#even without an element of arrogance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchywithwhiskey · 7 months ago

Text

only man allowed

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're feeling particularly needy one night, but when you text your situationship to come over, he reminds you that he won't wear a condom, which is a problem since it's a risky time of the month for you. but you tell him to come over anyway.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), consensual non-consent and consensual sexual coercion, sexual roleplay, 'just the tip' trope, breeding kink, bdsm elements, some biting and marking, some dacryphilia, some pain play, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, multiple orgasms, aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced but not shown situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior

word count: 8.5k

a/n: listen, i definitely wrote this at a certain time of the month and i'm not going to apologize for it!!! what i will apologize for is the fact that this ended up being way longer than i expected!! i wanted these to be short little fics, but apparently toxic bucky won't let me keep things short 🤭 anyway, this was fun to write and i hope y'all enjoy it!! ♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

You missing me, baby?

You could perfectly imagine the arrogant smirk on Bucky Barnes’ stupidly handsome face and the playful glint of mischief in his eye as he asked you that question in response to the picture you’d sent. It was a hastily taken photo of your body clad only in one of Bucky’s t-shirts, your fingers pulling up the hem to show a pair of panties—the ones that had made him groan like he was being tortured when he’d first seen them.

The truth was, you were missing him. You were horny as fuck and you didn’t care if he knew it—which, you were certain he did, because you only ever sent him lewd photos of yourself when you wanted him—but would it kill Bucky to show a little bit of reciprocity, instead of sending you that teasing response?

It didn’t matter that his playfully cocky words only drove your need higher, your body warming as heat flooded between your thighs. You were missing Bucky’s brand of arrogance, and it was all you could think about, the deep rasp of his voice in your ear while he pounded into you, the dirty and depraved things he’d say as his cock slid into your pussy, stretching you out just the way you needed.

You knew, without even touching yourself, that neither your fingers nor your toys would be enough for you that evening. You needed Bucky. Not John Walker, not any of the other guys on your roster—only Bucky Barnes could satisfy the need burning through your body.

So you rolled onto your knees and lowered your upper body to your bed, arching your ass high in the air. You positioned your phone and took a photo of your curved ass, barely clad in your panties, with the TV on your dresser also in frame. You took photos until you got one that you liked well enough and sent it to Bucky.

I’m bored, come chill.

Your text deliberately didn’t acknowledge Bucky’s question—and you weren’t asking him to come over, you were demanding it. You refused to beg a guy like Bucky Barnes, who refused to be exclusive with you, to come over and fuck you.

But you knew the simple request would drag him away from whatever he was doing on that Saturday evening and get him to your apartment.

So you were surprised when he texted back and didn’t immediately say he was on his way.

You sure? If we end up fucking, I’m not wearing a condom.

The second you finished reading Bucky’s text, you shoved your face into one of your pillows and let out a frustrated groan. Of course Bucky hadn’t forgotten you were in the process of switching to a new birth control and you’d told him that if he was going to fuck you, he’d have to wear a condom.

He’d taken it better than you expected—especially for a guy who claimed sex with you “didn’t feel as good” when he wore a condom. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum or tried to talk you into fucking bare while it was unsafe. He’d seemed happy enough with handjobs and blowjobs, and had always reciprocated by getting you off with his fingers or mouth.

But you could tell from his text that he was reaching his limit and, truthfully, so were you.

You missed the feeling of Bucky’s bare cock sliding into you, the heat of his stiff length and the drag of his veins against your sensitive inner walls. You were desperate to feel his cum flooding your cunt, filling you up with his seed while his balls twitched against your ass or clit, and he groaned low and deep in your ear.

Bucky was the only man on your roster allowed to fuck you bare, and it was entirely contingent on him swearing on his mother’s grave that you were the only girl he fucked without a condom. As far as you knew, Bucky had kept his promise—which you knew because you made him get tested at the local clinic at least once a month.

Still, you were only four weeks in to the 4-6 week period where your doctor had told you to use secondary methods of birth control while you were switching prescriptions. And you were so horny that you were probably ovulating—but you wanted Bucky so bad you could barely think.

In fact, the thought of letting Bucky cum inside you when it wasn’t a safe time of the month, and was extra not safe because you were switching your birth control, turned you on so much, your whole body shivered with need. Something about the idea, how risky it was, how it might mean Bucky would knock you up, was too good to be ignored.

You were so horny, you were seconds away from shoving a pillow between your thighs simply so you’d have something to hump against. That probably should’ve been a sign that you weren’t thinking clearly, but instead, it had you making up your mind.

You decided having Bucky over—having him fuck you raw—was worth the risk. In a brief moment of clarity, you reasoned with yourself that there was always the morning after pill. That was good enough for you.

So you texted him back.

I’m sure.

Bucky showed up to your apartment so soon after you texted him that you were sure that he either broke a number of traffic laws driving over from wherever he’d been, or he’d already been on his way. You loved both ideas, and didn’t want him to give you another reason, so you opted not to ask.

But for how fast he’d gotten to your place, he seemed content to take his time getting to the main event. When you opened the door, you’d been expecting (or, rather, hoping) he’d pounce on you. Instead, he pulled you into his arms and gave you a brief, chaste kiss, asking how your week was and how you’d been since he last saw you.

Then, as you entertained his desire for small talk, Bucky made himself comfortable, stretching out on your bed after kicking off his shoes and beckoning you to curl up with him. You did so, a little warily, and even put on a show you’d seen a million times since you figured Bucky would distract you from it soon enough.

But he didn’t.

You lasted all of five minutes before you were lifting your head from Bucky’s chest to look at him, surprised to find the guy you’d texted to come over and fuck you was seemingly engrossed in your show. You whined his name in a pitiful voice, “Bucky.”

The arrogant smirk you’d pictured when he’d texted you earlier spread across his face and he squeezed you tighter in his hard, muscled arms.

“Shhh, baby, watch your show,” he rumbled, rolling you onto your back so he was curled around your side, throwing a leg over yours and burying his scruffy face in your neck. “I’m just here to chill, right?” There was a teasing note in his voice that had you huffing out a frustrated sound.

“Bucky…” you grumbled, even as you shifted your head on your pillows to give him easier access to your neck. He rewarded you by kissing your soft skin, sending a tendril of heat curling down your spine and settling heavily between your thighs. “You know this isn’t what I meant when I told you to come over.”

Bucky lifted himself up onto his forearm, hovering above you so he could stare down into your eyes. His arrogant smirk had slipped off his face, leaving a serious expression as he took in the pinched, frustrated look on yours. He seemed to come to some kind of decision as he stared at you.

“It’s not a safe time for you, right, baby?” he asked, each word said slowly, intentionally, another meaning laced within. “You don’t want me to tell you that I’m horny as fuck and the only thing I want is to bury my bare cock in you and cum in your unprotected pussy—you don’t want me to try to talk you into it, to coerce you, right, baby?”

At his filthy words, your heart thundered in your chest and your pulse thrummed between your thighs, and for a brief, blistering moment, you considered throwing a whole entire hissy fit because that’s not what you wanted. You wanted the opposite of what Bucky was saying—and then the deeper meaning in his words hit you.

Bucky wasn’t really asking if you wanted him to be nice and respectful of the boundaries you’d set, even though you’d already essentially given him permission to ignore them. He was asking if you wanted to play along with the idea that you were reluctant to let him fuck you without a condom while you were at risk of getting knocked up.

“That’s not what you want, is it, baby?” Bucky rumbled, his gaze holding yours as he nodded his head slowly, the gesture so at odds with his words, it could only mean he was asking you the opposite of what he said.

You’d been eager for Bucky to fuck you—you were so horny, it was the only thing you could think about—but the opportunity of playing this game with him was too enticing to pass up. Pretending to be reluctant, pretending to slowly give in to Bucky’s whims when it was what you both really wanted, would only make the sex that much hotter.

An excited smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you saw Bucky’s gaze drop to your lips, his own face flickering with elation as he took in your reaction. You waited until his eyes returned to yours before you answered him.

“Noooo, that’s definitely not what I want, daddy,” you whimpered huskily, the barest hint of sarcasm in your tone as you struggled to stop from smirking. Your head was nodding just as Bucky’s had, and he was the first to break, an eager grin spreading across his face.

He ducked down and brushed another frustratingly brief kiss to your lips. “You got it, baby, no fucking tonight—just chilling,” he murmured, a teasing tone in his voice that had your body tingling with anticipation.

You were less surprised that time when Bucky snuggled back down on top of you, his mouth going back to your neck where he was working on sucking a hickey into the side of your throat.

Since you knew the game you were playing, it was a little easier to settle in and watch your show, all the while trying to forget the way your pussy was pulsing with need. Still, you wouldn’t have said it was easy to ignore the steady twitching of Bucky’s cock against your thigh as he hardened in his sweatpants.

It only got more difficult to keep your attention on your show when Bucky’s hand slid under your shirt, his fingers trailing idly over your stomach until he eventually reached your tits. He began kneading your soft flesh lazily, his fingers plucking teasingly at your nipples, while his mouth sucked on your neck.

Despite how obvious it was that Bucky was taking his time, it wasn’t long before you were a wet, whimpering mess beneath him.

“Bucky, w-we shouldn’t fool around,” you murmured breathily, mouth tripping over the words as you voiced the exact opposite of what you wanted. It was like your lips didn’t want to play the game you’d started, but you were rewarded for their effort by his frustrated growl, which had you throbbing between your thighs.

“It’s fine, baby, we’re not doing anything we shouldn’t…” he rumbled against your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin and making you shiver.

The word “yet” hung unspoken in what little space there was between your bodies, and the promise of it had you warming even more, pressing your thighs together against the ache pulsing in your core. “Bucky,” you whimpered his name, your hips twisting toward him like they had a mind of their own.

“Are ya getting wet, baby?” he asked teasingly in your ear, his fingers tripping down your body until they skimmed along the hem of your panties. All you could do was whine in response and Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you’re dripping for me.”

Your chest was already heaving with heavier breaths just from the way Bucky was teasing his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, taking his sweet time going any lower to where you really needed him. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, and your intention had been to shove his hand deeper into your panties so he’d finally touch your pussy, but instead he stopped.

“Don’t worry, baby, ‘m not gonna fuck you, no matter how wet your pretty little pussy is,” Bucky murmured in your ear, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

Though his words might’ve sounded reassuring, his tone was a deliciously teasing rumble and you could feel his smirk against your cheek. Your body trembled, your thighs parting for Bucky of their own accord, which had him humming a pleased sound.

“Good girl, just let me feel you.”

Bucky’s fingers finally dipped into your panties and slid down to your pussy, a breathy little moan bursting from your lips. The feel of his warm, skilled fingers slipping through your soaking wet folds, bumping against your clit before swirling around your aching, clenching hole, was almost too much.

You had to bite your lip against the urge to beg Bucky to fuck you already, not wanting to ruin the game that was making everything hotter. But he seemed to lose himself for a moment, burying his face in your neck and groaning while his fingers slipped between your swollen and soppy lower lips.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re drenched for me,” Bucky growled, his voice low and no longer teasing. His fingers were dipping shallowly into your hole and spreading your wetness around, making a mess of your pussy. “You feel so fucking ripe, I gotta feel it—gotta feel you against my cock.”

Bucky was already pushing your panties down your thighs, rising above you and tearing his shirt off over his head before tugging your own shirt from your body.

At the same time, you were kicking your panties from around your ankles and spreading your legs, sitting up shove at the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants. When his cock bounced free, you reached for his perfect length, saliva already pooling in your mouth as you gave his girth a reverent stroke.

But then Bucky was urging you back down, guiding your shoulders to the bed and covering your body with his own. You arched up into his warmth while he settled between your thighs, your fingers clinging to his sides.

His darkened eyes were fixed on the juncture of your legs, his fingers going back to playing through your wetness and spreading it around to make a mess of your pussy. Occasionally, he’d bump against your clit, which made your body jolt every time he brushed the needy bundle of nerves.

Bucky felt so good, and you were so close to getting what you really wanted—his cock inside you—but you forced yourself to remember the game you were playing.

You grabbed Bucky’s face in both hands, tipping it up so you could catch his eye. There was an almost dazed look on his face, but he blinked and focused back on you.

“It isn’t a safe time of the month,” you said, as sternly as you could manage. But your breaths were coming too quickly for there to be much steel in your voice. Bucky’s thumb brushed over your clit purposefully and your hips bore down on his hand, your body begging for more as you whined, “You can’t fuck me bare, Bucky.”

“I won’t, baby,” Bucky purred, wrapping the fingers that were sticky with your desire around the hard length of his cock. He chuckled when you whimpered at the loss of his touch, leaning down over you and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Just let me rub against you—you’re so wet, it’ll feel so good. I won’t push inside your drippy little pussy, baby, I promise.”

You knew he was lying, and you knew Bucky knew you knew he was lying. For some reason, that made everything so much hotter. So did playing the reluctant participant, which was why you bit your lip with fake nervousness as you stared up at Bucky, your panting breaths adding even more uncertainty to your voice when you spoke.

“Oh-okay, daddy, you can rub against me—but no more.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before Bucky was sliding his thick, hard cock between your pussy lips, making you moan and spread your legs wider, raising your knees toward your chest to give him all the access he needed.

Bucky let out a groan and dropped down to cover you with his body, his arms digging beneath your back to hold you pinned tightly against his chest. Your sensitive nipples rubbed against him, teasing you relentlessly.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” Bucky rumbled, rocking his hips so his cock dragged between your swollen, dripping folds, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body. “So wet… You’re making a fucking mess on my cock, baby.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered in Bucky’s ear, your body shuddering under the onslaught of blistering pleasure and aching emptiness in your core.

You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s shoulders, hands digging into his soft brown hair and holding onto him while his hips kept rocking into the cradle of your body, his cock grinding against your clit until you were gushing with wetness all over his stiff length.

“Doesn’t it feel good, baby?” Bucky murmured in your ear, his voice sweetly entreating, like he was trying to convince you of something, though you were already very well aware that his hard shaft grinding into your dripping wet pussy felt better than it had any right. “You’re creaming all over daddy’s cock, baby—tell me how good it feels.”

“Nngh, so goooood,” you keened, hooking your ankles around the backs of Bucky’s thighs to get better leverage to grind against his hard length. You were caught between wanting more and wanting to keep grinding against him. “Your cock feels sooo good, daddy, so big and hard against my drippy pussy.”

“Fuck, ‘m so hard for you,” Bucky groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he rutted into your soft, drenched folds with rough, punishing thrusts. “My dick’s throbbing for your cunt, baby, can you feel it?”

He pressed his shaft deep into your slit, the flared head of his cock bullying your clit, and you could feel it. You could feel the pulse in his hard length, joining the rhythm in your center.

Your body reacted on instinct, your inner walls clenching hard around nothing while you whined his name, “Buckyyy.”

“I can feel you, baby,” Bucky rumbled, the teasing tone back in his voice. “I can feel your cunt mouthing at my cock.”

Bucky’s words sounded so deliciously depraved that you wanted to turn your head and kiss him, to taste his debauchery straight from his tongue. You knew he had a filthy mouth, but his dirty talk was even hotter because of the game you were playing—and he just kept talking.

“Feels like ya want me to fuck you, baby,” he cooed, lifting his head to speak directly in your ear. “Does your pretty little cunt wanna get fucked?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to scream, ‘Yes!’ You wanted to get fucked so bad. You practically desperate for Bucky to push inside you and impale you on his cock, to pump into your pussy bare and cum inside you. You managed to bite it back at the last second for the sake of the role you were playing, but you couldn’t get any other words out.

When you were quiet, save for your panting breaths while Bucky’s hips kept up their torturous rocking, he lifted himself, bracing on his forearms so he could hover above you and see your face. He raised an eyebrow in question, his body slowing its movement as his gaze raked over your face, uncertainty flickering in the depths of his blue eyes.

It was clear he was questioning whether you still wanted to play the game you’d both started, and the fact that he was taking the time to check in with you had your heart squeezing uncomfortably in your chest.

It was an annoying reminder that Bucky wasn’t the kind of man to be selfish and self-absorbed in bed. Even if he was only your situationship, he made sure you were enjoying everything he was doing.

And you wanted him to know you were enjoying yourself very much—and that you still wanted to play the role you’d been given.

“I want you so bad, Bucky.” The words tumbled from your lips as you gave in to the urge to assuage Bucky’s concern. “I want you so bad, but we shouldn’t,” you whined, pouting up at him as you slipped back into the game.

The furrow of concern smoothed itself from Bucky’s brow and he smirked before ducking down to capture your lips in a quick kiss.

His hips began rocking into you again, and he swallowed your responding moan greedily. He groaned himself when you used your ankles hooked around his thighs to grind back against him, your soft, wet pussy sliding against the rough ridge of his cock and making a mess of both of you.

“What if I…what if I just push the tip in?” Bucky rasped, pulling away and catching your eye, a smirk fluttered at the edges of his mouth, like he was trying to hold it back but was failing. “Just the tip—just let me feel you. Please, baby, I wanna feel you so fucking bad.”

Bucky bowed his head, pressing sweet kisses to your collarbones, a barely restrained chuckle rumbling his chest. It seemed he’d lost the battle with being able to keep a straight face and you couldn’t blame him, your mouth was spread in a mischievous grin while your nails raked through his short brown hair.

“It’s not safe,” you reminded him, but there was an edge of glee in your tone.

You couldn’t hide the fact that you were having fun with Bucky, playing out the little game he’d started. You were so close to getting what you wanted, that it only made it more difficult to pretend you didn’t want it.

So when you murmured, “If you cum inside me, Bucky…” your voice was breathless with desire, and you had to cut yourself off to bite back the moan that wanted to be set free.

Bucky smirked against your neck, his teeth nipping playfully at the mark he’d left on your throat before he responded. “It’s just the tip, baby, promise—I won’t cum inside you.”

Had it always been so easy for you to hear when Bucky was lying, or had he given up on the pretense of the game so much that it was even more obvious?

The question flitted across your mind but didn’t stay long. You were too busy gasping a quick, “Ok,” your hips tilting, trying to catch the tip of Bucky’s cock in your hole on one of his grinding thrusts. However, it wasn’t until he pulled his hips back that the head of his hard length notched at your tight, clenching pussy.

Both of you held your breath when Bucky pushed inside. He stopped when just the tip was nestled inside the entrance of your warm, wet cunt.

“Fuuuck,” Bucky groaned, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over the hollow of your throat and his scruff rasping against your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking warm, baby,” he rumbled into your neck, the sensation of his mouth against your throat making you shiver all over. “Gotta do it again.”

His muttered words were your only warning before his hips reared back, the broad tip of his cock pulling free from your grasping hole. A tortured whimper slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, and Bucky chuckled as he slid back inside you, your pitiful sound dissolving into a moan when the head of his cock popped into your cunt.

“Yeah, that feels good, doesn’t it?” Bucky crooned in your ear, doing it again, slower that time, making you feel every tiny bit of his tip pushing into your weeping hole. “My cock sliding into your drippy little cunt—you’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Bucky, so wet for you,” you echoed, unable to do more when all your focus was on not impaling yourself on Bucky’s cock. Your body squirmed beneath his larger form, one of Bucky’s big hands pressing down on your hip like he knew you were barely holding back from pushing yourself down on his cock.

“It would be so easy for me to slide all the way inside, don’t ya think, baby?” Bucky purred in a teasing tone, his hips rocking forward until he’d pushed another inch deeper before pulling back so only the tip was inside you again.

Just that little tease had you moaning mindlessly beneath Bucky, tears of desire and frustration springing to your eyes.

Your arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s shoulders and your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs, trying to pull him in deeper. You needed more, to hell with the game you’d been playing. You needed him inside you already.

“Bucky, please,” you begged on a sob, pressing your face into his cheek.

“I can feel your cunt gripping me, baby, sucking on me—she wants me to push deeper,” Bucky rumbled in your ear, a gruffness to his voice that told you he was reaching the limit of his patience with the game as well.

In that moment, you’d have done anything to get Bucky to fuck you properly, but before you could speak, he went on.

“Do you want it, baby?” he asked, his voice rough as crushed rock, his own breaths hot and heavy against your skin. “Want my cock buried deep inside you, filling you up and fucking you hard?”

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you gasped, your hands diving into his hair and pulling his head up so you could look him in the eye. You had to blink the tears from your eyes to do it, but you didn’t want there to be any confusion about what you wanted. “Fuck me, daddy, please!”

A slow, depraved grin spread across Bucky’s face as his eyes roved over your tear-stained cheeks. You felt the tip of his cock twitch inside you, and your body gave an answering clench, like it was begging him to slide inside. But Bucky seemed happy to let his eyes wander over your face, relishing the sight of you crying and begging him to fuck you.

It felt like a small eternity before his gaze met yours again and he seemed ready to give you what you wanted.

“But don’t cum inside you, right, baby?” Bucky asked, a devious tone in his voice. His hips pulled back and thrust forward slowly, pushing his big cock inside you at a torturous pace. Bucky’s grin was teasing as he went on, murmuring, “Wouldn’t want daddy knocking you up, right, baby?”

At Bucky’s words, something inside you snapped. Your mind went blank and your body moved on its own, your legs hiking up Bucky’s sides to wrap tightly around his lower back. Your heels dug into his firm ass and you whined loudly until he let you pull him deeper inside you.

Bucky’s cock impaled you with one thrust, a pleasured grunt slipping from his mouth, half-muffled against your neck. He filled you up all the way to the root of his thick cock and you moaned, long and loud in his ear.

You finally got what you wanted. Finally, you were full of his cock.

Bucky was buried so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass—his big, heavy balls, full of the seed you desperately wanted him to pump inside you. The desire left you dizzy and dazed, your body thrumming with a need to be filled, to be knocked up, to be bred by your situationship.

“Breed me, Bucky,” you whispered breathlessly in his ear.

He stilled for a very brief second, but then he was groaning obscenely, sucking hard on the hickey he’d already left. Whether it was a reward or a punishment, you didn’t know—nor did you care.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky grunted, his legs shifting on your bed and repositioning himself to fight against the stranglehold you had on his body.

He pushed up onto his forearms so he could hover above you, his eyes raking over your face as he rolled his hips to fuck you in hard, shallow thrusts that had your lips parting, punched-out whines slipping from your mouth.

You were so consumed in basking in your pleasure that it took you a moment to realize Bucky had gone quiet—quieter than he normally was when he was fucking you. It took another moment for you to blink your vision back into focus and when you did, you sucked in a sharp breath at the look of pure, depraved desire on Bucky’s face.

“Do you have something you want to tell me, baby?” he asked dryly, lifting an eyebrow in question. Before you could answer, he ducked down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, the heat of his tongue flicking into your mouth making you moan. “Does my girl have a breeding kink she failed to tell me about?” he asked in a teasing tone, plunging his cock deep into your pussy and grinding hard against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Not your girl,” you managed to gasp, even through the pleasure.

A low growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, but it cut off abruptly. It seemed your situationship didn’t like being reminded that he wasn’t the only one who fucked you. Bucky nipped at your bottom lip, biting it a little harshly, making your pussy clench around his cock as you whined through the brief sting.

“Does John fucking Walker know about your breeding kink?” Bucky seethed, his voice suddenly furious. His anger was reflected in the way he picked up the pace of his hips, fucking you in rough, hard thrusts that had you crying out and clinging to his shoulders, your nails sinking deep into his golden skin. “Do you let John fucking Walker fuck you raw—fucking tell me, baby.”

“No,” you cried, tears of pleasure slipping from your eyes and trailing down your temples into your hair. Bucky’s lips found the salty tears and he kissed them from your skin, making your heart and pussy clench simultaneously. “You’re the only one allowed to fuck me bare, Bucky, you know that.”

“That’s fucking right,” he growled, punctuating each of his words with brutal thrusts. “I’m the only man who fucks this pussy raw,” he went on in a gruff, furious voice, raising up onto his arms so he could look you in the eye. “I’m the only man who cums inside this cunt, who fills you up until you’re leaking my seed all down your pretty thighs—I’m the only man who breeds you, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes—yes, Bucky, only you,” you cried, squirming beneath him, using your ankles hooked around his thighs to meet Bucky’s thrusts. It didn’t even occur to you to fight him on his possessive questions—he was right. He was the only one allowed to do all those things. “Only you, only you—please, I need you to breed me Bucky!”

You were getting close, but before you could tumble over the edge of your release, Bucky sat up, breaking the hold of your arms as he pushed up onto his knees. You let out a frustrated wail, but stopped short at the expression on Bucky’s face.

The look in his eye was wild, nearly feral. His hands were rough and possessive when he grabbed your plush thighs, pushing them up toward your chest until you were folded in half. His cock was still inside you, but not nearly as deep as you wanted it in the position Bucky was in.

Your hips squirmed, a whine working its way up your throat before spilling free.

Bucky leaned back down on top of you, pinning your legs to your chest and your body to the bed as his cock slid deeper until you were so full of him, you swore you could feel him in womb—even though you knew that was impossible.

He stayed like that, buried inside you, his cock stretching out your tight cunt while he rocked his hips, grinding deeper into you. All the while, he stared at you, his gaze glittering with the wildness that spoke of a deep-rooted possessiveness, but when he spoke, his voice was deceptively sweet.

“You want daddy to breed you, baby?” Bucky cooed in your ear, his mouth pressing wet, messy kisses to your cheek and jaw. “You knew it wasn’t a safe time of the month, and you let me fuck you raw anyway—such a silly little cumslut pretending you didn’t want it, but you do, right, baby?”

All you could manage was a punched-out, “Uh huh,” Bucky’s heavy weight pressing the air from your lungs while he crushed you to the bed. He shifted a little, so you could breathe, but it didn’t seem to matter that you’d responded, because he went on as if he hadn’t even heard you.

“You wanna feel my fat cock bruising your cervix, baby?” he huffed, pausing only to nip at the lobe of your ear with his teeth, making you clench hard around his cock. His next words came out on a filthy groan, pouring into your ear and settling deep in your mind. “Ya want me to flood your fertile little cunt with my seed and breed you—is that it?”

You were half feral yourself with desire, with your need to cum—with your need to feel him cum inside you—and you weren’t sure if Bucky was checking in with you, or if he was getting off on teasing you, but you rushed to answer, telling him the truth.

“God, Bucky, yes—please,” you whined, your fingers digging into his soft hair and towing his head until your mouth found his, kissing him messily while he kept fucking you in hard, rough thrusts. “Fill me up with your cum, daddy, make me your pretty little cumdump, please, I want it—I need it!” you cried into Bucky’s mouth, your words half muffled because neither of you wanted to pull away.

“Jesus fucking christ, baby,” Bucky grunted, his hot breath panting past your lips. You felt his mouth curve into a sly smirk. “First you don’t want me to fuck you because it isn’t safe,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “And now you want me to breed your little pussy full of cum—which is it, baby, d’you want me to pull out or cum inside your unprotected cunt?”

A mindless moan slipped from your lips at his filthy question, your mind going entirely blank for a split second. All you could do was feel—Bucky’s thick cock pounding into your pussy, the tip hitting a spot inside you that felt so good, you never wanted him to stop. It was too good, you didn’t want him to pull out, even if it would’ve been the smart decision.

“Breed me, daddy,” you begged in a throaty, desperate voice. “Breed me, cum inside me—please, please, please!”

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, but he sounded pleased, too. “I’m so fucking close, baby, so close to draining my balls in your tight little cunt.”

His body shifted and then he was pounding into you in a new, better angle, making you feel impossibly good as you careened toward the edge of your release.

“Tell me, baby,” he rasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “Tell me you never let John fucking Walker cum inside you—tell me I’m the only man allowed to breed you.”

You whined, well aware you’d already told him—and he already knew he was the only one allowed to cum inside you. But it fed the possessiveness Bucky felt, and it felt good to give him that, so you did.

“You’re the only one,” you promised in a thready voice, your pleasure dripping from every word. “The only man allowed to cum inside me—you’re the only man allowed to breed me, daddy!”

Bucky captured your mouth in a dominating kiss, his tongue plunging past your lips like he was desperate to fuck as many of your holes at the same time as possible. You moaned into his mouth, gripping his face and holding him close while you sucked on his tongue, your nails raking through the scruff on his jaw, both of you groaning at how good the other felt.

Finally, Bucky managed to wrench himself away from your clinging grip and his face hovered above yours, a devious smirk on his plump lips.

“Ya know I heard,” he started, his voice a little breathless and gruff, the deep sound of it singing through your body and making you shiver as your pussy pulsed around his thrusting cock. “If you cum at the same time as me, you’re more likely to get knocked up.”

A violent shiver raced down your spine and your pussy clenched hard around Bucky’s cock. His words were going to be the end of you, you just knew it, but what a glorious end it would be.

Bucky grinned at your body’s reaction, looking far too pleased with himself, though you were too far gone in your pleasure to try to wipe that smirk off his face. Not that he gave you much opportunity, ducking down to murmur in your ear.

“Rub your clit, baby, I wanna feel you cumming on my cock while I’m knocking you up.”

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you whimpered pleasure spiraling through you at his words, but you did as he said.

You slipped your hand between your bodies, finding your clit messy and sticky with your desire, your fingertips brushing the thick shaft of Bucky’s cock as he fucked you. Rubbing your clit in ruthless little circles, your body pulled tight.

“Bucky, I’m gonna cum—don’t stop!”

Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the coiled tension in your body finally shattered, and you came with a strangled cry, pleasure consuming your mind and body.

Your release washed over you in waves of bliss that were so intense, you could feel your arms and legs trembling, your cunt clenching hard around Bucky’s thick length that was still plunging deep into your grasping channel.

“That’s it, baby, cum on daddy’s cock,” Bucky rasped, brushing sloppy kisses to your face as he rutted into you, his thrusts turning wild and rough. “You feel so fucking good, baby, you’re doing so good for me, gonna make me a daddy for real, baby—Jesus fuck.”

Bucky cut himself off on a groan, his hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs, his cock impaled to the hilt in your still fluttering cunt. He came with a loud moan, his cock twitching inside you as he shot rope after rope of cum into your pussy. Your inner walls milked every last drop of seed from his balls while he painted the inside of you white.

When Bucky was finally spent, he collapsed on top of you, your bodies easing into a more comfortable position. He lay on top of you in the cradle of your thighs, his palms smoothing over your hips and sides while your fingers stroked idly through his soft hair. You made small sounds of contentment, and an answering, pleased rumble, sounded in his chest.

Finally, just when it was beginning to get uncomfortable bearing so much of Bucky’s weight, he heaved himself up onto his knees and carefully slid his cock from your thoroughly used pussy. You watched him, his gaze focused on the slit between your thighs, and you saw the moment his blue eyes darkened when his cum started dripping out of you.

You reached between you thighs, which were splayed over his his spread knees, to clean up the cum before it made a mess of your bedsheets, but Bucky knocked your hand away. He fished through the mussed up bedding until he found his discarded sweatpants and pulled his phone from the pocket.

Your body was limp with sated pleasure, and he’d taken enough post-sex photos of you, that you let Bucky arrange you how he wanted. You even held your legs open for him so he could position his phone above your pussy and take a couple close-up photos of his cum spilling out of your pussy. Then he pulled his phone back, so your whole body was in the shot.

“Say, ‘I’m gonna be a mommy,’ baby,” Bucky ordered, a lazy grin on his face.

Between your thighs, your pussy pulsed at the words, which sounded so innocent and so filthy at the same time. Heat filled your cheeks and you turned your head to the side, trying to bury your face in a pillow while you whined, “Bucky.”

You knew it was silly to be shy about saying something so innocuous, especially after everything you and Bucky had just said and done, but the moment was over. You didn’t normally have such a breeding kink, but you’d been so horny and it had made you so hot to talk about getting bred while Bucky was inside you.

However, it felt like a whole other thing to play into it when the heat of the moment had passed. It felt like the kind of thing boyfriends and girlfriends did, and you knew better than to tread into that territory.

Still, your body warmed at the idea of looking into Bucky’s camera and saying those words…

��Baby,” Bucky crooned, leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “C’mon, I know you wanna,” he murmured in your ear, his mouth brushing butterfly kisses along your jaw. “You don’t have to be shy with me, baby, I know you’re a dirty little breeding slut desperate to be daddy’s good little cumdump.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” you groaned, but you were smiling when you turned your head and met his mouth for a kiss.

Bucky let you kiss him for a few moments before he pulled away and sat up, holding his camera in position while he raised his eyebrows at you in an expectant expression.

“I’m gonna be a mommy,” you mumbled, pouting up at the camera while Bucky snapped a few photos. It wasn’t long before you were smiling and preening for the camera, sticking your tits out and holding your legs even wider for Bucky.

“Good girl,” he murmured, catching your eye as he lowered his phone. He was giving you a pleased smirk, and you smiled up at him in return.

Bucky gently moved your legs from around his waist and flopped down on the bed beside you, swiping through the photos he’d taken of his cum leaking out of your pussy while you curled around his bicep. You had to admit, they looked hot—even the ones of you pouting and mumbling up at him.

Seeing yourself like that was turning you on and you were just about to shimmy down Bucky’s body and lick his cock clean until he was hard again when he spoke, derailing your dirty thoughts.

“I’ll pick up the morning after pill for you before I head home,” he rumbled absentmindedly, still focused more on his phone. You could see him favoriting some of the photos he’d taken and saving them to a separate folder. “And if you are knocked up, I’ll pay to have it taken care of—but don’t expect me to cuddle you and do boyfriend shit after.”

For a moment, you restrained the urge to smack Bucky in the face with a pillow. And then you thought, why not? You weren’t his girlfriend, you didn’t need to play nice.

So you grabbed the pillow behind your head and brought it down right on Bucky’s face. He let out a satisfying, startled ‘oomph’ sound, and you chuckled as you rolled out of bed.

“Gee, thanks,” you shot over your shoulder sarcastically as you padded toward the bathroom, intent on cleaning Bucky’s cum from between your thighs.

But then you had an evil thought and a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. You wiped that look off your face, though, as you turned and leaned against your doorway, striking a casual pose.

“Maybe if I’m knocked up, I’ll just let John fuck me bare and tell him it’s his,” you said, giving a carefree little shrug while trying not to make it obvious how close you were watching Bucky.

You were delighted when his head snapped toward you, his gaze finally pulling away from his phone as his brows lowered into a glare. His soft mouth turned down at the corners, a furious frown darkening his face.

“D’you think John would offer to marry me?” you asked, ignoring Bucky’s reaction and tapping your chin with one finger like you were thinking. “He strikes me as the type of man who’d want to make an ‘honest woman’ out of me.” You couldn’t hold in your eye roll, even as you were trying to torture Bucky with the possibility of you marrying John fucking Walker.

In an instant, Bucky was up and off the bed, pinning you to the doorframe of your room with every inch of his big, strong body pressed against yours. You only had time to gasp while Bucky quickly gathered your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head. His hardening cock was trapped against your belly, the stickiness of both your releases rubbing into your skin.

“You’re not marrying John fucking Walker, baby,” Bucky growled while he loomed over you. He was so close, you had to tilt your head back to look up at him, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking. “And you’re certainly not raising my kid with Walker’s last name.”

At that, you had to laugh. But when you saw how serious Bucky still looked, you realized he didn’t realize you were just trying to get a rise out of him. Something about the thought of you marrying John Walker had clearly made all rational thought completely abandon Bucky in that moment.

Instead of thinking too hard about Bucky’s reaction, you explained yourself to him.

“Bucky, it was a joke,” you wheezed, giving him an incredulous look. “Of course I’m not gonna marry John.”

Bucky’s eyes flitted back and forth between yours, like he was checking to make sure you were being honest. He must’ve decided you were because he blew out a breath and closed his eyes, his forehead falling to yours.

“Jesus, baby, you drive me fucking wild sometimes,” he rumbled, but there was humor in his tone, albeit reluctant.

A breathless laugh slipped from your lips and you leaned back against the doorframe, hiking your leg up around Bucky’s waist. He caught it in his free hand, the movement pressing his thickening cock between your thighs, making both of you groan.

“I think you should show me exactly how wild I make you,” you purred, rocking your hips against his stiff length, coating him in the mixture of your desire and his cum still leaking out of you.

Bucky growled, his eyes flying open as he stared at you and worked his cock against your pussy.

“Careful what you ask for, baby,” he rumbled, his tone a delicious taunt that had your toes curling against the floorboards and your hips tilting so you could rub your clit against his hard shaft. “Or you’re gonna get another load pumped into your tight, unprotected little cunt.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, smirking up at Bucky and watching as his eyes darkened with desire.

In a flash, Bucky dropped your leg and let go of your wrists, spinning you around to face the doorframe and yanking your hips toward his lap with a rough, possessive grip on your body. Your upper body fell forward and your hands clung to the doorframe, nails digging into the wood when Bucky entered you in a swift, hard thrust.

Bucky fucked you in the doorway of your bedroom, making you promise yet again that you’d never let John Walker fuck you without a condom before emptying a second load inside you.

After, he followed you to the bathroom, hopping in the shower with you where he drained what little cum was left in his balls inside your pussy before helping you clean up—though you suspected he only offered to help so he could finger his cum deeper into your cunt under the pretense of cleaning you.

When you were both finally, finally sated, you collapsed into your bed together. Your mind was blissfully blank and your body deliciously sore as you cuddled together. Bucky dozed for a bit, his head on your chest while you carded your fingers through his hair and watched your show.

After a while, Bucky roused and got dressed, going out to get you the morning after pill from the nearest drug store, just like he’d said he would.

He also brought you back your favorite sports drink and snacks, explaining in a gruff voice that he’d read the potential side effects of the pill on the box and wanted you to be prepared. You refused to feel any type of way about that.

Then Bucky kissed you and left to head home.

All things considered, it was a good thing your new birth control had taken effect, or the morning after pill had worked, and you didn’t get pregnant despite the evening you’d had with Bucky. It was a relief when you were able to tell him that your risky night hadn’t led to any of the consequences the both of you had willfully ignored.

When you texted him to tell him you’d gotten your period, he responded quickly, messaging twice in quick succession. The first text made you roll your eyes, because you thought that was all he’d have to say.

Good.

But then you saw the second message, and you could imagine the arrogant smirk on Bucky Barnes’ ridiculously handsome face and the playful glint of mischief in his eye when he’d sent it.

It made you smile, and you had to bite your lip against a giggle, forcefully reminding yourself that he was just a situationship.

Let me know when you wanna play ‘just the tip’ to ‘breed me, daddy’ again, baby.

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #toxic bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan characters #you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series #witchywithwhiskeywork

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rebeccathenaturalist · 2 months ago

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To Have As Much Compassion For the Coyote As the Rabbit

Spring is here, and all throughout my social media are posts by people panicking about coyotes. It’s not uncommon for these native canines to be more visible this time of year since they have dens full of hungry pups to feed and protect. You might see them on the hunt for mice and other rodents, or you could be quietly but firmly escorted away from a den site. There’s a chance you’ll even see a coyote toting a nice, fat rabbit home to her pups.

That last one tends to upset some folks. I’ve seen people say they’ve deliberately scared away predatory animals to cause them to drop their prey, or in some cases even physically wrestled the prey away. Sure, that may make you feel like some sort of hero for saving the rabbit. But why does the rabbit deserve to live while the coyote’s pups slowly starve to death? Why should a Cooper’s hawk not be allowed to eat the house finch it just plucked from a convenient bird feeder? Who says we are right to get in the way of a garter snake capturing a tree frog? And what if the rabbit you liberated has internal injuries that slowly kill it anyway once it runs away from you in fright?

Read under the cut to find out how many self-described "nature lovers" only really love part of nature.

Many of us have a Disneyfied approach to nature. We have a great deal of sympathy for herbivores* like Bambi and Thumper, and we give Flower the striped skunk a free pass since most of what he eats is insects. We might get annoyed when Bambi starts to browse on the vegetables and rose bushes, but we don’t react with the sort of wailing dismay that we do when a mountain lion takes out one of Bambi’s herd members.

And yet an American robin tugging earthworms out of the ground and swallowing them alive is no different from a bobcat pouncing on the robin. Both are examples of one animal preying upon another, a perfectly normal part of the cycles of nature for 800 million years. Without carnivores (and insectivores and omnivores), herbivores would quickly overpopulate, depleting plant communities to ecologically disastrous states, and crash life as we know it. Life is all about inhabiting niches, and carnivores fill their evolutionary roles quite effectively.

Many people who claim they “love nature” only love the herbivorous, gentle, fuzzy parts of it, and refuse to examine or change their revulsion of or violence toward the rest. That’s a big problem. The elements of nature they consider to be “ugly” or gross” are no less important than the “pretty” or “adorable” ones. And systematically removing the “bad” animals can have a detrimental effect on the entire ecosystem. The benighted person who kills every snake they see is only going to cause an increase in rodent populations, which of course raises the likelihood of diseases, crop damage, and gnawed electrical wires in the attic.

Moreover, when we try to apply the limitations of human ideals of morality to the rest of nature, we ignore the concept of existence value: that all beings are important simply because they are here with us in this amazing, vibrant world we share. What are we implying when we say that the coyote pup is less deserving of life than the rabbit?

We have interfered with nature way too much as it is, in much larger ways than this. Yet it is a simple act to allow these individual interactions between species play out as they naturally would without feeling that we have to step in and play moral referee. Our arrogance at thinking that nature exists for us and our priorities is how we found ourselves in our current ecological predicament. The least we can do is be hands-off in our local food web. Consider it good practice for having healthier boundaries toward nature, rather than constantly centering ourselves in every decisions we make regarding other living beings.

Finally, practice having some compassion for the coyote busily trying to feed her young–and herself. She can’t run to the grocery store and get a package of industrially farmed beef to make burgers for the kids. Her entire life is a constant race against death, whether from starvation, disease, extreme heat or cold, and of course the interference of humans. Imagine the relief she must feel when she successfully manages to catch something bigger than a mouse–do you think we’re the only ones whose reward centers in our brains light up at a job well done? Think of how excited your dog gets when he manages to catch the ball–that’s not only a trait of domesticated animals.

Have some compassion for the coyote pups eagerly awaiting their next meal and their parents' warmth. Photo by John Harrison, CCA-SA-3.0-Unported

Give and take, life and death, nutrients and energy endlessly cycling through body after body after body of animal, plant, fungus, bacteria–that is the grand dance in which the coyote and the rabbit play their parts. Appreciate this eons-old round without feeling the need to alter the tempo, and be glad that tonight the coyote pups will sleep contentedly with full stomachs.

*For the record, many “herbivores” will opportunistically eat meat, live or dead, for the nutrients. Bambi and his buddies are quite happy to pluck a perfectly healthy baby bird or two out of a nest as a snack, and will chew on carrion now and then, too.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider preordering my book The Everyday Naturalist, taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, or checking out my other articles! You can even buy me a coffee here!

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funnywormz · 1 year ago

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i've been thinking a lot abt aging in dungeon meshi and how it's so different for the different races, but especially how it's so different for marcille. even among half-elf half-tallmen, they all tend to age at different rates both mentally and physically. marcille herself is implied to go through random growth spurts and spend some parts of her life aging like a tallman and other parts of it not aging at all. growing up she couldn't fit in with tallmen her own age bc they were already more mature than her, but she couldn't fit in with elves her own age either bc they were all much LESS mature.

i get the impression she's meant to be ~20 in appearance now, despite being abt 50 in her actual age. 50 is simultaneously really young for an elf, when elves live for like 500-1000 years, and pretty old for a tallman, and positively geriatric for a half-foot. and you can see all of these elements in her. in some scenes the way she throws tantrums and cries and is petty or easily excitable, makes her come across as childish. but then in other scenes she's far more mature and shows that she has a breadth of knowledge and power that comes from a very dark and ancient place. and sometimes you can FEEL that she's looking at the others thinking abt how she's still going to be in the prime of life long after they're dead.

the manga delves into it more, with her deepest desire being to equalise the lifespans between races, and the isolation she feels due to being half tallman half elf. and the fact that she could never have her own biological children and yet her lifespan is far longer than even most elves. that she brings falin back to life even while knowing that she could be imprisoned for it if the other elves find out, and wants her friends to live as long as she will, even though she knows they won't. full of so much life and yet all she wants to do is give it away so that others can live..........

there's also just the fact that her character feels very relatable from the perspective of someone in their 20s. she's simultaneously very grown up and wise but also naive and arrogant at times. alternating between feeling like she knows everything and nothing. independent and determined and yet struggles without the help of others. mature and dignified while also being childish and very silly. sometimes a strict rule follower and other times a literal criminal.

it's like she's caught between two worlds in so many ways. she's got so many conflicting traits just like real people have conflicting traits, and her own personality is constantly pulling her in different directions. idk where i'm going with this but man she contains multitudes. i love marcille so fucking much

#one of the characters of all time for sure #dungeon meshi #marcille donato

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tossawary · 10 months ago

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Something I found surprising when revisiting the prequel trilogy is how much the clones aren't full characters in the movies. They're props. They're devices. The films give them the same weight and attention as they give the Separatist droids, really. The only two clone troopers I can easily name off the top of my head who get "named" in any way are Oddball and Cody, who are both just barely in "Revenge of the Sith", and interchangeable in their roles with any other background clone.

It's interesting when held up against "The Clone Wars" and other extension material, which had the time and inclination to say more directly, "Hey, these are people and what's happening to them is wrong." Like, obviously what's happening in Ep2&3 is wrong, the audience can draw that conclusion on their own, growing people as cannon fodder is a clear part of the greater tragedy if you take about five seconds to think about the situation here. Even without the element of the entire war being constructed and controlled by the main villain, the clones are a tragedy.

But, oh man, the movies themselves don't really care to focus on that. It's SUCH a background element. I had a "oh, yeah, Order 66 being programmed into a control chip was a later addition to / clarification of canon" moment while watching, because as far as Ep3 actually shows us (as was the initial intention by some, I know), Cody apparently knew the entire time that he might be called to fire on Obi-Wan Kenobi and was just waiting on the call. The "homogenous evil army" trope is... very much present and even more identical than usual here.

By the films alone, you can easily assume that the clone troopers have no love for any of the Jedi (whom we're meant to believe are relatively decent people) for a variety of reasons. Their upbringing and training on Kamino was presumably cold and brutal. They're (possibly enslaved) soldiers in an even more brutal war. This army is offered no development or individuality that makes the appalling Jedi Temple massacre out of character for any of them.

But when the various Clone Wars shows first turned the clones into individual characters and even protagonists, many of whom are shown to be good people and become friendly with the Jedi through years of teamwork in life-or-death situations, Order 66 became weird. "Wait, why would the majority of clones (all the clones we see in the movies, at least) just go along with this? What went wrong here?"

I get why TCW and SW canon settled on the control chips option and I find it interesting enough. The tragedy of it all makes me want to lie facedown on the floor. Darth Sidious is really winning at sheer evilness here.

On the other hand, there are some really fun and interesting "Order 66 was taught, not programmed" AUs to revisit here. Especially when some of the other (Legends canon now) contingency orders include what to do if the Supreme Chancellor is incapacitated or declared unfit, or even getting rid of the Supreme Chancellor and assuming control by lethal force if necessary. Presumably these orders existed as a back-up in case Palpatine wasn't elected to the seat in time for the war or didn't manage to get rid of term limits and was replaced as Chancellor at any point.

That really sounds like Palpatine's evil army of ruthless Jedi-Killers (unchipped) could have easily backfired on him if they'd ever decided all of these non-clones were unfit and organized to take power for themselves. I love any scenario where Palpatine's arrogant and overly complicated plans get him in trouble. The "homogenous evil army" often gets treated as a mindless mob, but while the clones may have some degree of emotional suppression, they're clearly very capable and not unintelligent, and they're not given many (if any) reasons to be loyal to the Republic. And it is FUNNY to imagine any Dark Lord's created army deciding that he fucking sucks at war (there's obviously a leak, why the FUCK are they losing so much ground to fucking droids) and they're overthrowing him for better benefits, so that they can create and run a more efficient Evil Empire themselves.

You could make this angsty as hell or a comedy, or both. I'm imagining the clones at the eleventh hour murdering Chancellor Palpatine with such brutal efficiency that it feels like its own kind of prejudice. And he gets revealed as a Sith Lord in the process (this was taken into account as a potential problem when planning the assassination), so there's an initial moment of: "I can't believe it! He was the Sith Lord in the Senate all along! How did you know?"

Cody: "Didn't."

Obi-Wan: "...Pardon?"

Cody: "This is a coup, sir."

Like, if we're going by what's shown in the movies alone, there's a clear Emperor Cody AU to be had here. Which can be played as a temporary (years long) measure to reinstall a Republic with proper checks and balances, while a bemused Jedi Order and Senate are held hostage, or the First Galactic Empire is established as per canon just with the clones running it and reaping the benefits. I'm currently enjoying thinking about the latter scenario as a dark comedy, in which Future Emperor Cody (or the clone of your choice) has to negotiate in his spare time with the various demands of his fellow clones. (Who are, let us remember due to the horror that is the accelerated aging, a bunch of teenagers at the oldest here.)

Rex: "I want Tatooine."

Cody: "The whole planet?"

Rex: "Yeah."

Cody: "It's a shithole."

Rex: "Yeah, but it'll make Skywalker so kriffing mad, so I'm calling dibs."

Cody: "Noted."

And if you want to write shipfic, there's always the AU of various Evil Army Clones meeting their love interest and then going, "Not evil anymore! Sorry, guys." Which could be angsty or another dark-ish comedy.

Cody @ the clone commander group chat: "WE'RE NOT GIVING UP ON THE 3-YEAR IMPERIAL COUP PLAN JUST BECAUSE YOU HORNY ASSHOLES WANT TO FUCK JEDI!!! STOP TALKING ABOUT THE POWER OF LOVE!!! STOP IT!!!"

#tossawary star wars #fic ideas #commander cody #captain rex #spoilers #character death #palpatine #emperor cody au

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paarksunghoon · 10 months ago

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Another request if if’s okay! ❤️

Drunk jealous jake x reader—messy make out leads to drunk sex but Jake’s been too afraid to tell y/n he’s in love with her

best idea ever

***

It’s eleven o’clock but the time doesn’t matter to you. Somehow, you’ve scored an invite into Park Jongseong’s luxurious family mansion because of a friend of his. The end of the summer party exists downstairs with the music blasting so loud that you swear you can feel it in your bones.

You’re occupied in the upstairs guest bathroom because Jake couldn’t get enough of you.

You know him in passing but he wants to get to know you better than that. You aren’t quiet by any means but you’re not itching to get the know the rich, obnoxiously wealthy people your friends know. You’ve heard enough stories from Heeseung about his lavish vacation enough to last a lifetime. Their conversations about international trips and rich guy problems doesn’t appeal to you.

Jake, also part of the wealth club, has been fascinated with you ever since the day you walked into Heeseung’s house like you owned it. Jake didn’t feel an air of arrogance when you showed up to an impromptu party after Heeseung texted you about it, nor when you ate leftovers from his kitchen without asking (Heeseung later explains to his friends that this is normal behavior and he welcomes the boundary you cross because you don’t walk on eggshells around him).

Maybe it’s the way you were careless about topics of conversation and had no problem inserting yourself even though you couldn’t relate. He always sits back and listens to you even if you don’t realize it.

It came to a point where Jake stalked your social media accounts (an Instagram account that you update semi-regularly). None of Heeseung’s friends followed you after the first time meeting so he felt weird about following you first. You don’t hang out around them that often but Jake wishes you did.

He watches you from afar and holds onto the crumbs of information he learns about you. Jake tries his best to ask about you when he and Heeseung are together without making himself seem like a pathetic loser for caring about someone be barely knows. He refrains from liking your posts and went as far as to ask Heeseung to show him your stories.

Seeing you at this party felt like a wake up call. With alcohol flowing through his veins and the music right up his alley, Jake was set on talking to you with the hopes that something would come out of it. An hour of conversation has led you to Jongseong’s bathroom with your wine in hand and his face in your neck.

“Jake,” you moan, holding a wine glass with your right hand while clutching onto his body with the other. The sounds you make shoot straight to his cock and he lifts your leg to wrap around himself.

The sudden movement makes your body jerk and causes some of the wine to spill into the bathtub. His lips tickle against your skin along with the wisps of hair along your jawline.

“I’m so fucking hard for you,” he mutters against you.

“Fuck me now.” You say it like you might be just as desperate as he is. “I need you.”

Jake pushes his hot mouth against yours with his teeth as he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants and boxers down. The small number you wear is hiked up your waist and your heels add an element of eroticism when Jake looks down and sees that you’ve pulled your panties aside for him.

He groans and puts his mouth back on yours. You pull him into you with your wine glass discarded and feel the way his cock presses against your wet pussy. Jake, too, twitches and glides himself against your folds.

He pulls back eventually to grip himself by the base and guides his cock to your entrance, letting the tip tease your clit as he gathers your essence around him. Jake relishes in your tiny gasps and how you clench at nothing. It’s so euphoric to him to see you with your mouth hung open. Pride swells in his chest that he made you sound like that.

You wrap your legs around Jake’s waist and pull him in by your heel. He gets the message and impales you with his dick until your tits are bouncing in the confines of your dress because of the medium pace he’s set. The initial moan from you is enough to make him orgasm.

“Fuck me,” he moans, throwing his head back. “G-God. You’re so good like this.”

You clench at his words and he pushes himself even deeper into you at a rushed pace. His ass is hanging out but he doesn’t care that the two of you aren’t fully naked and hooking up on a bathroom sink. Your back is pressed against the cool mirror as Jake’s cock continues to hit you at your pleasure point and you cum so fast that you surprise yourself.

“Are you—fuuuuuck!”

He looks down and watches as he pumps himself in and out of you with the white sheen covering himself. Jake moans and bucks his hips like he can’t imagine that you’re letting him fuck you at all.

I love you, he wants to say. But he doesn’t.

“Come in me.”

Your encouragement is all he needs to hear. His mind is too far gone to think about anything else and his hips rut automatically. He looks at you when he tips over the edge and the satiated smile you give him makes Jake nearly confess his feelings to you.

He’ll say it eventually, but he’ll do it when he’s taken you out on a date and not after the two of you hook up a few more times in Jongseong’s bathroom.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #jake x reader #enhypen x reader #enha hard thoughts #enhypen hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enha x reader #enhypen hard hours #jake sim smut #jake sim x reader #jake #hard thought*#my writing*

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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The Gray Woman 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn't help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"Five thousand." The man slaps his card down and flicks it through the slot of the plastic window.

"Five thousand," you repeat.

"In cash. Hundreds, sweetheart. Oh, actually, do about five hundred in ones," he winks.

You don't humour him by reacting. Your skin crawls nonetheless. The implication of the last part of his request is clear. You merely stare back at him. He's not unusual. Executives strut in all the time with their demands. It's never a request, no please, no thank you. They only tell you what to do.

"Yes, sir. I would need your ID," you take his card from the counter and feel the embossed letters on the matte black plastic.

He scoffs, "my ID? I gave you my damn card."

You don't flinch. Not for him. You've worked this desk long enough not to even feel his anger. He's just another spoiled brat in an overpriced suit. The metropolitan bank is an ocean swimming with the likes of him; hair slicked with smelly pomade, feet bedecked in tacky designer loafers, and jackets lined with silk. You couldn't pick him out of a batch of your usual clientele.

"It is procedure, sir. For security. We must confirm your identity and make note of the large transaction--"

"Large transaction? It's pennies," he scoffs.

"Sir, I'm only following protocol. For your safety." You insist.

He snarls as you remain placid. Your lack of reaction doesn't please him. He jabs his finger onto the marble ledge on the other side of the plastic window. "Manager. Now." He pokes again. "Get me your manager."

"Yes, sir, a moment," you slide forward in the chair and step onto the lower bar of the tall legs.

"While you're at it, why don't you crack a smile?" He snipes.

You climb down without response, his card still in hand, and turn to find Veronique. You've been told to do so many a time. You don't give in. It's not that you don't smile, you just prefer to have a reason for that. You're not grim by any measure, just reserved. You don't believe in exhuberance.

As you cross the floor, you look down at the card in your hand. You can just make out the plastic letters; Lloyd M. Hansen. The name might be familiar, you may have even helped him before, but you can't recall.

You long-legged supervisor with her auburn red hair, waved to compliment her long oval face, stands with Gianni, giggling at the Account Manager as he postures. You approach and steel yourself for the interaction. She doesn't notice you as you stand right by her elbow.

You clear your throat, "Excuse me."

"Oh, pardon me, Gianni," she peers over at you, "what is it, dear?"

"A customer is unhappy. He does not want to show his ID." You say.

"Oh, gosh, forgive me, Gianni," she looks back to the manager and preens. "Gotta make sure everyone's happy, don't I?" She spins and nudges you away from the man in his pin-striped arrogance. She lowers her voice as she stomps in her heels, "do I have to do everything around here?"

"I tried--"

"Zip it," she warns and looks ahead. "Bonjour, Mr. Hansen, comment ca va?" She puts her on her faux French accent.

Your chest hollows out. Of course, she would know him. You already know how this goes.

"Well, Ronnie, this pinch-faced brat you got working for you won't give me my money," he crosses his arms and leans them against the ledge. Brat? You're probably not that much younger than him, and likely more mature.

"Oh, my, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, monsieur," she trills and rears on you, "go get his money."

You blink, "yes, ma'am."

Her lip curls slightly. She doesn't like that. It makes her feel old. It's as much rebellion as you have in you. Subtlety always does better.

You turn and go to the safe. You put the bills through the counting machine, taking your time, then return to your desk. As you approach, Veronique lets out another of her high-pitched giggles.

The man on the other side, Hansen, stands straight, his arms still folded, and coughs. It's nothing in his throat, you know what it is. You push his card through the slot then climb up calmly into your chair.

You count the bills by hand as Veronique hovers like a hawk. You record the withdrawal as you pause.

"Once again, Monsieur Hansen, we apologise," she fawns, "it is only that she did not recognise you." She lowers her voice and leans into the window, hiding her mouth even though you can obviously hear her, "we think her hearing is going a bit."

You continue to count and state the total evenly as you slide it under the window, "five thousand, sir."

"Great," he checks his watch, "only took ten minutes out of my day to do what could be done in ten seconds."

He clamps his hand over the money and shakes his head. You close out of his account as Veronique lingers.

"I will be sure this does not happen again," she avows. "I hope you have a wonderful day."

He grumbles and says nothing else. He catches your gaze and his eyes narrow. You calmly reach for your pen and turn back to your computer. The next client steps forward and blocks him out.

"How can I help you today?" You ask, moving onto the next without another thought. It's just another day. Always the same. Good and bad.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #the gray man #the gray woman

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panchulien · 7 months ago

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listen, Price already knows how scary Nik can be, right. He's seen him in combat, seen him do some things without even blinking. So it's no news. Guys big, scary and efficient.

But imagine if Price got to see him in his element. As a leader and a businessman. Guy runs a private military company, he's sure to be busy. Talk with buyers, partners etc. One day when Price happens to be visiting Chimera (wherever the hell their headquarters may be), Nik gets called up. There's guests. So Nikolai invites Price (since it'd be rude to send him away, and Nik doesn't want him to leave just yet) to the meeting, just to observe.

Nikolai is a damn good businessman, he takes what he wants, can negotiate his way in and out of things. Things get serious during the meeting, Nikolai and the others speaking in heated Russian. Price has no idea what's going on but he can see Nikolai isn't happy with whatever they're offering, although slightly amused. He doesn't feel threatened, Price can see that. Price also knows that Nikolai wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet to the man's head right now, with the way he's getting so arrogant and out of his lane. It sends a shiver down Prices spine, once again reminded just what Nik is capable of. The fact that the other men in the room are scared of Nikolai doesn't help either.

They treat him with so much respect, mostly out of fear for their own life, but it makes something swell in Prices chest with pride.

Price almost wants to laugh, with the way Nikolai can switch up so quickly. The gentle, soft-spoken Nikolai that only Price gets to see is not here right now, but rather the colder side of him. Price can't help but feel a little giddy even, having the privilege of getting to see both sides of this beautiful, brilliant man.

The meeting ends with some very unpleased Russians, muttering complaints under their breath after Nikolai stated his conditions and maybe even threatened them a little, the guys being forced to accept it. Y'know, just to make sure they get home safe that day. (I'm kidding. Nikolai is a reasonable businessman. He wouldn't do that now would he?) ((although i do like the idea of him playing dirty ;))

Price would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed by the Nik he saw in there. Cold and harsh, but also quick witted and clever. Gets Price a little hot and bothered to see his man put the fear of god in other people.

(this could be like a... mafia sort of au if you want to make nik more... evil hehe. i do like that idea. nik shooting someone in the head point blank and while price is startled, he feels a sick sense of pride at that. also a raging fucking boner but that's another story)

#i posted this b4 but got scary #so here it is again i guess #i just #i just like nikolai #sorry #nikprice #cod nikolai

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itsnesss · 5 months ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 | rafe cameron × fem!reader

summary | you confront your former friend, rafe, at a party about his arrogant behavior and how he’s lost the person he used to be. despite his resistance, you see a hint of vulnerability, and you offer him a chance to change

warnings | strong language, emotional confrontation, themes of arrogance and vulnerability, personal growth

word count | 1.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The party is in full swing. The lights flicker above the crowd, creating an atmosphere that feels more like a spectacle than a celebration. And you, though you try to enjoy yourself, can only think of one thing: Rafe. The guy who used to be your friend, the one you shared laughs, secrets, and endless afternoons talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

But today, he's a different person. Today, he's surrounded by his entourage, with that arrogant attitude that doesn't even surprise you, but definitely annoys you. You've been warned, of course. Rafe has changed. And not in a way that you like.

You watch him from the corner of the room. He’s in his element, chatting with everyone, bragging about his conquests, his exaggerated stories. His friends worship him, follow him, laugh at his jokes. But you’re not fooled. You know that underneath all of that, there’s a guy who used to be different. The Rafe you knew was impulsive, sure, but also loyal and genuine. Now he seems to be covered by a layer of arrogance that he can’t even hide.

A moment later, your eyes meet his. The connection is brief, as it always was. But this time it’s different. There’s something in the way he looks at you, something that tells you he’s not the same guy anymore. Rafe’s look is no longer that of a friend. It’s that of a stranger.

It’s hard to let it go, but you force yourself to. You don’t want to confront him, not here, not now. However, as you make your way to the bar, he appears beside you, as if he were looking for you. He smiles, but that smile doesn't have the warmth it used to have. It’s arrogant, the same one he wears when he feels in control. And you know that what’s coming next won’t be just a simple hello.

“Hey, princess,” his voice is dripping with sarcasm. He doesn’t even bother to hide it.

You look at him, but you can’t help but feel that there’s something else in his words. Something that makes you uncomfortable. “Don’t call me that,” you respond, letting the tone of your voice be firm. “What are you looking for, Rafe? Why do you act like you're the center of the universe?”

He laughs, but it’s an empty laugh, as if he's trying to convince himself of something. “Come on, seriously? Don’t you see what’s going on here? I’m the guy everyone wants to know. You can’t deny it.”

“I’m not denying it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “But that doesn’t make you the king of anything. It just makes you an idiot. You’re surrounded by people who worship you, but you have no idea who you really are. You’re not the person you were a year ago.”

Rafe doesn’t seem to expect those words. He stops for a second, looking at you. But no, he’s not surprised. He’s pissed off. As always, he responds to criticism with a shield of indifference. “What do you know about me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, the typical challenging look he used to give when something bothered him.

And in that moment, you remember that Rafe you knew, the one who didn’t need to show his power to be respected. The guy who used to share secrets with you, who used to listen to your stories and share his without needing to impress anyone. But that guy seems to be gone. And all that's left now is a grown-up kid with too much pride and too much fear of being vulnerable.

“I know you because I knew you,” you reply, looking him straight in the eye. “I know what you were before all this. What you were when you didn’t have to act like you were better than everyone else. Do you really think all of this makes you more interesting? More happy?”

Rafe steps toward you, and the air between you thickens instantly. The noise of the party seems to fade as you realize the words you’ve just spoken have hit a sensitive spot. For a moment, he stops being the arrogant guy. He’s just staring at you, as if he's remembering something he’s tried to bury.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he says, his tone lower, but filled with a subtle venom. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do to get here. You don’t know anything about what’s happened. So don’t start giving me lectures on who I am, understood?”

And that’s when you understand. It’s no longer just arrogance. It’s not just pride. It’s fear. The fear you have when you realize you’re no longer who you used to be, and you don’t know how to go back.

“I’m not giving you lectures, Rafe,” you say, not looking away. “I’m just telling you the truth. We don’t need you like this. We don’t need a guy who hides behind his ego, or someone who needs to be the center of everything to feel good about themselves. We need the Rafe from before. The one who was real, not the one who’s trying to be someone else.”

Rafe seems to freeze for a second, as if those words have reached him deep down. His anger in his eyes subsides, but it doesn’t go away. “I’m not that guy,” he mutters, his words a broken whisper that surprises you.

“You are, Rafe,” you reply, but your voice is softer now. “You just don’t want to admit it. You’re afraid to be him. You’re afraid no one will accept you for who you really are. But you don’t have to keep up this act. You just need to stop pretending and be yourself.”

A long silence follows. He looks at you, his eyes devoid of the rage he had shown before. You’re about to say something else, but Rafe steps back and sighs.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, in a voice quieter and less certain than you’ve ever heard. “Maybe it’s just that... I’ve lost my way. I don’t know how to find my way back.”

At that moment, you know that, although he won’t admit it, something has changed in him. Maybe not everything, but at least a small part of his pride, that layer he used to cover himself with. And although his facade is still there, you can see a crack. The spark of the person he used to be.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you say, sincerely. “You just need to want to change. And I... I’m still here, if you need me. But I can’t stay if you keep being this version of yourself.”

Rafe doesn’t respond immediately, just staring at you, as if trying to process everything you just said. Finally, his face softens a little, though the shadow of his arrogance is still present.

“Maybe one day I’ll get it,” he murmurs, before turning to walk toward the crowd. “But today’s not that day.”

And even though you wish it were, you understand that change doesn’t happen overnight. Rafe is lost, but maybe, just maybe, this conversation was the first step to finding his way back. And for now, that’s enough.

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks x fem reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron x reader

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mostlyghoestly · 19 days ago

Note

Do you think you’ll be able to do something for Christian Maddox?

Winners don't need trophies | Christian Maddox

Author note: Fem reader. I hope this is good,yall! Keep requests coming and if you want anything specific just ask! its so hard to find gifs

The back lot was alive. Engines revved, headlights cut through the dark, and somewhere nearby, the smell of burnt rubber hung thick in the air. Another Thursday, another string of illegal races, and Christian Maddox was in his element.

You weren’t sure why you kept coming back. You weren’t a racer, weren’t part of any crew. Just a girl with a bad habit of lingering too long in places she didn’t belong.

Maybe it was the rush of it — the danger, the high of watching something reckless and beautiful play out in front of yourself. Or maybe, if you were honest, it was Maddox.

He wasn’t loud like the others. Didn’t flash his wins or run his mouth in the crowd. Christian had quiet power — the guy people parted for without a word. He showed up, dropped jaws, left people broke, and then vanished again like smoke.

And for some reason, he noticed her.

You caught him watching once, a few weeks back. Leaning against his car, cigarette between his fingers, eyes half-lidded like he had all the time in the world. But the way those dark eyes pinned her, it was like he saw right through the noise, straight down to your bones. After that, it’d been this… thing. Passing glances. Casual run-ins. Long stretches of silence where it felt like everything in the lot was just static around them. And tonight? It was worse than ever.

You was leaning against your own car, beer in hand, watching the races when you felt it — that pull. You turned, and sure enough, Christian was there. Leaning against his yellow and black Camaro, expression unreadable, the sharp curve of his jaw catching the low light.

You raised a brow. “You staring or what?”

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t drop a line like others would’ve. Just pushed off the car and made his way over, moving like a storm cloud — slow, inevitable. When he stopped in front of you, there was a heartbeat of silence. “You shouldn’t waste your time watching them,” Christian murmured, nodding toward the race. “None of ‘em know what the hell they’re doing.”

You snorted. “Arrogant much?”

“Truth ain’t arrogance.” It wasn’t a line. It was just how he talked — clean, stripped-down, no frills. And God help her, you liked it. You took a long pull from your beer. “So what, you think you’re the only one worth watching?”

He met your gaze, and for a second, it was too much. Like the air pressed heavy against her chest. “I don’t race for the crowd,” he said quietly. “And I don’t need a trophy to know I’ve won.”

Your stomach twisted. It was the way he said it — like it meant something more, like he wasn’t talking about cars anymore. “Is that supposed to impress me, Maddox?” You teased, trying to keep it light.

His lips quirked, the ghost of a smirk. “No. If I wanted to impress you, you’d already be in my passenger seat.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. You covered it with a scoff. “Cocky.” Christian shrugged, leaning against the hood of your car like he belonged there. The warmth of his body radiated into your space, a steady, quiet gravity you couldn’t pull away from.

“Not cocky,” he murmured. “I just know what I want.”

That shut you up.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of engines and shouts and music filled the space around them, but it felt distant, like they were outside of it. Finally, You cleared your throat. “So what do you want, then?”mo

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and steady. “You.”

You choked on a laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” The words weren’t slick or pretty. But they landed harder than any sweet talk ever could. Your pulse jumped, stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with him.

You licked your lips, trying to gather your scattered wits. “And if I’m not interested?”

Christian shrugged again, unconcerned. “Then you’re lying to yourself.”

Cocky bastard. But god, the worst part was… he wasn’t wrong. You’d felt it since the first time he looked at her like you were more than background noise. Like he’d already claimed her in some quiet, unspoken way neither of them wanted to say out loud.

You leaned closer, close enough to catch the clean, sharp scent of him — smoke, leather, and something electric.

“Say I was interested,” You murmured. “What then?”

Christian’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up. “Then you get in my car.”

“And if I say no?”

He gave a slow, wicked grin. “I’ll wait for you out.” It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even a challenge. It was a promise, and something about the certainty of it made your breath hitch. The next race started. Tires screamed down the stretch of road, the crowd erupting. But neither of them looked away from each other.

You bit the inside of your cheek, considering him. “Why me, Maddox? Plenty of other girls out here.”

“None of them look at me like you do,” he said simply. It knocked the breath from your lungs, because yeah — maybe you did. Perhaps every time he raced, your stomach twisted, and every time he disappeared into the night, you felt the absence like a hollow space. Christian pushed off the hood, stepping into your space, one hand bracing against the car behind you.

His voice was a low, rough thing between them. “You think I don’t notice when you show up? Think I don’t see you watching?” He leaned in, his mouth a breath from yours. “Racers don’t need trophies. I don’t race for the title. I race for the high. And you—” his knuckles brushed your jaw, tilting your face up “—you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted more than that.”

It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t even tender. It was raw and electric and so undeniably him that it made your head spin. Your pulse thundered. You didn’t answer — didn’t have to. The look in your eyes said it for you. You closed the distance, your mouth catching his, and it wasn’t soft. It was hungry, sharp, all teeth and heat and frustration. Christian’s hand slid into your hair, gripping tight as he kissed you like it was inevitable, like it was always going to happen.

When they broke apart, both of them breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a question.

You let out a breathless laugh. “About time you asked.”

Christian grinned — a rare, crooked thing — and tugged you toward his car. And maybe, in the middle of all the chaos, with engines screaming and the world burning itself down, you realized he’d been right. Some things didn’t need trophies. Some things were better won in private.

#motorheads #motorhead #motorheads imagines #motorheads x reader #motorhead x reader #christian Maddox x reader #logan maddox x reader #curtis young x reader #ray young x reader #caitlyn torres x reader #zac torres x reader

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optimisticgrey · 13 days ago

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Revenge👅💦

summary: Gale gets his revenge - as requested by @enelleloup 🫶

author's note: This is Part Two of Relax, my love

content warning: NSFW, MDNI. Oral (f receiving)

pairing: Gale Dekarios, female OC (Celeste)

VP by @alstromeri-a

word count: 2,1k words

AO3 Link

Gale had long considered himself — without arrogance, but with the quiet confidence of experience — a particularly accomplished lover. Not merely in the physical sense, though he took pride in the attentive art of touch and the symphony of response, but in his capacity to read a partner’s needs before they were spoken. Desire, to him, was never a singular event but a nuanced dialogue of body and spirit, and he prided himself on listening with both.

With Celeste, that dialogue had always been effortless, an intuitive exchange of longing and laughter, reverence and recklessness. There were few boundaries between them, though one particular fixture in their dance was her occasional refusal, timed with playful precision. She would press a teasing hand to his burgeoning need, offering a wicked grin and a murmured promise of “later” as if to remind him that even pleasure was best when delayed. He had learned to take his own sweet revenge in turn — patient, precise, and absolutely inevitable.

And so, when the moment finally arrived — when she rose from her chair in a stretch of unguarded grace, arms lifted, ribs elongated, spine curving like the bow of a spell ready to be loosed — he struck. Silently, deliberately, he stepped behind her, his mouth brushing the delicate slope of her neck in a whisper of affection and intent. His hands, confident and unhurried, found their familiar path along her hips before ascending to cup her breasts with the reverence they deserved.

Her giggle — bright, melodic, unguarded — transmuted with remarkable swiftness into something far more guttural, far more elemental. A sound pulled not from amusement, but from the kindling of want.

Ah, yes. There it was. The exquisite reward for patience. Retribution, when exacted with lips on warm skin and hands reverent yet unrelenting, was not simply sweet — it was symphonic.

“Bedroom,” Gale intoned against her throat, each syllable punctuated by a kiss placed with deliberate calculation, from the graceful curve of her neck to the bare expanse of her shoulder. “I will join you presently.”

Celeste, ever the equal in mischief, offered him a playful smile paired with a murmured, “Yes, Sir,” before turning for a kiss — one he was all too pleased to give, with breath and teeth and promise.

“I expect you unclothed,” he added, his voice a velvet ribbon wrapping around command and delight.

Another cooed, “Yes, Sir,” followed, her cheeks flushed with anticipation, her eyes bright with unspoken challenge.

He let her go, then. Not because he needed time to compose himself, but because he wanted her to feel the weight of waiting. It was a rare cruelty, artfully chosen. Celeste abhorred delays, especially when it came to pleasure, and Gale found no small amount of satisfaction in that particular vulnerability.

When he did, at last, enter their room, the sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.

She was already bent over the bed, her dress discarded in a careless heap, her bare back a line of tension and invitation. Legs parted, body shifting ever so slightly in restless expectation — Celeste was on display, willingly and wholly vulnerable.

For him.

A flicker of awe shuddered through him. That someone so wild, so strong, so complex would offer herself thus… It was not simply erotic; it was an act of trust. Of love.

She glanced over her shoulder, and there it was — that smile.

Radiant, mischievous, and utterly spellbinding, it gleamed like moonlight on still water, and it struck Gale with the same quiet force as a well-cast enchantment. That single look conveyed more than words ever could: trust, desire, anticipation. And gods help him, he would never tire of being on the promising end of it.

"Turn around," he said, his voice velvet and unhurried, rich with the undertone of certainty that came not from arrogance, but from reverence. "Lie back on the bed."

He moved with deliberate grace, conjuring a cushion for his knees with a small flourish. Comfort, after all, should never be an afterthought when it came to her. No detail too small, no act too mundane when performed in service of her pleasure.

She obeyed without hesitation, not with submission, but with something far more intimate — trust, pure and unguarded. Her body shifted onto the bed, legs draped carelessly over the edge, and her eyes — those incandescent, ever-watching eyes — remained on him, unwavering. It wasn’t obedience he saw in her gaze. It was surrender in the most sacred sense of the word.

He turned to her, caught her gaze once more, and bent low to place a kiss just below her navel.

"You will not touch me," he murmured, voice low, almost indulgent. Not a command, not really. A promise.

"Yes, Sir," came her immediate reply, her breath catching, eyes wide. The title, said in her voice, filled him with quiet pride and molten hunger both.

"And you will only be released once I am satisfied."

A flush rose up her chest to her cheeks, a breathtaking blush that painted her skin like dawn creeping across the horizon. She swallowed hard, then let out a soft pant, lips parting not for argument, but invitation.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered again, this time gentler, almost reverent. Just almost. "As you wish."

Oh, but she had no idea.

No idea how thoroughly he intended to fulfill that wish. Not out of obligation, not from dominance or need for control, but from the sheer joy of giving. Of showing her, again and again, that her pleasure was something he would treat as sacred. A spell he would cast with hands and mouth and heart, until her very breath shook with it.

And as he knelt before her, heart thrumming in his chest, Gale felt the quiet, searing certainty of it all over again: he was exactly where he belonged.

A smile ghosted across Gale’s lips as he descended with purpose, drawn by gravity and something deeper still. There, between her thighs, was the altar of his devotion, and he pressed his face into her heat without hesitation, like a man who had wandered far too long through drought and desert. Starved? Yes. Parched? Unquestionably. But unrepentant most of all.

The moment her scent enveloped him — musk and warmth, like wildflowers crushed under moonlight — something within him loosened with a quiet, helpless groan. It was not a sound of desperation, but one of surrender. She was unlike anything he had ever known. Salt and sweetness. Smoke and silk. No poetry, no magic, no carefully honed metaphor could do justice to the way she unraveled him, made every former lover feel like a half-remembered dream. With Celeste, memory was irrelevant. There was only this moment.

His tongue made its first slow pass across the delicate swell of her sex, reverent and sure, as if he were tracing runes in a long-forgotten spellbook — each stroke deliberate, studied, and potent. When he reached her clitoris, he circled it with that same scholar’s precision, but the intent here was not mastery, nor demonstration — it was gift-giving, in the most intimate form he knew.

The response was immediate and incandescent. Her gasp rang out, pure and sharp, followed by the violent twist of her fists into the bedding — an attempt, perhaps, to tether herself against the tide he was conjuring. And then her laughter, wild and delighted and completely unguarded. The sound struck him like lightning. He felt it in his spine, in the rigidity of his arousal, in the place where desire met joy and burst into flame.

His own need pressed against his trousers with maddening insistence, but he spared it only a moment — one efficient movement to unfasten, to free himself, to breathe again — then returned to her with undivided attention, his mouth never once breaking its devotion.

With practiced care, he slid his fingers to part her folds, revealing the glistening heat within. He entered her with a single finger, slow and deliberate. His reward: her body arched like a bowstring loosed, her mouth giving way to a cry that bore his name.

“Gale!”

He chuckled low, pleased, emboldened. That sound — the way she moaned his name — had become his favorite incantation.

“More?” he murmured, teasing, before claiming her clitoris again, lips closing around it as his tongue began its gentle play.

It was so easy to lose himself here, in the music of her, the rhythm of her breath, the stuttering cadence of her hips, the taste of her thick on his tongue. Her legs began to tremble, back arching like a spell taking hold, and he knew she was teetering on the edge.

His free hand slid upward, fingers gliding across the warm plane of her belly until they found the generous swell of her breast. He cupped it gently, then rolled her nipple between his fingers, tugging just enough to cross the line between pleasure and the barest, delicious sting.

Her response was instantaneous and exquisite: her back bowed again, words fell from her mouth in broken syllables — pleading, blessing, unraveling all at once.

And Gale, eyes fluttering closed, moaned softly against her, tasting her, holding her on that trembling precipice with maddening precision. A second finger joined the first, curling just so — exactly where he knew she needed it — and he held her there, trembling, radiant, not yet undone.

He could have written books about this moment. Instead, he simply lived it — every breath, every shiver, every divine syllable of her pleasure a testament to the quiet power of devotion.

She cried his name again and again, the syllables fracturing across her lips like a spell miscast in ecstasy. Her hands clutched at the sheets, desperate anchors in a world coming apart at the seams. Her legs trembled violently over his shoulders, muscles tightening and releasing in wild rhythm as her body surrendered to the wave crashing through her.

And still, Gale did not relent.

The taste of her — the very essence of her — flooded his senses, heady and bright and overwhelming in the most exquisite way. She pulsed around his fingers, wetness spilling freely as he moaned into her, not with lust alone, but with joy — exultation, even. To bring her to this state, to feel her fall apart with such abandon beneath his touch, was a privilege he savored like rare wine.

She flinched, a sharp, shuddering recoil as overstimulation sparked through her nerves, and still he held her, arm coiled firmly around her waist, anchoring her in place without cruelty, only certainty.

“What did I tell you, my love?” Gale murmured, the words a caress of their own as he placed gentle, reverent kisses just shy of her most tender place. His fingers stilled momentarily but did not withdraw. He knew her. Knew exactly how she responded, how much she could take, how to press her against the edge without letting her tumble past it.

Her voice was a tangle of broken syllables, breathless and raw. “That you… that —fuck…” She groaned, her chest rising and falling in ragged motion, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue traced a delicate circle once more. “That I will be released… once you are… satisfied.”

“Correct,” Gale replied, his voice a silken hum of approval, laced with a smile. “Very good, my love.”

But he paused. Not to tease, not to prolong for the sake of his own pleasure. No, this was an intermission born of care. He knew she often held her breath at climax, a little quirk of physiology that tended to leave her dizzy, or with a faint ache behind her eyes. So, with patience and attentiveness only a devoted lover could offer, he let his touch go tender. He kissed the inside of her thighs, her swollen folds, her trembling hips, until her gasping slowed and her body stopped flinching from him.

Only then did he begin again.

Celeste’s breath came in short, fragmented bursts now, her body pliant and shaking, nerves raw with sensation.

“Gale, please — ” she begged, voice breaking beautifully against the air.

He chuckled softly at that, not unkindly, the sound rich with delight. But he didn’t stop. If anything, his touch deepened — not in speed, but in intent. Precise, persistent, lovingly merciless. There was an art to it: guiding her toward that fragile precipice once more, without tipping into the realm of pain. He navigated her thresholds with the care of a man who had read her body like an ancient tome, margins filled with his annotations, every nuance known.

It didn’t take long. Her body tightened again, breath caught in that familiar staccato, and then — release.

Brilliant, unstoppable, and entirely his to witness.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #galemance #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios fanfic #gale x f!tav #gale x oc #gale x durge #gale smut #gale dekarios smut #oc: celeste #song of love and loss

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detachedminxsfics · 3 months ago

Text

Challenge

Masterlist

Characters: Cal McCarthy x F!Reader

Summary: When another avid pool player steps onto your turf and threatens to damage your hustle at your usual dive bar, you take matters into your own hands.

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: NSFW - Implied age gap, vaginal sex, exhibitionism elements, public bathroom sex, praise, dirty talk, dilfy cowboy (damn you jdm)

A/N: Oh boy, it has been SO long since I have been able to finish writing anything, but for the first time in forever last night I returned to one my many unfinished oneshots and somehow managed to finish this one. I'm quite rusty so I do apologise in advance. 😭

Scanning the room for the third time in the last hour you look over the rowdy, mostly drunk patrons of the bar you'd been frequenting for the past month or so, idly tapping the side of your glass as your eyes settled on a particular man. You mostly came here to scope out poor, unsuspecting dudes who would confidently empty their wallets thinking there was no way in hell you could beat them in a game of pool, only for you to do exactly that without letting them shoot a single shot and then collect your prize money whilst your defeated opponent grumbled something under their breath. Rinse and repeat, though tonight seemed to be panning out a little differently. More often than not it was the same guys, a couple of regulars and the occasional newcomers that would let their arrogance get the best of them allowing you to clean them out before they even knew it, but it would seem you had some competition. Cal, as the people who murmured in disdain before handing him their money had called him, was gathering a couple of twenty dollar bills from the pool table to join the plenty of others he had already collected tonight, folding them and stuffing them into his pocket. He sets his pool cue down before picking up his cream cowboy hat from one of the adjacent pool tables, then places it on his head and fishes a pack of Marlboros from his pocket before heading to one of the doors that leads out back. You couldn't tell if it was the irritation that someone was trying to beat you at your own game on your stomping grounds, or if it was the fact that the bastard was handsome as hell too, but you needed to beat him.

Sliding off of the bar stool you'd made yourself comfortable on you adjusted the skirt of your dress that had hiked up a little from sitting down, then retrieved a pool cue and headed to the nearest available pool table, the one that your mystery man had just left. You didn't have to wait too long, Cal returning through the same door he had left from and immediately looking in the direction of the pool table he had just left, which he had also propped his cue up against. He notices you leaning up against it and locks eyes with you prompting you to give him the sweetest smile you can manage, beckoning him over with your hand. When he reaches you there's a grin playing on his lips, and you try not to let yourself be distracted by how much more appealing he is up close. He's wearing a black shirt that's unbuttoned just enough to expose some dark curls of chest hair, his sleeves rolled up to reveal some of the tattoos decorating his forearm, which sit prettily against some of the veins running up his arm too. His grey beard which mostly darkens above his top lip also didn't do you any favours when it came to focusing on the glorious win you were determined to secure, this guy was totally your type.

“Hope I didn't leave you waiting too long, darlin',” he drawls, the accent alone enough to sabotage your entire idea.

“Not at all, I was hoping you're up for a game of nine-ball. Say, fifty dollars to whoever wins?”

He playfully places his hand over his heart and exhales, “A woman after my own heart. You're on, I could never say no to some nine-ball.”

And you knew he couldn't either. In the time that you'd been observing the room, it was practically all he had played. He clearly had a preference for it and you'd need him to feel as though he had this in the bag. He rounds the table to where he'd left his cue and then chalks it whilst you rack the balls, lifting it and setting it aside afterwards. Cal positions his cue ball on the table and then passes you yours, both of you leaning down and then taking your shot to determine who goes first. Whether you got the first go or not didn't matter too much since you planned on letting him win this first game anyway. You needed him to feel confident in a rematch, to get him to a point where he felt as though he could double his winnings without so much as breaking a sweat. Yours was closest to the top rail meaning you got to start, so Cal removed his cue ball and set it aside.

“How long have you been playing for, Cal?” You ask as you lean down and position the cue, you couldn't deny that a part of you was curious about him.

“Oh, a good long while now, probably since before you were born.” He chuckles, which you pretend to find equally as funny. “How 'bout you?”

You take your shot before responding, pocketing the lowest ball.

“Four years give or take.” You reply as you move to a different side of the table and line up your shot, pocketing the second ball.

“That how long you've been playing in bars too?”

You look up at him as you try to calculate your angle, your hand resting on the surround of the pool table.

“Nope. I started in college, mostly playing at stupid frat parties. Eventually, it just wasn't challenging enough for me.”

He ran his hand over his beard as you spoke, the way his eyes were roaming over you as you leaned down to take your next shot making you feel hot all over, but you kept your composure. It was on your fifth shot that you decided it would be best to screw up, positioning the cue so that the ball would only just graze the pocket but ultimately roll back. Cal sucks his teeth as the ball rolls before coming to a stop, uncrossing his arms and making his way to your side. He places his hand on the small of your back and leans in close as if to comfort you, though the taunt that follows does anything but that.

“Well, ain't that just a damn shame. Bad luck, sweetheart.”

He softly patted where he was resting his hand a few times, and you were hoping he didn't hear the way your breath caught in your throat when he removed his hand and turned his attention back to the game. There was no denying that the man was skilled as he pocketed each remaining ball without missing a beat, maintaining eye contact with you as he leaned over and bit down on his bottom lip in concentration whilst lining up his final shot. When he'd cleared the table he straightened his back as an amused sound rumbled from his throat, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sauntered over to you expectantly.

“So, how 'bout that fifty dollars we agreed on, hon?” He reminds you proudly, the statement practically dripping with pride.

He may be one hell of a fine-looking man, but you still couldn't wait to crush him.

“Actually, I have a proposal.” You reply, the response catching Cal by surprise causing him to tilt his head.

“Go on.” He prompted, urging you to elaborate.

“I want a rematch, but this time we play for a hundred dollars.”

It was a no-brainer. Why not double your money by beating the cocky, young woman that doesn't know when to stop and can't even make it past the fifth ball?

“Are you sure? I mean you ain't half bad, but I don't want a pretty lady such as yourself goin' home empty-handed tonight. It ain't too late to cut your losses, doll.” He insists feigning concern, but there's an eagerness in his eyes that implies otherwise.

Great, not only did he pity you but now he was somehow simultaneously complimenting you and brandishing you with pet names all while stroking his ego. And yet, every little term of endearment he threw your way made it feel like the room was spinning, his eyes burning into you from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat leaving you flustered under his gaze.

“Why, too scared to put your money where your mouth is?” You taunt, knowing that would be more than enough to get him to agree to your deal.

He grins and swipes the chalk from the side of the pool table to freshen up his cue, “Oh you're on, a hundred dollars it is milady.”

After chalking up your cue as well you both position your respective balls and lean down to line up your shots, with you putting a lot more focus into it this time. You needed to go first. If you let Cal take the first shot the man would clean you out without giving you a single opportunity to play, hell you'd seen enough of that tonight to know that was exactly how it would go down. With everything riding on that very moment, you take your shots and watch to see whose cue ball ends up closer to the top rail, waiting with bated breath as they roll softly along the felt of the pool table. Yours was closest, meaning you got to take the first shot. You tried to hide your enthusiasm to not raise too much suspicion, but you were pleased that everything was going according to plan.

“Alright sweetheart, you're up.” Cal enthused, taking a seat on a nearby stool and resting the pool cue between his legs while holding it against his chest.

Cal watched closely as you pocketed every single ball flawlessly, not faltering once even when it came to the trickiest of shots. You would glance up to meet his eye now and again only to be met with the sight of him biting down on his bottom lip and a small smile playing on his lips, though his expression was hard to discern. You expected him to be irritated, and part of him probably was which was to be expected when you know you're about to be a hundred dollars down, but instead, he almost looked, impressed. When you pocketed the nine-ball you straightened your back and took slow steps towards Cal, the slightly staggered look on his face only making your victory that much more satisfying. He stands from the stool and chuckles a little in disbelief, a small sigh leaving his lips before he speaks.

“Even if you did play me for a damn fool I gotta give it to you. You sure as shit showed me.” He praises, taking one hand off the pool cue to outstretch it towards you gesturing for a handshake.

You reach out and shake his hand, desperately trying to ignore how nice the rough callouses on his hand felt against your palm and the way your fingertips grazed over the tattoos adorning his knuckles. It seemed the both of you let the handshake linger a little longer than it ought to, your eyes locking in an unwavering stare as though you were trying to read each other's thoughts. Just as you parted your lips to speak he broke the eye contact and started to fumble through his pocket, retrieving a wad of bills and counting out a hundred before passing it to you. You take it with a triumphant smile and shove it in your pocket, setting the cue on the table and crossing your arms over your chest as you turn back to face him.

“So since I won, do you mind if I make a suggestion?” You start, the drink you'd had at the bar earlier providing you some very needed liquid courage.

“Shoot,” Cal replied, his gaze filled with intrigue.

You stepped towards him, wanting to be close enough that nobody else in the bar would be able to hear the filth your mouth was about to spew. With your faces close together, his gaze appearing to flicker to your lips for a fleeting moment, you whispered.

“Why don't you take me into that bathroom, and you can prove to me that you don't suck at sex as much as you do at pool, hm?”

It was bold, but truth be told you were just speaking what had been on Cal's mind the entire time he watched you effortlessly clean that pool table. Honestly? Finding someone who could actually prove to be a challenge and beat him at his own game turned him on, it was invigorating. And he hadn't exactly shied away from checking out your ass whenever you had to bend over to take a shot from the side of the pool table he was sitting at either. Cal takes his cowboy hat off and sets it on the pool table, placing the free hand not holding his pool cue on your waist and leaning in to whisper into your ear, some of his beard scratching against the side of your face.

“Oh I will, and we'll see how cocky you are when I'm balls deep inside that pretty little pussy of yours.” He discreetly pulled you against him as he rasped his dirty promise allowing you to feel the bulge pressing up against your groin, a small grunt escaping his throat as you pressed into his jeans providing him some friction.

“You talk a big game, but can you back it up?” You challenged, only hoping to rile him up even further.

His fingers curl around your wrist as he leads you towards the women’s bathroom, sparing a quick look around the bar to see if anyone would notice before he pushes the door open and leads you inside. Collectively, you scan the stalls for signs of any people and rush into the nearest available stall when it all looks to be clear, with Cal locking the door behind you both. The moment the click of the lock was heard he was on you, pinning your body against the wall of the stall and crashing his lips against yours. You work on unbuckling his belt as he slips his tongue into your mouth, the taste of the tobacco on his tongue and a hint of liquor only making you want him that much more. When his belt comes apart he doesn't hesitate in making quick work of the fly on his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing the waistband down past his hips along with his boxers allowing his cock to spring free. The fabric pools at his ankles as he hikes your skirt up enough to reveal your panties, running a finger through your clothed slit and letting out a pleased hum at the way the material was clinging to your sopping cunt.

“All this just from a game of pool? I think you were made for me.” He remarked on how wet you were, the way his thumb briefly circled over your clit making you squirm a little.

Cal takes hold of your thighs and hastily lifts you causing your arms to instinctively wrap around his neck for support as he traps you between the stall and his own body. Letting one of your legs drop slightly he reaches down to dig his fingers into your panties and push the material aside, feeling a brief prod at your entrance until he lifts his hips, a sharp gasp escaping you as he sinks into your aching hole with ease. A drawn-out groan rumbles from his throat as you take him to the hilt, his breathing heavy as he starts to move in and out of you. He sets a fast, unforgiving pace, pounding into you so deeply that your hands scramble to grasp the top of the stall which was shaking with every thrust of his hips.

“Mm look at you, takin' my cock so good. This what you wanted, baby? Is this why you wanted to impress me?”

You bite down on your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the cries you were so desperate to release, trying to cling on to what was left of your dignity as he plunged into your cunt over and over until it felt like you were seeing stars, his fingers digging into your thighs with a bruising grip as he fucked into you. There was no hiding it now, if any poor person were to walk in they would see the walls of one of the stalls shaking so hard that you were convinced it was going to break. The needy, unbridled moans that you were struggling to suppress spilling from your mouth and reverberating throughout the bathroom. You feel that familiar sensation building as he mercilessly buries his cock inside you, his mouth smashing against yours and muffling your whimpers whilst his moans also bleed into the earnest kiss.

“Fuck me, you're so tight,” Cal growled out, punctuating his words with a few particularly hard thrusts.

Your legs quiver in his grasp, your whole body overcome with a rush of heat as you grip the top of the stall so hard you're sure your knuckles have turned white. With a shameless cry of his name your orgasm washes over you, all the while he relentlessly fucks you through your release in a desperate attempt to reach his own. It doesn't take long before Cal's hips stutter, removing himself from you and letting one of your legs drop so he can stroke himself as he spills onto your inner thigh with a raspy groan. As you both bask in the ecstasy of your release all you hear is the way your heavy breaths reverberate throughout the bathroom, and the wet rush of his load slowly trickling down your thigh. Trying to regain his composure Cal pulls his jeans back up and starts doing his belt up, his eyes lifting towards you as he does. The tired, but satisfied look on your face as you come down from your high makes his lips curve into a smile.

“Best pool game I've ever lost.” He notes a tad breathless, the comment making you snort your laughter.

“Yeah? Well, get used to it, because that's not the last time you're gonna lose to me.” You retort as you reach for the toilet paper and start to clean yourself up.

“Are you challenging me, hon?” He replies amused, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Oh, you bet your ass I am.” You double down knowing you've already beaten him once and that you will surely do it again.

Cal places his hands on your hips after you've smoothed your skirt back down.

“Do I get to fuck you every time I lose? Because in that case, I might have to start losin’ more often.” He crudely quips making you roll your eyes and playfully hit his chest earning a chuckle from him.

“Hey, if that's what happens when you lose, imagine what could happen if you win.” You tease, a brazen lust filling his eyes as he mulls over your words.

He grabs your hand and unlocks the stall door, a newfound motivation to beat you at a game of pool even more so than he had before.

“Shit, let's go find out.”

#jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan smut #calmccarthy #calmccarthy x reader

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lavenderchqn · 1 month ago

Text

✧・| eccedentesiast — dahlia

— be perfect. give us the results. the mottos to keep a smile on your face at all times, even when you're crumbling inside. if there's a single person, who sees behind the mask. it's dahlia for sure.

content warnings: probably-ooc dahlia; reader referred to as 'y/n'; mentions of insecurity; implied toxic environment growing up; toxic positive mentality; hurt/comfort piece

this oneshot has been requested by anon!

[note.] — until we get pretty 2d art I'm forced to use his archon quest appearance (¬⤙¬ ) live laugh love dahlia, everybody

Don’t make a mistake. Come on, give us a smile. It’s not perfect yet. You don’t want to disappoint us. Effort. That’s for losers. The results are where it’s at. It’s all you can remember. Those awful, sharp blades digging and digging. Wounding your heart. The second the silence of night begins, it’s all you can hear. Nagging, cursing, shouting. To be perfect.

So, that’s who you are. Perfect. With no mistakes allowed nor showing any sign of weakness. The nights slewing away to double and triple-check everything. To achieve what you’re supposed to. To not fail, never fail.

But the world? It’s always watching. It’s an omnipresent element, hunting for the perfect moment to strike down. Even if you’re breaking down, even when you can barely breathe. The world cannot see you fail. And thus, nor should you. To not let it watch, one should bear the mask. Ideally without any cracks.

There’s nothing more you despise than social gatherings. Staying in the comfort of your house, where nobody can see reality is far too alluring. As you check every outlet routinely, you remember you were the one who proposed it. “Curse you, past [Y/N]. You sigh, closing the front door behind you. Oh, right. You’re outside. A perfect yet practised smile graces your face. After all, you never know who’s watching.

Dahlia is supposed to pick you up in a matter of minutes. How lovely of him. Even when you only started hanging out, he always made sure you’d make it to all the gatherings safe and sound. The walk to the abandoned depot takes time. With some music on, your hands get into a tiny dance. The small joys of life, or so they say.

You still remember a comment a neighbour made the last time you visited your parents. “[Y/N] looks like they could be a part of a fairytale.” They said. Be the untouchable being, one that people should be grateful to be in the presence of. And so, you did. Even if you felt like gagging every single time. Being vain or arrogant… it got draining quite fast.

The weather is good. Not too hot, yet not cold. A nice cup of coffee would make the day simply divine. As you’re reminiscing, a small yet familiar car pulls up. Precisely on time, Dahlia succeeds once more.

“Aaand they do it again,” Dahlia greets you the second you open the car door. “Oh my, looking spectacularly as always, too.” He takes your hand to place a tiny kiss right on your knuckles. A preference you’ve decided on early into your relationship — even if it was to play up your role. “Why thank you,” You smile, fastening the seatbelt. “Pleased we’re matching in the grandiose of appearance~”

The car ride is surprisingly quiet. Aside from your boyfriend telling you all the drama boiling in the choir, there’s very little input on your part. A part of you just wants to listen. Maybe even take a nap as he recounts how beautiful the slap Rosaria delivered to one of the obsessive fans. On the other hand— You… have to be the perfect you. There was no space for silence. “I see…” You hum, tilting your head. “That must’ve been quite the spectacle, Love.”

“Absolutely,” He chuckles. “Glad you see the humour, Darling.”

With that, the conversation dies down again. By your usual standards, Dahlia would've already known all the little adventures you’ve had. It’s been almost a week since you’ve seen each other, provided by the unfortunate timing of finals’ approaching. You couldn’t fail them. Not now, not ever. A tiny yawn escapes your lips. One that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Didn’t sleep well today?” He asks, stealing a quick glance in the rear-view mirror. “Only finals, no sleep… Oh, woe is me…” You place your hand right at your forehead — like a damsel in distress.

If only you could be one. To have somebody rescue you from… well, you. There are nights when you just think. Think of how easier life would be were you to stop pretending. To not put on the happy-go-lucky mask every time you’ve stepped outside. Alas, to be unhappy was to be imperfect. And to be imperfect was to be broken. Not to mention how these scenarios never seem to take into account how to be seen is to lose everyone. Nobody wants to be with a failure, as a friend or a lover, after all.

Dahlia clicks his tongue. You notice a cyclist has taken it upon themselves to use the road instead of the cycling path. That’s right. That’s what he must be annoyed about. You’re sure about it.

“There’s the pretty couple~” Your friend exclaims the moment you walk into the cafe. It’s a pretty establishment, serving good beverages at an affordable price. “Oh, I’m just the arm candy.” You smile, linking your arm with Dahlia. “He’s the real catch.” A small chuckle escapes you as your friend goes into a monologue of their recent happenings.

Your hand, subconsciously, grabs a little tighter. Regardless of how you feel, a smile never leaves your lips. It hurts, having to be this mystical creature. Dahlia raises his eyebrow, trying to make sense of your behaviour. “You okay, Love?” He whispers, patting your hand. “Just… tired.” You whisper back, unhanding your partner. You cannot be overbearing. You cannot be tired.

Dahlia hums questioningly. It’s quiet but still laced with concern. Not pushy, but present. “I’m fine, really.” You reply with that light and bright tone once again. The voice you’ve perfected over the years, polished like a gemstone. One that sparkles just right.

From your side view, you can notice that Dahlia’s eyes don’t leave yours. You recognise that look. For as long as you could remember, he would always entertain your theatrics. However, he’s never bought the act completely. Not back when you were only friends, and neither when you got into a relationship. Curse his wit as well as his attention to detail, regardless of how attractive it makes him.

Instead, you settle into the booth, the noise of the café humming like static. Your friend hasn’t stopped recounting their stories — their words swimming past you. You catch something about an argument with a colleague and a broken washing machine. You nod and giggle when expected, even toss in a teasing, “How intriguing,” for good measure. And even so, your partner doesn’t let go. While listening and tossing his own comments to the story, he pays his attention to you. Watching. Like a hawk.

The moment your drinks arrive, you reach for the cup. Your hand trembles — just a little. Enough to make the coffee slosh over the brim and onto your fingers. You instantly hiss. “Oh my gosh?!” Your friend jumps back, swiftly handing you a napkin. “Are you okay?” Dahlia asks, gently taking the cup. “You didn’t burn yourself, right?”

“Aha~ My liquid gold…” You sigh, dabbing excess coffee. The second you’re done, a grin returns to your lips — perfect and polished. As if you didn’t almost burn your skin. Your friend relaxes, chuckling again and going back to their tangent. But Dahlia doesn’t. He takes your hand in his, placing a tiny kiss on the slightly red finger. “Heal quickly, you little—.” He says, glaring at your finger. You can feel it starting to twitch.

“Gosh, you two are just the cutest~” Your friend squeals, smiling from eye to eye. It’s always been this way. Your over-the-top personality mixed with Dahlia’s grandiose gestures. You pray that one of them is not laced with lies.

The rest of the meeting breezes by in pastel conversations and laughter that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Dahlia recalls a situation labelling it full of witty comments, your friend bursts into giggles, and you… follow suit. Like a marionette on bunched-up strings, you smile and laugh. You can feel shutting down by the minute. Something you cannot allow to happen. And— oh no? Are your teeth chattering slightly?

“So, what happened with your machine for washing?” You ask your friend. Your head is tilted slightly, smile intact. You even manage a little giggle for emphasis. As if you don’t have to bite your lips. As if you’re not one look from Dahlia away from spiralling. Your fingers stick together from the drink. You don’t reach for another napkin, no. Instead, you keep your hands neatly folded in your lap, dainty and unbothered. Untouched.

It isn’t until your friend excuses themselves due to an emergency arising when the silence returns. The real one, not the hum of distractions. The heavy kind that wants to know the truth. As Dahlia pays for your coffee, he spares you a look. His gaze isn’t soft, like always. It’s sharp with determination.

The moment you step out of the café, you can feel the pot of confrontation starting to boil over. Dahlia links your hands together. His hands are soft and warm, but his grasp is tight. Not in such a way to hurt you, heavens no. But in a way to keep you right where he needs you to be.

“Alright,” He sighs. His voice is stripped of all the theatrics he tends to give whenever with you. “What’s going on?”

You blink, caught mid-thought. “What do you mean?” You answer with a smile. One that could be seen on a wax statue — perfect, but insincere. “I’m pretty certain we’ve had a grand meeting tonight, Love.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The way he says it makes it known he knows. He sees behind the mask. Can notice and picture all the cracks that grow and grow behind it. You hate it.

“The candle keeps on flickering… But the wind has grown too strong.” You sigh. A metaphor is the easiest way to express what you’re feeling without exactly saying what you mean. You hope your voice doesn’t betray the cracking, the webbing beneath your ribs.

Dahlia stops walking. You both stand by the curb, the streetlight flickering just above. Like a sickly imitation of a star. He turns to face you, his hand never letting go. You refuse to look at him, afraid the moment you meet his gaze, the mask will shatter into thousands of sharp, irreparable shards. Something you’ve worked against for years.

“Well aren’t you the prettiest candle, then?” He asks. As much as he makes it into a lighthearted joke, he got your comment perfectly. Ease you into the conversation. That’s his point. He’s dug deeper than anybody before him. Might as well take advantage.

You almost laugh. Almost. Because if only it were that easy. To let someone reach and drag you back to safety. To close the windows of the candle’s room. When over the years you’ve built a protective net over said windows with every whimsical gesture, with every ‘I’m fine’, every ‘Don’t worry about me’. What if instead, those actions fed the wind. The very same one that penetrates through the net. “You wouldn’t like the real me,” You whisper. It’s not dramatic, nor said for sympathy. It’s simply facts. “Nobody plays with broken dolls, anyways.”

“Oh please.” Dahlia rolls his eyes. His free hand moves upwards to caress your cheek. “You think I don’t see the real you already?” “You see what I show you, Dahlia.”

“No,” He says, with enough certainty to crack the sky. He places his hand under your jaw — tilting your head to finally meet his eyes. “I see how your laugh doesn’t reach your eyes. I see how your hands shake when you think no one’s watching. I see the way your breath stills whenever somebody praises you. Like you’re afraid, they’ll take it back the second they see more than you’ve given them.

A beat.

“I know you’re tired, Love. And you should know, there’s no need to pretend around me.” And there it is. The hand that stretches outwards to the you buried deep under the layers of theatrics and perfection. To that [Y/N], who sighs before every social gathering. The one who’d rather sleep the life away. It’s not an order, it’s a suggestion. To let your guard around the person who you trust deeply.

You look down, escaping his gaze for a second. “I… don’t know.” You whisper, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to stop being perfect.”

“That’s alright,” Dahlia whispers into your ear. “You don’t need to be perfect, to be perfect.” Imperfections, despite their name, are still perfect. They are the means that shape each and every person’s uniqueness. “Be tired. Be angry. Be clumsy. Snap at me, cry next to me. Just… be.”

Your breath catches. Your lips tremble. And, for the very first time in a very, very long while, the mast doesn’t crack. It falls. And in its place, you exhale. Not as a sign of performance, but one that comes from deep within — a weighted blanket being lifted, if only slightly.

You look up at Dahlia. “You’ll really stay?”

“Of course,” He smiles. “Someone has to keep kissing your burnt fingers. And I’m not giving that up.”

date of posting — may 19th 2025

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