky is nuzzling into her throat, nose bumping against her temple in his not so subtle bid to earn more attention from her.

“What do you want, huh?” she asks, tone playful as she lets one hand thread through his hair, “You’re precious”

He lets his eyes close as he presses kiss against her cheek, and then another against her chin, and jaw, and the tender skin behind her ear…

“…Some fussin’?…” she guesses, stroking a line across the back of his ribs, “…We can do that… C’mere…”

She shifts again, rolling over a little more so that she can tuck him neatly between her legs. Her thighs box him in, and he folds instantly into the embrace, letting out a soft, hollow, sound of appreciation as his cheek meets her chest.

“You’re alright” she soothes, starting to stroke his back, “I know that scared you, but you’re okay… I promise”

He just clings to her tighter, screwing his eyes shut.

It did scare him. The sound, the not being able to speak English, the look on his oldest friends face—

“Hey” she inserts, feeling his back heave, “Hey, I’m here, I’m right here…”

“…He— H-e was mad…”

“He?” she asks, “You mean Steve?”

He nods, nose brushing her jaw.

“Baby, why would you think that?”

“..I…” he gulps, “..I couldn’t sp-speak english and th-then he… he started that noise..”

Her heart cracks down the middle as she puts it all together. As she pieces together the way it must’ve felt to him.

“Oh, Bucky” she whispers, “Bucky, no— It wasn’t like that”

“Will- W-will you tell him I’m sorry, d-doll?”

“No- Not when you haven’t done anythin’ to him that warrants an apology.”

He doesn’t reply to that. She assumes he stopped listening after the no.

“…Baby…” she murmurs, trying to soothe him, “…Steve isn’t angry, it wasn’t a punishment, it was the security system, that’s all…”

“It… it sounded like… it sounded like w-what t-they…”

“—I know” she cuts in, “I know it did, I’m sorry— We won’t do that again.”

This time, she doesn’t want to break the silence he settles into. It doesn’t feel as upset as the last time.

Her fingers roll across his temple, stroking his hair as he works at calming himself down. At letting his body adjust to the sudden lack of adrenaline;

and then, he’s sleeping.

His whole body is a deadweight, chest rising and falling in a natural rhythm that betrays how vulnerable he is.

Y/N feels herself relaxing too. He’s too warm and soft for her to stay tense, besides, the only thing she was trying to guard is him, and he’s not going anywhere.

That’s when she lets her mind drift back to Steve.

To her friend who’d fled the scene in horror whilst she’d been unable to comfort him.

She sighs, looking at her sleeping lover with sheer adoration. She’s glad he’s sleeping, because her own remorse is more than enough for her to deal with;

“What do we do about that, huh, Buck?”

Y/N knows he can’t answer. He does seem to smile in response to her voice though. She thinks that it’s probably a trick of the light, but, the idea of being able to make him feel better regardless of his consciousness is nice, so she doesn’t over think it.

“Baby” she whispers, “Shall I call him? Tell him to come back up, see that you’re okay?”

This time, he stirs.

He nuzzles into her, letting out a sigh.

“I’m taking that as a yes—“ she decides, knowing that she has to do something, “—Friday, get Steve up here please.”

The AI replies with a polite ‘Yes, boss’ and Y/N settles back against the wall, trying to arrange their bodies into a position that looks a little less intimate without rousing her partner.

It’s easy enough. Bucky is pliant, and all he really wants is to stay close. She realises pretty quickly that as long as he’s able to keep his arms around her, he goes along with the adjustment.

She strokes his hair to soothe him once she’s satisfied.

His face is hidden against her stomach. His legs are tucked into his own chest, again, but it seems a lot less sad now.

And then, she hears footsteps.

She looks up with a smile that almost falters when she sees the expression on Steve’s face.

He’s clearly been crying. His nose is red, cheeks blotchy, and his eyes look terribly sore.

“Come sit, you’re as bad as him” For a second it looks like he's going to fight her on it, but then, with a sigh and a bashful smile, he nods. Pacing silently towards Y/N before settling himself beside her on the ground, not bothering to speak deciding to just put his arm around her shoulders instead.

Masterlist

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

hey y'all!! little story brought to you by @outsiders-gift-exchanges that I had an absolutely DELIGHTFUL time bein' a part of!! My giftee was @kaiskornerart 'n the prompt I went with was the Curtis brothers!! Hope y'all enjoy!! This was SO much fun!! fic under the cut!!

Darry wakes up with an ache in his chest. The kind he crawled into bed with every night with 'n woke up in the company of every mornin'. The kind he spent his days too busy to think about though it was always there. Just out of view. Which is to say, nothin' new.

The sun ain't up yet, street lamp light crawlin' under the curtains too short in the windows like Pony's jeans even uncuffed 'n low on his hips 'n God when did they stop growin'? If someone would send him a memo with the time 'n date he'd wait to go buy new clothes til then. Even Soda's hand-me-downs ended high around his ankles. 'N Pony was nothin' if not vain in that way kids always were 'n in firm denial of. It wasn't tuff for your jeans to not be long enough. 'N he wants to roll his eyes but he remembers bein' fourteen. It wasn't so long ago.

Darry sighs, rolls over to touch the picture of their parents on the end table, brushin' calloused fingers over their mama's cheek 'n across the strong plains of their father's face like he does every mornin'. He squeezes his eyes shut. Remembers the sound of their daddy's laugh, their mama hummin' to herself absently as she helps Soda pick out a new recipe, their-

A pan crashes to the counter 'n Darry's eyes snap back open. A pair of hushed giggles, smothered behind hands. Darry sighs, runs a finger along their parents' joined hands.

Glory, how did y'all do it?

He should get up 'n see what those boys were up to. He should. But no one cries 'n nothin' shatters so he gives himself just enough grace to pull his knees up to his chest, drop his forehead down.

He's got a naggin' feelin' he's forgettin' somethin'. A friday. Pony's got a track meetin' 'n Darry had ironed his uniform last night. Soda's got off tonight but only 'cause he's got a double tomorrow. Dallas' got a race tomorrow 'n he's down at the stables tonight. Steve 'n Johnny workin'. Two's at his mama's.

There's more rustlin' around in the kitchen 'n Darry sighs, twists to put his feet on the cold floor. His bedroom door whisper swishes open, big eyes blinkin' around the corner 'n Darry has to press his palms into his eyes 'n rub the sleep from 'em 'cause he swears for a second Pony is seven again, hair stickin' up in every direction 'n grin missin' his two front teeth. "Dar, you awake?"

"Yeah, kiddo. I'm up." When he sticks his head in 'n finds Darry already lookin' back, hair fallin' in his eyes 'n a plaintive raised brow he drops the charade of sneakin' 'n instead ducks in, pressin' back on Darry's shoulders to get him back in bed.

"No, you're not." Darry catches him by the wrists 'n Pony giggles. He stops, studies his kid brother. God, he couldn't remember the last time Pony giggled.

"Fine, I'm not." Darry easily grabs Pony around the waist 'n manhandles him up onto the bed. "But you aren't either." Pony shrieks, wiggles fruitlessly for another moment before Darry jabs him in the ribs 'n he hollers 'n presses against Darry's chest.

"Asshole." He huffs, but his voice is all slow 'n quiet 'n tired 'n Darry glances to the end table at the clock. Glory, it wasn't even six am yet.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, kid." Pony scoffs but curls up closer. His sweats, too big, trailin' down over his feet, were once Darry's, 'n his shirt one stolen from a supply closest at the DX, a tee that used to be part of the uniform. He makes a low noise, presses his ear to Darry's chest 'n Darry knows his listenin' for his heartbeat.

God, it felt like a hundred years ago their mama had taught Soda that. When he was real little. If you could listen to the steady bump bump bump then that meant everythin' was just fine. You didn't need to worry. Everyone was ok.

She'd taught it to Pony too. When he was younger 'n used to get those nightmares no one knew what to do with. You could always tell who he'd been dreamin' about by who woke up with Pony tangled against them, his head smashed to their chest.

Darry's forgettin' somethin'. Right down there next to the ache.

He turns, looks back over at their mama. She's smilin' a real smile in that picture. Her eyes bright 'n shinin', the dimple she would give both Pony 'n Soda etched into her cheeks. Their daddy's laughin'. Wide 'n sincere 'cause their Daddy was real 'n true 'n honest all the way down to his soul.

Pony shifts 'n Darry subconcously brings his arms up tighter around his kid brother. But he's not tryin' to wriggle away. Instead he just turns to see what Darry was lookin' at. He sighs when he sees the picture 'n for a moment, neither of them say anythin'.

"Hey, Dar?" Darry runs a hand absently over the scar on Pony's shoulder he got when he was nine, jumpin' off the swings 'cause he 'n Soda had convinced him he could fly.

"Hmm, Pone?"

"Do you know... when they took that picture?" Darry picks it up, brushes his fingers against the frame, hands it to Pony.

"Had to be sometime after they were married. But not long." The way they're holdin' each other 'n grinnin' they looked like newlyweds. But they never stopped lookin' at each other like that. They had the realest kinda love any of them had ever seen. The kind that made you hope you could one day find someone like that. That looked at you like you hung the stars.

Their Mama was bundled up, that big fur jacket their Daddy had bought for her as a weddin' gift that still hung in the closet. Their Daddy wrapped around her like if she was warm it was enough for the both of them.

"They were married in January, remember?" Pony frowns for a moment, touches the picture in a way that gives Darry deja vu, nods.

That forgettin' nags at him. Presses right up beside him.

"So I figure it was around the same time. Maybe a month or two later." He gently eases the frame from Pony's hands, pops the back off with tender, slow movements.

Their Daddy's handwritin' is scrawled on the back 'n it twists in Darry's chest.

Feb 14, 1948 Valentine's xxx

Oh God. Friday, February, the fourteenth. Jesus. He'd forgotten.

The door to the bedroom bangs open 'n Soda tetters wildly back 'n forth, tryin' vainly to balance a makeshift tray. The smell of pancakes wafts in, a bowl flipped over 'n coverin' them, three glasses of orange juice slide from one end to the other, a fork breaks free 'n bounces to the ground.

Pony dives off the bed, grabs Soda by the elbow 'n quickly begins unloadin' food 'n silverware 'n cups. "Glory, Soda! Good thing you were never a waiter!"

Pony rolls his eyes, elbows Soda for room 'n crowds up beside him. "Stick to the entertainment staff, Soda."

Soda grins, drops the tray down to the bed 'n clambors up. "Pony, you wound me! I would have done damn good in a restaurant."

'N then they're both wrestlin', fallin' to the floor 'n howlin', a mess of elbows, 'n too big t-shirts, 'n flour stained hands.

'N Darry wants to grin. He wants to laugh 'n holler at them that is was too early to be actin' a fool 'n not mean it at all but he can't. 'Cause he forgot.

He forgot that they would always get up early with their Daddy on Valentine's Day to make their mama breakfast in bed 'n he would help hold the bowl steady with Pony so he could make the pancakes into lil' hearts. He forgot to help Soda find the food colorin' so they could make them blue 'cause that was their mama's favorite. He forgot to pick a flower from the garden 'n to hush shush them all so they could sneak down to their parent's room where their mama would always be pretendin' to still be asleep like they hadn't made enough racket to wake the dead.

He'd forgot.

"Dar?"

But Soda 'n Pony hadn't.

"Darry? What is it?" They're both on their knees, chins restin' on hands at the edge of the bed 'n God they look two feet tall. When had they gotten so big? When had they all grown up so much?

The hot press of tears is against the back of Darry's throat 'n Soda 'n Pony exchange a wide-eyed glance.

"C'mon, Dar. Tell us." Soda climbs up, slots himself against Darry's side, drops his mess of blonde waves down to Darry's shoulder. Pony's right behind him, blinkin' at Darry with those wide, storm-green eyes he hates so much.

He scrubs his palms over his eyes, drops a hand to each of his kid brother's shoulders 'n pulls them against his chest. Over Soda's shoulder, he can see the tray still sittin' hodge-podge on the tangled-up covers. The bowls' been knocked off the pile of pancakes 'n Darry chuckles, low 'n keenin'.

They're heart-shaped. 'N blue. His favorite. 'N his mama's. 'N the picture rests near his knee. His Daddy grinnin' up at him.

"Nothin's wrong, hon. I just love you both is all." More than you'll ever know.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Sweeter Than Candy - Bob Floyd x Reader

pairing: Bob Floyd x reader

warnings/content: hotel room sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), cursing

word count: 2.2k

You pressed your back against the stone exterior of the hotel, the cool breeze hitting your face as you turned to look up the street. You pulled out a compact mirror from your purse - waiting always made you nervous, and you knew you’d have to touch up your lipstick from biting your lip so often as you watched for him. Your blonde curls framed your face perfectly, the sexy, tousled look suiting you for this occasion. Your ruby coloured lips pursed as you tossed the compact back into your bag before turning to face the glass window to your left. You used the reflection to adjust your outfit - your tight black jeggings hugging your waistline, the low neckline of your lace bodysuit teasing just a little peek of your bra, while your dark blue denim jacket left the rest to the imagination. Your red-bottomed heels completed the look, giving you that sexy-in-charge kind of feel that drove Bob completely wild.

He wasn’t outspokenly sexual, on the outside he was sugary sweet, his always sunny disposition was what he was known for, but he reminded you of one of those candies that were sweet to start, until you managed to suck the sugary coating off and reveal a sour centre. It took time, but normally whenever the two of you met now, just the sight of you was enough to get him going.

He’d been wanting to keep your meetings secret - a way of keeping you entirely to himself. He lived life under a magnifying glass for the most part, but his love life was something he preferred to keep under wraps this time around. For all intents and purposes, you were entangled in a romantic relationship with one another - he’d send you flowers, take you out, but everything was done so quietly that really, sometimes you wondered yourself if you were really dating.

Finally, you got the signal, a text message disclosing his room number and where to meet him. You quickly slipped inside, heading straight for the elevator like you’d done this a thousand times before. You extended a manicured finger to press the button, gently chewing the inside of your mouth as it turned a bright white colour. The few seconds you had to wait for it to reach the lobby felt agonizing as you thought about Bob - his touch on your skin, his blue eyes staring hungrily at you as he kissed your lips, his voice soft and low as he told you how badly he wanted you right then and there.

The elevator was empty when it arrived, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped on, pressing the button for his floor. Just as the doors were closing, a hand reached between them, prompting them to open once again. Bob grinned slightly at you as he walked on between the doors. His navy blue suit was perfectly tailored to his frame, the open jacket showing his tight, white dress shirt that hugged his body. His navy blue tie was loose as it hung around his neck, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted to tug on it and pull him in towards you.

“Mind if I come along?” he said, flashing you a wink.

“Of course not,” you smirked, biting your lip as the doors shut behind him.

“You didn’t think I’d let you get all the way up there by yourself, did you?” he whispered as he stood beside you.

The smell of his cologne encircled you as he rested a hand on the wall beside your head. He turned your face towards his, his lips pressing to yours with a sense of urgency, like he needed your kiss in the way he needed oxygen. You slid your tongue over his lower lip tauntingly, and Bob let out a groan.

“Darlin’, don’t tease me,” he growled.

You whined as his hands began wandering over your body, grasping for your breast as he slipped beneath the thin layer of lace that rested on your skin. He mumbled something into your sensitive skin, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along your neck. He squeezed your breast in his hand as he groaned, trailing his mouth to the sweet spot of skin just above your collarbone. He knew that kissing you there drove you wild, and he loved how you reacted when he did it - your toes curled in your pumps, your head tilted to the side as your hair flowed down the left side of your neck. You felt his fingers pinching at your nipple as his lips worked at your collarbone, a soft groan escaping your lips as you heard the bell inside the elevator, signaling that you’d arrived at your floor.

Bob took your hand, leading you down the corridor quickly. You felt like it was partly because of the secrecy surrounding you relationship - the need for him to have something, anything that felt normal in his life, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that there was more to it than that. He hurriedly shoved his keycard into the slot, the door opening as a row of green light flashed above the handle, an automated beeping notifying the two of you that the door had unlocked.

Bob practically dragged you inside, shutting the door quickly behind him. He slid the deadbolt into place quickly so that no one could disturb you, before turning back to face you. His blue eyes were dark, filled with lust as he shoved your body down on to the bed. You giggled as he did, taken aback by how he was taking control. Normally he was pretty laid-back about sex - he always enjoyed it, but usually it resulted in a mild mishap or two that would interrupt your actions with a small outburst of laughter. Tonight however, was totally different.

He leaned over your body, resting two hands either side of your head to hold himself up above you. His signature grin formed on his lips as he ducked his head down to kiss you. He sat up, his legs either side of your waist as he worked at removing your jacket. He threw it into the dark void of the hotel room, God knows where.

“Fuck,” he groaned, taking in the sight of your lace covered torso.

“You like it?” you teased, running your hand up his thigh.

“Like it would be an understatement, darlin’,” he grinned as he slid his slender fingertips along your the delicate fabric covering you.

Bob rested his hands on the waistband of your jeggings, fiddling with the button that currently kept him from having you right then and there. He bit down on his lip as it popped open before tugging them down off your legs. You could hear his breath catch in his throat as his eyes ran over you.

“Jesus.”

He shook his head quickly before pushing the fabric that covered your slit off to the side, gently running his fingertip in circles over your sensitive nub. He grinned as you squirmed in pleasure, your toes curling as he traced shapes over your skin. His eyes watched your face intently, looking for the reaction he was hoping to get from you. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you moaned his name, your hands gripping fistfuls of the bed linens beneath you.

He ducked his head down between your legs, going to work at your clit with his tongue. Fuck, he was good at that.

He knew exactly how to make you scream, but you could tell that tonight he wanted to tease you more than anything else, and after a few open mouthed kisses and a couple of flicks of his tongue, he pulled his mouth away, giving your clit a soft, passionate kiss as he did, making you moan out his name as he pulled off of you.

Bob quickly unbelted his dress pants, dropping them to the floor as he stood up at the foot of the bed. Unbuttoning his shirt, he grinned at you as you lay there, waiting for him. Your teeth sunk into your scarlet coloured lips, your eyes trailing down his body, resting on the now tight, elastic fabric of his boxers, appearing as though it were about to burst if he didn’t get them off soon.

He shoved his boxers down off his waist, his hardened member springing forward as it came free from the restricting fabric. He tugged his hand along himself a couple of times, enjoying the view he was currently getting. He knelt back down on the bed, his fingers working at unclipping the bodysuit from where it fastened at your centre. He grunted as he tried, unable at first to get them undone.

“How the fuck do I get this off?” he laughed, “I can undo a bra in under three seconds, why can’t I figure this shit out?”

“Five, maybe,” you teased before erupting into a fit of giggles at his failed attempts to remove your bodysuit, “here,” you nodded your head once before reaching your hand down to the row of fasteners. You carefully popped them open, smirking at Bob as you did so.

“See, Lieutenant?” you teased, “it’s easy.”

You didn’t know why, but calling him by his full rank seemed to turn him on more than any amount of dirty talk you could use. It was like he craved being in control, and calling him Lieutenant gave him that authoritative feeling he so badly desired.

He signalled for you to get on all fours, and you did so obediently, your centre absolutely aching for him by this point. His hand rested on your back as he stood up at the foot of the bed once again, giving himself the perfect angle. He gave your ass a playful tap before giving it a tight squeeze.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he said, his voice in a low growl, “I love seeing you like this.”

“I bet you do,” you quipped back, your voice soft and seductive as you spoke.

You felt a shiver down your spine as he gently ran his hand along your slit, your wetness soaking his fingers. You could practically hear him smirking, you knew exactly by the soft, grunting sounds coming from behind you what he was doing.

“Fuck, I love how you taste” he said softly as you felt him lining his cock up with your slit.

He guided his tip along your wetness, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he pushed himself into you, just barely allowing his tip in. You whined in pleasure as you felt him, but you wanted more.

“Bobby,” you whined, “I need you.”

“Mhmm, is that so?” he grinned as he gently thrust himself further in, taking his sweet time as he entered you, making it more agonizing than anything else.

“Please, Bobby,” you whined at him as he pulled himself out.

He grinned as he straightened himself up, wasting no time as he pushed himself into you at full force. You let out a soft yelp as your body tightened around him, tilting your head back. You felt him grab a handful of your perfectly tousled curls, gripping them with a gentle tug as he began to thrust into you, his movements sharp and quick as he built up a rhythm.

You braced yourself by grabbing onto the sheets, gripping them tightly, your knuckles turning pale as he thrusted hard into your centre. You could feel yourself getting close, the pleasure brewing in your stomach as Bob shoved himself sharply into your body. A scream escaped your lips, and you knew at that point you wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer.

“Gonna cum for me, darlin’?” he teased as a sound escaped his lips, some kind of mix between a moan and a laugh, before reaching a hand down to play with your clit.

“Fuck,” you screamed out as you hit the breaking point.

Bob grunted, each thrust becoming sloppier and less calculated as he began to reach his own high, a loud groan coming from behind you. You could feel him fill you as he climaxed, breathing a loud sigh of ecstasy as he pulled out of you, before collapsing down on the bed, completely breathless.

You rolled onto your side as Bob cleaned himself up before laying down beside you on the covers. His arm draped over your naked curves as he buried his face into your hair, breathing in your scent as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

“So how did you get that thing undone?” he asked.

“The bodysuit?” you laughed, before realizing he was serious, “there’s little plastic snaps, you just grab each side of the snap and pull it apart.”

“Seriously?! That’s it?!”

Bob burst out laughing before shaking his head as he snuggled in close to you.

“Those things look hot and all, but next time I’ll let you undo it, because I can’t figure it out.”

[pangborns]

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS.

charlie walker x fem!reader.

in which your nerdy boyfriend lets his desire for bloodshed overshadow his love for you.

scream 4 spoilers, blood, violence, death, weapons, canon type gore.

I started this fic like 6 months ago lol, but I finally got the inspo to finish! sorry it’s kinda short and dark :(

You screamed as the killer turned toward you, dropping Robbie’s cold body to the pavement. He stood to his full height, flicking the warm blood off of his weapon and taking a heavy step toward your wide eyed stance.

“Robbie..?” You practically squeaked, tears squeezing through your squinted eyelids. “Get up.”

The demand was not granted. Salty trails now glistened on your paling face as Ghostface tilted his head at your behavior.

Your attention quickly hopped from the dead friend to the ever-advancing killer. “Please don’t hurt me.” You begged, hands shaking as you tried to hold yourself for comfort. “I-I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Ghostface simply continued his trek toward your small frame. The adrenaline kicked in as you turned to sprint, just barely out of reach from the murderer in the black cloak.

You quickly remembered your friends still inside the house. Your boyfriend. You had followed Robbie out to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid while on his drunk journey through the yard and now you regretted it. The picture of his dead body would forever overshadow the memories of your friendship.

You reached the back porch, running up the stairs two at a time. “Help! Let me in!” You pounded on the glass door, watching as Jill, Kirby, and Sidney all squinted at you, confused. Sidney quickly jumped into action, figuring right out what was happening.

You fell through the opening, quickly turning yourself over onto your back and trying to kick away from the glass door. “Close it, close the door! He’s out there!” You sobbed, struggling to catch your breath.

Jill was quick to kneel down beside you as Sidney and Kirby locked the door and peered through the window. “Who, (Y/N)?” She spoke gently.

“It’s him. The one that killed Liv. He got Robbie.” You hiccuped, rubbing at your sore knees from the fall. “Robbie’s dead.”

Kirby quickly joined your huddle on the cold tile floor and hugged you tight.

“We have to go,” Sid spoke up, voice shaking as she tried to keep calm for the group of young girls. Sidney grabbed you by the armpits and helped you up as Kirby and Jill led the way to the front door. “We can make a run for the car.” She concluded. You thought of Charlie. You hoped he was alright wherever he was hiding.

You panicked as the group of you approached the front door. “No, Robbie’s out there. Don’t-“

Kirby heaved open the door, greeted with the gory sight of Robbie’s corpse. Everybody screamed.

The black hooded figure emerged from behind a pillar on the porch, sprinting towards the door. Sidney slammed the oak door closed, ushering everybody upstairs hurriedly. The four girls ran up the wooden stairs as Ghostface kicked down the heavy door.

A hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you off balance. You fell to the ground, hitting your chin on a step. Blood gushed from the spot on your face, but that wasn’t your biggest problem at the moment.

Being at the back of the pack, the others had gotten upstairs and barricaded separate doors without noticing your absence.

He flipped you onto your back, straddling you. You screamed, hitting the killer in the chest, trying to kick your feet to free yourself from his hold. Ghostface looked down at you eerily, raising a knife above his head, readying for the kill.

“Hey! Fuckface!” A voice screeched from up the stairs. Kirby waved her arms frantically, trying to catch the killer’s attention.

His posture tensed as he released you and made his way toward the blonde. “Kirby, no!” She ran down the hallway, being chased by the cloaked killer.

You wheezed out a whimper, struggling to get up. You’d need stitches on your chin for sure, the blood was trailing down your shirt at this point.

You had to help Kirby. You knew you’d stand no chance by yourself, and you were so worried for Charlie. You needed to find him, make sure he was okay, and he’d help.

“Charlie!” Your throat was sore, voice hoarse. You spent a few minutes stumbling around the first floor of the house looking for your boyfriend to no avail. He was nowhere to be seen.

“(Y/N)?” You turned toward the sound. Charlie. He was covered in blood and looked delirious. You limped toward him, enveloping him in a tight hug as your tears stained his white shirt. He seemed to be out of breath, as if he was in a hurry.

“I was so worried,” You cried. Letting go of him, you looked up. “We have to go help Kirby. He’s after her!”

“Kirby’s dead, (Y/N).” A simple statement.

Your breath hitched. “What- why would you- what?” You stuttered.

“Never mind that, come here baby. I was so worried about you.” He opened his arms, expecting another hug.

In shock, you hesitantly moved toward him for comfort. Looking up to meet his eyes, you didn’t see any change in emotion as the knife pierced your stomach.

Your mouth fell open. Whimpers quickly escaped your bloody mouth as the blade nestled itself inside of you.

You grabbed his biceps, trying to find support as you slumped a bit in his arms.

“Shh, shh I know. I know.” It was as if Charlie was trying to comfort you as he delivered you closer and closer to death.

Blood trickled from your mouth and down your chin, falling onto his button up. “Charlie.” You gurgled.

“It’s okay. Just take your time.” He muttered, stroking your hair comfortingly.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. The same ones you’d stare into lovingly. Your knuckles were white as you fisted his shirt.

“Doesn’t happen as quick as it does in the movies, huh?”

His words fell on deaf ears as your knees finally gave out. He kneeled down to help you lay on the ground. “Charlie?”

He closed his eyes, a few stray tears escaping as he heard you call his name. He pulled the knife from your abdomen, closing his eyes tighter as he heard the noise of the weapon leaving your skin. “I’m sorry.”

The blade punctured another part of your stomach. Charlie audibly cried as you grew weaker and weaker in his arms.

Sidney ran down the stairs, running a bloodied hand through her knotted hair. “Jill? Jill!” Her attention was turned to the sound of a thud as Charlie shoved your dying body to the ground.

Sidney covered her mouth with her hands in shock.

“Oh good,” Jill. “You dealt with her.”

Charlie let out a strangled cry, watching the light leave your eyes. Jill started monologuing to Sidney who could barely see through the tears that invaded her eyes.

Your head lolled to one side, eyes landing on Charlie’s figure, now even bloodier because of you. He tried so hard to ignore your gaze.

“Char-“ a weak arm stretched from your side and toward your boyfriend. With no more reason to hold on, your eyes glazed over and you succumbed to death’s call.

[scotianostra]

On 12th April 1941, Scottish poet, Charles Murray died at Banchory, Aberdeenshire.

Though easily the best known and most popular Scots poet of the period from 1910 till the 1960s, Charles Murray’s literary output was modest. Though there was nothing amateur in his approach to his poetry, Murray was not a professional literary man and had to compose in the time he could spare from a busy working life first as prospector and mine manager, then as a senior colonial civil servant, in the newly created Union of South Africa.

In 1969, twenty-eight years after Murray’s death, poems which had not appeared in book form during his lifetime were published as The Last Poems, with Preface and Notes by Alexander Keith.

Finally in 1979, Murray’s friend, the famed novelist Nan Shepherd, edited Hamewith: the complete poems of Charles Murray. These publications were supported by the Charles Murray Memorial Fund.

Misfits

I've kent auld dominies wi' little skill o' teachin'

When put aneth the soundin' board show eloquence divine;

An' richt learn'd ministers nae worth a doit at preachin',

An' middlin' tradesmen, wonderfu' at gien oot the line.

Sometimes a Genius sets a bonny lowin' flame

Aneth the bushe'l in a neuk, lest it should stop the flails;

Whiles feet that should hae trod up the brae that leads to fame,

Gae trailin' weary doon a fur ahin' the ousen tails.

Now sirs, can ye explain why square pins sae aft are set

To fill roun' holes? Ye dinna ken? That brings menae surprise

For here I'm jamm'd sae ticht, where some other man would fit,

An' he is rattlin' in a place that's just my very size.

But bide till my corners are ance a wee bit worn,

An' I can turn as free as those wha think I shouldna try,

Syne mony wha look doon upon me now wi' scorn,

When speer'd at gin they ken o' me, will proudly answer, Aye.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

Jack grabbed Curly by the hair- his sweater vest was wet, he still had a black eye and the stitched on the side of his cheek hadn’t fully healed. The 17’s face was set in a scowl, he looked curly over with a scrutinizing stare.

“Where the hell is she, greaser.”

he gritted out through his teeth.

Curly grins, a wild crazy smile that shows off every pointed tooth in his mouth. 'I ain't seen your sister. The fuck makes you think I'd have her?' He tilts his head to the side, eyes lazily trailin the bruises, the stitches that ain't had time to turn to scars. 'You're lookin a lil worse for wear huh?'

Jack swallows hard, somethin stuck in his throat, barin straight white teeth in return. Releases him roughly. A lap dog against a street mutt. Curly thinks idly. 'What? Cat got your tongue? Ain't so tuff alone huh?'

Curly takes a step towards him n, minutly, Jack recoils. For a brief moment, Curlys blood is electric with it. The predator, not the prey. The hunter not the hunted. Then somethin flicks behind Jack's eyes. Somethin that makes Curly's heart freeze in his rain-soaked chest. Somethin he's seen in Tim. Long ago.

'My sister. Greaser. What happened to my sister.' N jesus fuck. He sounds scared.