#it's been three weeks. three weeks. three fucking weeks. three goddamn cursed fucking weeks of this and it's only getting worse

[comicnerd557]

The one where Jake tells the squad how he met his wife

Jake Seresin x reader

A/N: Sooooo, this was supposed to be a blurb and it's almost 6k words. It's fine. Enjoy! There may be a part two if there's interest, just let me know!

Warnings: Jake is accidentally an asshole, plus sized!reader, reader is a female, cursing, sexual innuendos and dirty thoughts but no smut, even then, MDNI!!!

as always, a thanks to my bestie @dalamjisung who introduced me to Top Gun Maverick in the first place. Love you boo!!

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Okay but like, imagine Hangman, cocky, badass, can’t-wipe-the-smirk-off-his-face, Hangman, married

Most would probably picture a woman equally as badass as he is, tough as nails, spits literal fire and can’t go an hour without jumping her hubby’s bones

That’s  certainly what the rest of the Dagger Squad thought when Hangman let it slip he was married

“Someone married you, Seresin?” Payback was both shocked and horrified. Shocked someone accepted his proposal, horrified they hadn’t changed their fucking mind yet

It was no secret Hangman was a lot to be around, and while, yes, he had relaxed a bit with age, he was still a goddamn handful. He had stopped flirting with every skirt he saw about three years back, but….the squad just assumed he got tired of the playboy life and decided to go bachelor

“You don’t wear a ring.” Phoenix was skeptical, as usual, sipping her beer with narrowed, observant eyes. Without wasting a beat, Jake reached under the collar of his shirt, grabbed his dog tags, and held them up

Sure enough, in between the tags sat a simple silver band. “I wanted gold, but, the Mrs said she would sooner rip her finger off than wear gold. Clashes with her skin tone apparently.” He snorted

More shocked silence. It was all true. Jake Seresin was married. “How long?” Bob questioned. He hid his shock much better than the others, something Jake was thankful for

Hangman paused to think. “It’ll be 11 months in two weeks.” Jaws dropped. Jake’s ego took a hit. He laughed, a bit awkward. “I’m a bit offended, y'all are so surprised. I took a month off for the honeymoon…You guys didn’t think anything of it?”

“Honestly, thought you were on a mission, I swear to go-Wait, hang on, why the hell didn’t we get invites?!” Coyote’s protest was met with rallied cries of confusion. The entire squad was upset. “It was just me, her, and our folks. Private, small, quiet.”

Hangman? Quiet? Private? The man was like a walking disco ball. He fucking loved attention. Whenever the thought of Jake getting married crossed through heads, it was always assumed it would be a huge spectacle with fireworks and maybe a dance crew

The squad was silent for a full minute, processing the information they had just learned. It was a quiet night at the Hard Deck too, meaning there wasn’t even the chatter of strangers to fill the void. “Oh my god, someone say something! It’s not that big of a deal! I’m fucking 34, none of you expected me to be married? Really?!” Jake threw his hands up, laughing

Finally, shockingly, Rooster spoke. “We’re happy for you, really bro, just…What’s she like? How’d you guys meet? Name, age, job, we wanna know.”

How did they meet? A smile spread across Jake’s face before he could stop it. It wasn’t Jake Seresin’s usual cocky, condescending smirk. It was a genuine smile, sappy, sweet…and weirdly soft. None of them had ever seen anything like it

“Alright little ones,” Jake teased, sitting down across from the squad. Part of him worshiped the attention. “Gather around and Papa Jake will spill the beans.” Dramatically clearing his throat, Hangman started his story. “It all started three years ago…”

Jake had been absolutely fucking beat. The San Francisco sun was nothing to laugh about, and Maverick had, once again, kicked their ass in training. Hangman only added fuel to the fire, running his mouth, and as a consequence, he had to do double the amount of pushups the others did

“Fuckin’ ridiculous.” He grumbled, slamming the door of his truck shut with a huff, head falling forward onto the steering wheel dramatically. He had spent the entire day working his ass off, didn’t even have time to eat. Jake was fucking starving

Too lazy to cook, the pilot grabbed his phone, googled ‘food near me’, and clicked on the very first one, allowing the directions to guide him without even check where the hell he was going

Imagine his delight, then, when GPS led him to a quaint, soft looking bakery. The parking lot was empty, causing Jake to mumble a quiet thanks to the Big Guy upstairs before hopping out of his truck, making his way inside

The bell on the door jingled as he pushed it open, and the rush of ice cold air conditioning felt like the sweetest relief hitting him square in the face. He groaned aloud, content, tense muscles slowly relaxing the more the scent of baked goods invaded his nose

It wasn’t overly sweet, thank god, but just sweet enough to lure even the pickiest eater through those doors. Why this place wasn’t crowded, Jake didn’t know. Were the workers rude? Ugly? Maybe the food was unsafe to eat, leaving people glued to their toilets for hours on end

“Hi there!” A voice chirped from behind the counter, causing Jake to finally reopen his eyes after closing them in bliss. Like Cupid’s arrow had struck him, Hangman froze in place. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

Never before had Jake Seresin, Hangman himself, been rendered speechless by a woman. Until now. “....Are you okay sir?” The heat had been especially brutal today…Maybe this guy had heat stroke and was just wandering, confused?

Jake managed to put one foot in front of the other and make his way up to the register. Thank fucking god he didn’t trip. Now, it was time to flirt. “....Doughnut.” His brain had been left at the base, clearly, cause that was the only fucking word Jake managed to squeeze out

You smiled, barely biting back a giggle. “Did you want a doughnut or…?” Jake blinked, forcing himself to fucking think. “Your dress. It has doughnuts. It’s cute, very fitting. Are you the owner or just a really dedicated employee?” Yes. Yes! The AC had finally cooled his head enough to think straight

“The owner.” You answered, smile turning a bit shy, hands soothing down the front of your dress. “It’s actually one of many pastry themed dresses I own. Today we have a special on doughnuts, so I figured my doughnut dress would be a good way to advertise that.”

“I’ll take 'em all.” Excuse you? Huh? Jake’s brain was screaming at his mouth for moving too quick. It seemed you were just as shocked, eyes going wide like dinner plates, and fuck, Jake’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of your visible excitement. “Really?! You haven’t even tried them yet!” You had fussed over him in a way that had Jake making up his mind. He would buy every single fucking doughnut if it kept that smile on your face

He just nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’m actually a Navy Pilot, and my squad just got back from a highly classified, super dangerous mission, so, we’re celebrating.” He explained, taking the chance to brag about how super cool awesome brave he was. “Feeding soldiers is like feeding a damn zoo. It’ll take all these doughnuts and more to fill ‘em.” Again, your smile grew, now fully beaming

“Take a seat! Here, you can have this one on the house while you wait. I’ll get everything packed up and I can help you carry them out to your ca-Oh i’m gonna need to build more boxes.” Now a busy bee, Jake watched as you hurried around behind the counter, packing up every single doughnut you had in the store, including some fresh from the oven. By the time you finished the pile of boxes was almost as tall as you

His wallet would hate him for a while, but the crew would be eternally grateful, especially if the rest of the doughnuts were as good as the one you had given him to munch on while he waited. “I knew this area was filled with pilots, but I hadn’t had any visit yet. Thank you for your service!” You giggled, grinning ear to ear. “I added a military discount, and combined with our sale, you saved a lot of money! Your total is…” The number was in the triple digits. Jake still didn’t hesitate as he tapped his card. After the beep, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a stack of cash, and dumped it into the tip jar

“Oh, oh no!” You immediately protested. “I can’t accept that! You’re really saving me, if the doughnuts don’t sell, they get tossed and it’s a really big waste. Honestly, I can’t take th-” You reached into the jar to take the cash out. Jake reached out, grabbing your wrist, and fuck, the instant zap was felt by the both of you

He smiled, sweet, calm. “Keep it. These are the best damn doughnuts I’ve had in my life. I owe it to ya.” Hangman managed to wink before grabbing half the pile of boxes, promising to come back for the second half after he loaded them up

The next day, when he showed up to work, he made the new trainees carry the doughnuts into the break room. Why the hell should he do the work? He bought the damn things after all

“Is it someone’s birthday or something? Someone die?” Rooster asked, pink sprinkles falling from his frosting covered mustache. “Whatever it is, I hope it happens again. These fucking rock.” Fanboy groaned, mouth full. Jake just smirked. “You’re welcome. I was feeling generous, figured I would remind all of you why you love me so much.” He mused. Everyone stopped chewing

“...They’re poisoned. Everyone go throw up.” Phoenix, despite her words, finished the doughnut she had in hand

Jake just rolled his eyes. “I think you mean “Thank you Jake, you’re so handsome and kind and funny and smart, oh my god any girl would be lucky to have you!” Right?” Maverick saved her from having to respond, calling for the team to gather up for a meeting

That afternoon, Jake returned to the little bake shop on the corner, prepared to ask for Doughnut Girl’s number…Except she wasn’t there. Someone else was behind the counter. Jake ended up just buying a single cookie before leaving, head hung low

The routine continued for a week straight. It got to the point where Jake asked about the owner. The teenage employee behind the counter just grinned. “Oh she works morning shift most of the time! Usually gets off by three.” Fuck. Jake almost never got off before six. Another cookie bought, another disappointed look as he walked out

For a few days, Hangman tried to move on. He really did. After picking up three skirts in three days, he still had you on his mind. The girls moaning obnoxiously under him looked nothing like you. They were tiny, practically toothpicks. You filled out your dress, body soft and curved. They had a thigh gap. Yours jiggled with every step in a way that hypnotized Jake. He gave up after the third night

He woke up extra early the next morning and set out, determined to complete his mission. He was gonna get your number, take you out, and fuck, maybe even marry you one day, who knew? He was feeling a little crazy

So, at 5:45 the next morning, Jake pulled into the parking lot of your bakery, turned off the engine of his truck, fixed his hair, and walked inside. “Welcome to The Cozy Oven!” Your voice was like music to his ears. No more bored teens or sweet but confused old ladies. Finally, he was reunited with his baker

“Oh it’s you! Mira said you came looking for me.” Was he delusional or were you teasing him? There was a glint in your eyes Jake couldn’t quite place, and the way you leaned over the counter seemed to prove his theory. You were so teasing him. Oh it was on. “You got me hooked on your sweets then disappeared on me.” He mused, smirking, palms flat against the counter. “The sweets have still been here.” You point out, giggling

Again. Fucking music his ears. “Tastes a bit sweeter when I’m looking at you.” Jake’s voice dipped low, leaning in a little closer. In an instant, your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears darker in color from all the blood rushing to your face at once. “O-oh, you think so?” No longer could you meet Jake’s eyes, though, the smile didn’t leave your face. “Don’t tell me you’re a shy thing. Guys must come in every hour to beg for your number.”

At first, you laughed, like Jake had just told a super funny joke. When you noticed he wasn’t laughing, you stopped. “Oh, you were serious?” You weren’t being sarcastic or rude. Just genuinely confused. “I can count the times I’ve been hit on by strangers on one hand. I mean, my best friend calls me her wife, but, that’s just her thing. She’s married.”

Now, it was Jake’s turn to be confused. How the hell were you not married with three kids and another on the way? He wouldn’t say it aloud (yet) but fuck, you were like, ideal wife material. He had only recently started thinking about settling down and getting married and you checked off his checklist fucking perfectly

And god those hips were down right sinful, and fucking meant for holding and having babies. Not that Jake’s head was filled with thoughts of bending you over the counter and stuffing you full of cream instead of you stuffing the doughnuts. Definitely not

If his standard issue pants were a little tighter than usual, that’s not his fault

“Are they blind, or am I the first single man to walk into this bakery?” This man was single? Fucking. How. He had made your entire month buying every doughnut in the bakery and had done so with a grin and a sweet, somehow not creepy, wink. The bakery was doing…okay. You had just opened your doors a few months ago, and while your head was still above water, you were getting tired of treading really quickly

The pilot had the biggest order you had received so far, and holy hell that tip was enough to even buy that new super fancy cat food for your cat. Sniffles had been almost as grateful as you had. Almost. She never said as much, obviously

“Well, single men walk into this bakery often, so…You must be blind.” You giggled again. Jake laughed, tossing his head back. “I assure you, sweets, my eyes are just fine. They wouldn’t let me fly if they weren’t. I’d be stuck on the ground, or worse, the backseat.” He shuttered with over exaggerated disgust, playing it up to hear you laugh again

It worked. He beamed. “At the risk of making myself look like a complete jackass…” Jake leaned in, dramatically serious. “Can I have your number? I’d like to prove to you exactly why those men are blind as bats.” Jake let his eyes wander, slow, drinking in your frame like he was sipping the finest whiskey in the world. Just as slow, your smile dropped

As sweet as he seemed, the way he stared…Men usually wanted one thing. “I don’t even know your name.” You responded, voice quieter than he had heard it before. Jake, being Jake, chalked it up to your close proximity, so distracted by those pretty lips moving he failed to hear the cautious, almost anxious tone in your voice. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin. At your service.” There it was. His secret weapon. Every woman he ever met (Phoenix didn’t count she’s weird) had practically tossed their panties at him whenever he dropped that line

Women went nuts for men in uniform. One mention of his rank and they would fall to their knees. “I fly for Top Gun. Have you heard of it?” Everyone had. Jake was really pulling out the big guns now, but if he went to work without your number, he may just fly into the mountains for fun. Much to his shock, and dismay, you shook your head. Gone was that cute, sunny smile from before. Now, you just seemed…withdrawn

“I thank you again for your service, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid I don’t give out my personal number to customers.” A fatal shot. You went for the kill by reaching for the business card on the counter. “But if you ever need catering, please don’t hesitate to call the shop and put in your order. Would you like to buy something? I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat.”

A lie. You had all the time in the world. Mornings were always a bit slow. But with Jake’s intentions clear, you weren’t interested in entertaining his chubby chaser fantasies anymore. What other reason would he have for asking you out? Most girls around this area were tiny gym babes the size of twigs. While many preferred that, there were always men out there who thought you’d be a nice easy lay due to your size. They didn’t have to put in effort, clearly you would be desperate enough

Though you didn’t get hit on often, a blind person could see the hunger in Jake’s eyes as he stared at your body. In his eyes, he was admiring fine art. In yours, he was thinking of how easy it would be to hit and quit. Besides, he had another thing working against him. Military men never really wanted a relationship. They wanted a fuck, a stress reliever

Admittedly, it was a little upsetting. Jake had seemed so kind, but, the more you thought about it, the more you realized how his pretty face and sweet words had tricked you into assuming his entire personality after one fucking meeting. Pathetic. Maybe you did need to get laid. How long had it been since you pulled that little box out from under your bed again?

Jake’s grin dropped. He hadn’t been turned down in….well, ever. Honestly. Maybe when he was freshly twenty and still learning how to flirt? What had he done wrong? “Oh yeah, of course.” He stood up straight, smile now much less flirty and much more polite. “Uh, I’ll just…Take one of those.” He pointed to a random pastry in the case, tapping his card before, once again, leaving a hefty tip in the jar

“Have a good one, miss.” Jake walked out of the bakery in a daze, a frown tugging at his lips. He knew you were different, he knew that the minute your hand grazed his and pure electricity filled the air, but not even a number? Really? He wasn’t upset with you, of course, just confused and disappointed in himself

Maybe it was delusional, maybe the lack of oxygen to his brain had gotten to him, but Jake had already been imagining the second, third, and fourth date before the first one had even taken place. He made it to work ten minutes early with an uneaten cookie in hand. He passed it to Coyote the moment he asked about it, claiming he wasn’t that hungry anymore

Everyone noticed Jake was a little quieter that day. He wasn’t as cocky or boisterous, keeping his comments to a minimum, not even complaining when Maverick had him with a tone within the first half hour of their dog fight, didn’t push back when Phoenix made fun of him

“Alright what the hell is wrong with you?” Bradley had been trying to rile Jake up all day. Jake hadn’t indulged the man once. They were in the shower room now, Maverick having ordered them all to hose off after they had spent nearly an hour running through a mud soaked obstacle course, part of a new training program meant to help agility just in case they were out of their planes and behind enemy lines

Payback shut his locker, towel wrapped around his waist. “You didn’t even take the bait when Bob tripped over his own feet. Bob. You love teasing Bob!” Jake just sighed, head leaned back against his locker, annoyance clear on his face. “What’d you strike out or something? Get shot down?” Rooster had, unknowingly, hit the nail on the head. He realized as much as soon as the look in Hangman’s eyes turned murderous

“Oh my god he did. Our Hangman is heartbroken. He’s grown up so much.” Bradley sniffled dramatically. “Remember when a rejection just meant he moved on to the next girl?”

“I don’t get rejected.” Jake huffed, slamming open his locker, grabbing his comb to fix his hair, not because it needed fixing, but because he couldn’t look at that stupid smug look on Rooster’s face anymore. “Bradley,” Javy, his best friend of over ten years, finally spoke up. “Leave him be. Clearly this girl isn’t just a girl. Wanna tell us about it bro?”

Not really, if he were being honest. Jake kept his mouth closed, weighing the pros and cons of telling the truth versus denying everything. On one hand, the guys on his squad lived for teasing each other, digging under the others skin with glee. On the other, there was no one on earth Jake trusted more than the men in the locker room with him. They had saved his ass time and time again, and he had done the same for them. Maybe, just maybe, they could offer some solid advice

“There’s this woman, she ain’t no girl, this is a full bodied, grown woman, and she’s nothing like the skirts I usually chase. But she’s in my fuckin’ head and I asked for her number this morning. She turned me down. Turned me down cold.” He huffed, tossing his comb back into his locker with a frown. “And I ain’t mad at her. It’s my own fault, I think I came across a bit…”

“Pervy?”

“Sex addicted?”

“Menacing?”

“Okay everyone but Bob can go fuck themselves.” Jake scowled. “But, yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I gave her the line that usually makes panties fly off and she just shut down.” Bradley snorted, rolling his eyes. “The Lieutenant line? Really? Look man, we all use our uniforms to get into beds, but if you want something more you’re gonna have to actually work for it. Flowers, chocolates, sweet talk about something other than her ass. That sort of shit.”

Jake had never felt so fucking old. He had to learn how to pitch woo now? Really? “She worth the effort?” Bob asked quietly. Jake paused before shrugging. “My heart gets funny around her. Yeah, she makes me hard in my fuckin’ cargo pants,” Payback groaned in disgust. “But it’s more than that.” Silence took over the room. Once again, Jake was left with his thoughts

“We’ll help.” Reuben nodded, determined. Jake let out a loud groan. “Oh my god, I cannot get help picking up a woman from you guys, you’re supposed to come to me for that.” His ego would never recover from this. Ever. “We come to you for help getting laid, you come to us for help getting a date. Seems fair to me.”

And so, Operation Get-Hangman-His-Date started. They looped Phoenix in almost immediately, rightly deciding her female perspective might just be useful. They spent the night at the Hard Deck coaching Hangman on how to be a true gentleman. Bob got the honor of spraying him with a spray bottle every time he so much as glanced away from a woman’s face after winning a game of pool

The next morning, Jake was ready. He had the day off from training, his only commitment was a beach day with the squad around two, but until then, he was free to charm his way into your heart. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, his hair styled to look like he had just rolled out of bed despite having worked on it for nearly half an hour

In his hand, there was a bouquet of flowers, small, just five or so. Natasha suggested they start simple. “She’s gonna think you’re a stalker otherwise.” She explained. “Or some majorly obsessed creep, which, you are, but, at least you’re not the murder and dump the body type.”

The bell jingled as he stepped inside. Today’s dress was pie themed, and in the display counter were a handful of different flavored pies. The flavor of the day was apple, apparently. You were in the middle of bringing out new product, making everything neat and perfect. When you locked eyes with Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your sweet, cheery smile turned awkward. Great. He was back

“Ma’am,” He greeted, the southern drawl more obvious in his words. “Women love a southern accent.” Javy had explained. “Use it.” So he did. Jake didn’t work to hide the Texas drawl. “I think I maybe came off a bit strong yesterday.” You snorted quietly, amused. A bit? The guy was practically making eye contact with your nipples

Still, you let him continue…Mainly because he was a good customer who could bring a whole lot of business if he ever decided to order catering. “I wanted to apologize.” Jake paused, trying to remember what he had been instructed to say last night. “You’re very, very attractive, and god knows I would love to take you back to my place and-”

He was losing you again. Jake stopped himself, clearing his throat with a bashful smile. “Anyway, that’s not why I asked for your number.” You looked at him skeptically, cautious. “You wouldn’t look at my eyes, just my body.” Though your words cut deep, mainly because of the truth behind them, your voice was soft like a cloud

No matter how nervous or upset you were, you spoke to Jake like he would cry if you yelled. He had never been approached so….softly before. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just, I ain’t ever been interested in a woman like you before and-” Immediately, your face dropped into a sharp scowl. No more soft. No more gentle. “A woman like me?”

Jake knew that tone. That was the tone of an angry woman. Alarm bells went off in his head. “T-that’s not how I meant to say it. I just meant you’re not my usual type.”

Fuck

Fuck

Oh my god

Did he just say that?

You looked…irate. To say the very least

“Okay mr, I can tolerate you staring at my tits, I can tolerate you coming back in here sniffling with flowers in hand trying to make up for staring, but I won’t tolerate this. I get it, you’ve never been with a fat chick before, not used to putting in all this effort for a lay. You will not come into my bakery, my business, and tell me you’re acting like this because you don’t know how to handle a woman my size. I’m gonna respectfully ask you to leave.”

Somehow, in the span of just mere moments, Jake had fucked everything up. Now, as he sat on the beach, beer in hand, he did everything he could to ignore the scolding from Phoenix. He had told Javy what happened in private, but, of course, Payback had overheard everything, and within minutes, news had spread to the whole goddamn squad

“I cannot believe you, Hangman! You basically just admitted you’d never usually go for her! I mean, I knew you could say some dumb shit but you’re not a dumb guy, so why the hell did you act like a fucking Florida frat boy?”

Why did he? Jake didn’t know. The look of hurt that had flashed over your face before the anger set in had been haunting him since this morning

Jake stood, mumbled something about grabbing another beer, before taking a walk down the beach. He needed some time by himself, some time to think, to breathe without the squad shaming him for his fuck up. It was the third drink in that an idea hit him square in the face…Right as he walked into a sign advertising the 50th anniversary of the Hard Deck

Vaguely, he remembered Penny mentioning that she needed to find a good bakery to make a cake and enough cupcakes to feed an army. He stood, shaking the sand off, and ran top speed into the Hard Deck. “Penny! My favorite bartender!” He beamed, tossing an arm over her shoulders. “Hangman, my favorite headache. Why are you here? We aren’t technically open, you know.”

That never mattered. The Dagger Squad was always welcome, they knew that. Penny had an open door policy when it came to her team. “You still looking for a caterer?” He asked, smile wide and confident. Penny nodded. “Yeah, I’m having a hell of a time finding someone willing and able to make so much on my budget. I can’t afford to break the bank.” Hangman’s grin grew wider

“What if I told you, I know a place?”

It was almost 6 pm when you got the call. Eight dozen cupcakes, and a two tiered cake celebrating the anniversary of the most popular Navy bar in Cali. Their budget was low, but the woman on the phone was just too sweet to turn down, and this was the perfect chance to get the Cozy Oven’s name out there and known

A deal was made, the money was sent over, and two days later, you and your entire team were baking like mad men, scrambling around to get everything ready and fresh for the hungry customers at the Hard Deck. At the same time, the Dagger Squad was running around getting the bar ready. Maverick had asked them to help, and none of them even considered refusing

An hour before opening, the Cozy Oven delivery van pulled up in front of the hard deck. Jake, Javy and Bradley had all gone on a run for the last bit of party supplies they needed, leaving Bob, Reuben, Natasha and Mickey to finish setting up what they could. Penny had told you not to worry about bringing a team to carry all the sweets in. She had her own.

Within minutes, everything was carried in, and while you knew there were dozens of Navy bars around, part of you was still nervous Jake would show up. “I can’t thank you enough.” Penny had trapped you in a conversation, seemingly unaware of how eager you were to leave

“Honestly, when Jake recommended you, I wasn’t sure but then he went on ranting and raving about your food and-” You stopped her, confused. “Jake…Recommended my bakery?” You had honestly figured he wouldn’t ever bring up the bakery again after how harsh you had turned him down. Penny nodded. “Oh yeah, he loves your doughnuts, says he’s put on ten pounds since finding you. Does him some good, I think.”

You left a few minutes later, confused, and very, very conflicted. Had you misjudged the whole situation? Had you misjudged Jake entirely? Why the hell would he recommend you for catering after everything?

The rest of your night was spent cleaning the bakery top to bottom. You couldn’t sleep when your head was so full of thoughts and when you couldn’t sleep, you needed to do something productive, or you would loose your fucking mind

By opening the next morning, you still hadn’t slept. Your hands were raw from scrubbing, back sore from mopping, but you still opened the bakery with a smile on your face, no matter how painted on that smile was

For a fourth time, Jake Seresin walked into the Cozy Oven. This time, he had no flowers, no styled hair and no practiced words. He approached the counter calmly. “Can I have a dozen doughnuts please?” He requested, perfectly polite

This could have been a perfectly normal customer interaction, an average experience…But there was one question burning the tip of your tongue. “Why did you tell Penny to cater from my bakery?” Half way through loading the doughnuts, you blurted it out

Jake paused, blinking rapidly before furrowing his brows. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re an amazing baker. I was the idiot. My friend needed a good baker and I knew one. Just cause I got rejected don’t mean I’m gonna go around bad mouthing the best bakery in California.”

The look on your face softened. Fuck. Stupid Jake and his stupid effect on your stupid heart. “And I am really, really sorry for what I said the other day. I uh…My friends tried to coach me on how to romance a woman instead of seduce. Guess I’m not a very good student.”

“You wanted to romance me?” The thought seemed shocking to you. Jake nodded. “I wasn’t lying when I told you, you’re damn beautiful. I’m just an idiot who never even thought about how to ask a lady on a date. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, when I told you I’d never gone after a woman like you before. I haven’t, and yet, you’re the only damn woman that’s been stuck in my mind this long.”

Jake hadn’t come here to bear his soul, but here he was, unable to stop talking, rambling like some nervous teenager all over again. He was stopped by a soft hand over his mouth. “Jake,” Slowly, your smile grew. “Ask me for my number again.”

His eyes went wide. Your hand moved away, allowing him to speak again. Heart racing like a horse in the Kentucky Derby, Jake did as asked. “Can I have your number, sweets?”

You reached behind the counter, grabbed that same business card that had shut him down so harshly before, and scribbled something on the back. “Ask me on a date.” You instructed him again. Hangman smirked. “You’re certainly a bossy thing, aren’t you?” He teased lightly

“Would you like to go on a real, romantic date with me, Sweetheart?” Your heart melted. Fuck. That accent really did something. Combined with those soft green eyes and there was no way you could deny him again. “Give me an hour notice before you pick me up, and I’ll be there.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, smiling. He had finished his story, and now, the Dagger’s knew exactly how he had met his wife. Three beats of silence passed before chaos exploded.

“THE GIRL YOU NEEDED ADVICE ON IS YOUR WIFE?!”

“I DIDN’T THINK ANYTHING CAME FROM THAT MAN YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING.”

“How the fuck did he get married before Bob? Bob is prime husband material.”

Jake just smirked, finishing his drink. “Sorry boys, Phoenix, but I gotta get home. The Mrs gets real grumpy if she falls asleep alone, and I’m too good of a husband to make my wife unhappy.”

[thegempage]

me in the first couple of months after moving, reassuring myself that things always get worse before they get better: hurting is the first step to healing!

me, a year and a month after the move, undeniably happier than i've been in over a decade and yet watching as each one of my maladaptive coping mechanisms falls apart in my hands, leaving me not only without any beneficial, long-term-appropriate coping mechanisms ready on-hand to replace them but also with the ever-growing sense that there is more wrong with me than i ever knew hiding underneath layers of masks and trauma responses: oh so i didn't know fuck or shit

[barnesonly]

Obsession

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.

word count: 6021

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, masturbation, dirty talk, degrading, praising, desperation, fingering, teasing, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex and he talks through it, breeding, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), possessive behavior.

A/N: i’m horny, okay?…

You don’t have a crush on Bucky Barnes.

That would imply affection. Admiration. Maybe even a little emotional investment.

You don’t have any of that.

What you do have is a deeply inconvenient, soul-destroying case of lust. A constant, throbbing ache between your legs every time he walks past. A full-body reaction to the way he stretches, or leans on the counter, or wears those fucking grey sweatpants like a goddamn weapon.

It’s chemical. It’s hormonal. It’s not personal.

Because Bucky Barnes is grumpy. Bucky Barnes is quiet. And Bucky Barnes has absolutely no idea that he’s the reason you can’t go three days without needing to fuck yourself stupid.

Like right now.

He’s just standing there in the kitchen, back to you, broad shoulders stretching that worn black Henley like it’s a second skin. His hair’s short now, freshly trimmed at the nape, the kind of cut that shows off the sharp line of his jaw, the back of his neck.

You’re staring. Again.

You don’t mean to. But he makes a little grunt when he stretches — just a tired noise, nothing sexual — and you nearly whimper like a kicked dog. Instinct. Pavlovian response.

And he doesn’t notice. Not even a flicker of awareness as he pours his coffee and walks out, oblivious, muttering something about the mission report.

You just stand there, holding a spoon, clenched thighs and flushed cheeks like you’ve just been fucked by the idea of him.

It’s getting worse.

Like, medically worse.

You’ve gone from horny to feral to clinically unwell, and it’s all because of one man.

One grumpy, emotionally constipated, vein-poppingly hot man who can’t say a sentence without sounding mildly irritated. Who barely even looks at you unless you’re in the way. Who definitely doesn’t like you — and yet somehow owns your nervous system like a fucking landlord.

And it’s not fair.

Because he’s not even nice to you.

He’s short with you in meetings. Scoffs when you crack jokes. Gives you that look when you say something mildly reckless on a mission — like you’re exhausting. Like you’re annoying.

But then he’ll do something that ruins you completely. Like grunt your name low and gravelly when tossing you your gear. Or casually push you out of the line of fire with one big, rough hand and say, “Watch it, sweetheart,” like you’re some dainty little thing.

You pace your room that night, ranting to no one.

“I don’t even like him,” you mutter, folding laundry with violent purpose. “He’s so rude. He never smiles. Doesn’t talk to anyone unless he has to.”

Your shirt gets yanked onto a hanger too hard. You nearly snap it.

“And he doesn’t even like me. Not even a little. I’m just some girl who laughs too loud and gets in his way and—oh my god, I would let him ruin me.”

That’s probably the most honest thing you said all week. You’d let him manhandle you. Throw you over his shoulder. Rail you into the mattress like a war crime. That arm? The metal one? You’ve thought about it. God, you’ve thought about it so much it’s starting to feel like a sin.

You can’t help it.

You collapse onto your bed, still in your T-shirt and underwear, legs kicking uselessly against the sheets. Your body is hot — too hot. Your skin prickles, stomach twisting tight with the sheer need of it.

You shouldn’t do it.

But fuck it — you do.

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties like second nature, no hesitation. You’re already soaked — of course you are. One fucking grunt from Bucky in the kitchen and you’ve been like this all day, wound tight and throbbing.

Your fingers slide through the slick heat of your folds, and your hips twitch. You let out a soft, breathless whimper, biting your lip like it’ll help.

It doesn’t.

He’s all you can think about.

Bucky, with that low rasp of a voice. Bucky, sweat-slicked and panting, muscles straining above you. Bucky, staring down at you like you’re a mess he likes making.

You rub lazy circles around your clit, teasing yourself, letting it build slow. Letting the images crawl behind your eyes:

His hands gripping your thighs, spreading them open.

That cold metal arm wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he pounds into you, relentless and filthy.

His voice in your ear, rough and possessive —“You been thinkin’ about this, sweetheart? Been touching yourself like a needy little thing?”

Your fingers move faster.

You arch into the mattress, breath stuttering, hips chasing the pressure. Your other hand slides up under your shirt, finds your breast and squeezes hard, tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whisper, squirming, already so close it’s pathetic.

You imagine his hand — that hand — between your legs. Imagine him shoving your panties to the side with those cool, precise fingers and just… watching you squirm. Watching you come undone with that unreadable expression of his, like he’s filing it away for later.

You imagine him making you come like this. Telling you you’re not allowed to stop. That you’re gonna do it again, and again, until you’re crying.

Your thighs start to shake.

You gasp, pressing harder, grinding down. Your toes curl, muscles tensing, pleasure tearing through you like lightning — sharp, wet, overwhelming.

You come hard, moaning into your pillow, breathless and ruined, hand still trembling between your thighs.

And then?

You lie there. Sticky. Hot. Unsatisfied.

Because no matter how many times you make yourself come, it’s never enough.

Not when it’s him you want.

Not when it’s Bucky fucking Barnes.

———

You’re minding your business. Truly. Peacefully. Drinking your stupid little smoothie, scrolling through intel reports on your tablet, trying so hard not to think about last night and the shame spiral that followed.

You’re in the common room, feet tucked under you, hair up, living a clean and quiet life.

The front door hisses open. Voices filter in—Sam laughing, Nat muttering something dry, Steve’s boots heavy on the floor.

And him.

Bucky.

You don’t look up at first. You don’t need to. You can feel him. Like some sixth sense activated just by his presence, like the air itself is different when he walks into it.

But then you do look up and you regret it immediately.

He’s just back from the field. Tactical gear still clinging to him, black shirt soaked through with sweat in that way that makes it stick to every hard line of muscle underneath. The sleeves are tight around his biceps—dangerously tight—making it look like the fabric’s seconds from giving out under the strain of his arms.

His hair’s damp, just messy enough to be criminal, a few strands sticking to his forehead. Dog tags resting against his chest. Black cargo pants slung low on his hips, clinging to his thighs like they were custom-made by someone with your exact problem.

He’s flushed from exertion, a little dirty, jaw tight like he’s still coming down from combat.

And he doesn’t notice you. He just walks past, arm flexing as he drags his glove off with his teeth.

You actually—physically—have to grip the edge of the couch.

You squeeze your thighs together so tight your eyes almost roll back. Your smoothie is sweating in your hand, condensation dripping onto your leg, and it’s the least of your problems right now.

Because that man?

That man could rail you into next week with the anger he carries in his shoulders alone. You’d let him wreck you in the debriefing room, up against the wall, still wearing that gear and not saying a word.

You’d tear those tactical pants off with your teeth.

And he just keeps walking. Oblivious. Like he’s not singlehandedly dragging you through the gates of horny hell.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, heart hammering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He pauses for half a second like he might’ve heard you. Glances over his shoulder—just once.

And then he’s gone, down the hall.

You stare at the door for a long time, smoothie forgotten, thighs still clenched like your life depends on it.

You need help. You need prayer. Exorcism. A cold shower.

Or maybe you just need him to ruin your entire existence.

You barely make it back to your room.

Your legs are shaking. Your mind’s a blur. All you can see is him—sweaty, panting, muscles strained beneath that black t-shirt. His arm flexing, the curve of his jaw, those goddamn tactical pants hugging every inch of thigh like a threat.

You lock the door behind you with trembling fingers.

You don’t even bother taking your clothes off properly—just shove your hand down your shorts as you collapse back onto your bed, legs spread, head spinning.

He looked so good.

Your fingers slide through your folds, already wet, your body acting like it’s been starving for him. Like it’s been waiting all day, all year, for a glimpse of that man so it can break down on command.

You rub your clit in tight, needy circles, moaning quietly.

Your eyes flutter shut.

You picture him over you, sweaty and still in gear, that black shirt pushed up just enough to show the cut of his stomach. You imagine his voice, low and rough, right next to your ear—“Couldn’t even wait, huh? Needed me that bad?”

Your hips buck, thighs shaking, pleasure building fast and desperate.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you gasp, breath catching.

You don’t hear the quiet footfalls in the hall.

Don’t hear the door next to yours click shut.

Don’t know he’s just gotten back to his room.

But he hears you.

Bucky stops with one boot halfway unlaced.

He frowns—still half in mission mode—until he hears it again: a faint whimper through the wall. A soft gasp. Then—his name. Muffled. Almost whispered.

His blood goes still.

He steps closer to the wall, heart suddenly pounding, every nerve pulled tight.

Another moan. Higher this time. Desperate.

He can hear the rhythm now—quiet, wet sounds, a bed creaking slightly with every movement. You’re touching yourself. Saying his name. Whimpering like it’s been torturing you.

His mouth goes dry. Something low in his stomach twists.

He shouldn’t listen.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

You don’t know he’s there—don’t know you’ve already ruined him. That he’s standing on the other side of the wall, jaw clenched, cock straining against his pants, while you moan into your pillow and come with his name on your lips.

———

The next day, you tell yourself you’re fine.

You look fine. You act fine. You sit in the common area with your laptop open and a mug in your hands like a picture of peace. The night before? Never happened. The hand between your thighs? The breathy moans into your pillow? The orgasm that left you limp and half-ashamed?

A delusion. A private, pathetic delusion.

Until he walks in.

And your entire body remembers.

Bucky enters like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Joggers low on his hips, black T-shirt riding up in the back, hair damp from a shower and curling just slightly around his ears.

You look up instinctively.

And he looks right at you.

Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. He holds your gaze for half a second—half a second too long—then nods, casual as ever, and heads to the kitchen.

No hello. No smirk. Nothing to suggest he heard the way you moaned his name with your fingers stuffed between your thighs like you were starving for him.

He doesn’t say a word.

You try to refocus, try to look at your screen and breathe, but your eyes keep flicking back.

He’s moving around the kitchen now, calm, quiet, efficient. Forearms flexing with every movement. The joggers cling when he crouches to grab something from a low cabinet, and your mouth actually goes dry.

Your thighs squeeze together.

He knows.

He has to know.

But he’s pretending like he doesn’t, and it’s driving you fucking insane.

You don’t even want to like him. He’s grumpy and rude and dismissive. He doesn’t flirt. He barely talks. He exists like a thundercloud with muscles and you still want to cry from how badly you want him.

And now he knows.

Now you’ve moaned his name with a hand between your legs, and he’s seen you since and said nothing.

You want to crawl into the floor.

You want to jump him.

You want him to ruin you until you can’t even say your own name.

He walks past you again with a cup of coffee, eyes flicking toward you—slow, heavy, unreadable.

And this time?

You swear there’s a hint of a smirk.

He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, that black mug dwarfing in his gloved hand. The steam curls around his face, catching the light, and he’s just staring at nothing—completely unreadable.

Until he speaks. “Sleep okay last night?”

You freeze. Your heart flatlines. Then kicks into overdrive.

You glance up too fast, trying to act casual, but your grip on the mug betrays you—tight, white-knuckled.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs. Sips again. His face is all calm, cold stillness. Like he’s discussing the weather. Not like he heard you moaning his name behind the paper-thin wall like your soul was leaving your body.

“Nothing,” he says, low and even.

You swallow hard. Try to hide the heat crawling up your neck.

You stare at him. Waiting for something. A look. A smirk. A single flicker of anything.

But he gives you nothing.

Just turns back toward the hallway, casual as ever, coffee in hand, like he didn’t just dangle a loaded gun over your head and walk away.

And as he disappears down the hall, your thighs press together again.

You’re so fucked.

———

You try to sleep.

You really, really do.

You toss. You turn. You fluff your pillow. You kick the blankets off and pull them back up. You stare at the ceiling and beg your brain to stop replaying the way he looked in that shirt. The way his voice dropped when he asked about your night. The nothing he gave you like a damn grenade and walked away.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

You squeeze your thighs together for the fifth time in twenty minutes, but it only makes it worse. Your whole body’s aching—burning. Tight with the need that’s been building for the entire day.

You glance at the door. You know you should get up and lock it.

But you don’t. Because you’re tired. And turned on. And pathetic.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, dragging your hand under the sheets. “I’ll be quiet.”

You bite your lip as your fingers slide down, already warm, already soaked. You work slow at first, trying to stay silent—just enough to relieve the pressure. Just enough to breathe again.

But then your mind starts drifting.

To him.

Always him.

Bucky in the gym, sweat-slick and scowling. Bucky walking past you post-mission like a walking sin. Bucky pressing you into your mattress with that big metal hand wrapped around your throat, voice rough in your ear—“You’re so fucking loud for me, baby.”

You gasp. Then whimper. Soft. Barely audible.

But he hears it.

He’s in his room again. Reading. Trying to pretend like he didn’t spend all day imagining the look on your face when he asked about your sleep. Trying not to picture your hand between your thighs again.

And then he hears you.

Again.

A muffled moan, breathless and aching, like it’s being pulled out of you against your will.

He stands without thinking.

Crosses the hall with quiet, deliberate steps. His pulse is steady, but something low is stirring—something primal. Something possessive. The kind of heat that doesn’t burn—it consumes.

He stops outside your door.

Closed. Not locked.

He doesn’t even knock.

The handle turns with the softest click, and then—

He steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a quiet snick.

You don’t hear it.

You’re on your back, one knee bent, your hand buried under the hem of your shorts. Your head is tipped back against the pillow, mouth open in these soft, gasping little whimpers as you chase the edge, hips twitching, breath fogging in the dim light.

You have no idea he’s there.

Not until you hear him speak.

“Didn’t I just ask if you slept okay?” The voice—his voice—cracks through the quiet like a whip.

You bolt upright.

Everything inside you lurches, heart ramming against your ribs, a violent rush of heat and panic rising through your chest like you’ve been caught in a fire. Your hand yanks back from your shorts like it’s been scorched, and you scramble to pull the blanket up, dragging it over your thighs as your breath shatters.

Your eyes fly to the source of the voice.

And there he is. Leaning against the door like he’s got all the time in the world. Arms crossed. One brow slightly raised.

His expression is unreadable—casual, maybe—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something dark. Something hungry. Like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you in one glance.

You can’t move. Can’t think.

Your heart’s thudding like a drumline, and your cheeks go hot, burning as your stomach flips over itself in full-blown horror.

You can still feel your arousal—sticky, heat pressed between your thighs, your pulse fluttering in places he’s not even touched.

“Bucky—” you croak, throat tight. “I—what are you doing—how—”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he says flatly.

Matter-of-fact. Like that explains everything.

And it kind of does.

You just sit there, still clutching the blanket to your chest like it can undo what he saw. As if it can erase the sound of you moaning into your pillow while your fingers worked yourself over to the thought of him.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches.

Like he’s curious. Patient. Like he’s giving you a chance to dig your own grave or shut up and let him lower you into it.

You look at him and it hits you how big he is. Broad and solid, filling the doorway like a wall. The black t-shirt is stretched across his shoulders, tucked into his pants just enough to show the lines of his waist, and that goddamn metal hand is flexing at his side like it’s already made its decision.

And still… he doesn’t leave.

Your voice breaks trying to fill the silence. “I didn’t mean— I thought I was quiet— I didn’t know—”

“I heard everything.”

That shuts you up.

His voice is calm. But it’s not soft. Not gentle. It sinks into your gut like a stone, and your thighs squeeze together before you can stop yourself—before your body betrays you again.

You look away. You can’t look at him. Not when you’re like this—hair messy, skin flushed, caught in the act like a filthy little secret with your want written all over your sheets.

He moves. Not quickly. Not harshly. Just decisively. Like this is inevitable. Like he knew the moment he opened that door that he wasn’t going to leave until you were ruined.

He crosses the room in two slow steps. Sits on the edge of your bed, right next to you. His thigh brushes yours, warm and solid, and your breath hitches—your entire body tensing as his presence crowds the air.

Then his hand—the metal one—reaches out.

He takes your wrist. Your fingers are still damp. Still twitching from where they were buried between your thighs. He stares at them for a second, then meets your eyes.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink. “What—”

“I said touch yourself,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Show me.”

Your heart slams. His grip stays locked around your wrist, not forcing—but not letting go either. He doesn’t need to threaten. Doesn’t need to beg.

He’s already heard you fall apart for him.

Now he wants the show.

And fuck—your body obeys before your brain can stop it.

You shift beneath the covers, breath shaking, eyes wide as your hand slides back down, slipping under the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin’s hot. Everything throbs and you’re soaked.

Shame prickles in your chest, but it’s drowned by the way he watches—focused and still, his hand still gripping yours like he owns it.

You let your fingers find that spot again, slick and swollen, and you shudder.

“Fuck,” you whisper, breath catching.

His voice cuts through it. Soft. Direct. “You’ve been touching yourself thinking about me?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

“And now you can’t stop, can you?” he murmurs. “Poor thing. You want me this much, baby?”

You let out a tiny, broken sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and press harder.

His metal thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, slow and thoughtful, like he’s testing your pulse. You’re so wet your fingers glide without resistance, your hips moving on their own.

“Messy little thing,” he mutters. “God, you’re desperate. Didn’t even lock the door.”

His flesh hand moves too now—reaching up to push your hair from your face, tilting your chin toward him.

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you—back arching, thighs tensing, rhythm faltering as your orgasm creeps up again, fast, tighter than before.

He sees it. Feels it. And he knows.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers. “Right here, baby? With my hand around yours and your pussy soaking your sheets?”

You sob his name and he finally leans in—breath warm against your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your fingers slip again—rhythm stuttering, body caught in that maddening edge.

He watches you falter. Watches your mouth fall open, brows pull together, your thighs start to shake with the pressure of holding yourself there. So close. Too close.

And that’s when he moves. His grip on your wrist tightens just enough to make you freeze.

“Let go,” he says.

You whimper. “But—”

“I said let go.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

You obey. Your hand slips from your shorts, fingers slick and trembling, and your chest rises in short, desperate breaths as he shifts closer.

“Bucky—” you gasp.

But he’s already there. His fingers slide between your folds—just one, at first, cool and unreal, brushing over your clit in a slow, torturous circle. Your hips jerk like you’ve been shocked.

“God,” you moan, clinging to the sheets, “fuck—”

“So sensitive,” he murmurs.

His eyes are locked on your face, hungry, focused—like he’s memorizing the way your mouth falls open for him, the way your lashes flutter when he presses a little harder.

You can’t stop the sounds you make.

You’re already too close—too much—your body wired tight from teasing yourself for nights and thinking of him, only him.

One metal finger dips lower—in now, slick and slow—and your breath punches from your chest.

Your hips grind into it, chasing it like you’re starving.

He fucks you with it slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Watching you unravel inch by inch.

“You’ve been dreaming about this?” he says, voice like gravel. “Getting off to the thought of my hands on you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers clenching around the sheets.

Another finger slides in.

Your body wails for it—so full, so good, the metal stretching you just right—and your thighs tremble, back arching as your orgasm builds so fast it almost hurts.

“Then come for me,” he growls. “Right now. I want to feel how tight you get when you finish.”

You choke on a cry.

And then you fall apart.

Hard.

Your walls clamp down around his fingers, body convulsing as the wave hits you—sharp and electric—shaking through your entire frame with a loud, wrecked moan that echoes in your room.

His hand doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it—slower now, drawing it out, holding your body steady with his free hand while you tremble and sob and drip around him.

You don’t know how long it lasts. You just know you’ve never come like that before.

Not in your life.

Not until him.

You’re still gasping, thighs twitching, brain static from how hard you just came—but he’s not done with you. Not even close.

His fingers slip from you slow, drenched, and he brings them up to his mouth, sucking them clean without taking his eyes off you.

Then?

He smirks.

That low, dangerous smirk you’ve only ever imagined. Dreamed about. Touched yourself to. And now it’s real.

“You’ve been thinking about me so much,” he says, voice thick with heat, “I bet you want to feel my cock, huh?”

You don’t even answer. Can’t. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out but a broken moan.

He laughs. Dark. Rough. “You fucking slut.”

He stands. Hands go to the waistband of his pants.

Your breath catches, watching.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to.

The black tactical pants slide down slow over those solid thighs, revealing the outline of what’s beneath—thick, heavy, hard. You feel your whole body clench at the sight.

He steps out of them, shirt already discarded somewhere between your moans, and he’s standing there now in nothing but black briefs—soaked at the tip.

And holy fuck, he’s big.

Your lips part, staring. You want to drool.

He notices.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’ve been aching for every night.”

He pulls the briefs down—slow, shameless.

His cock springs free, thick and hard and flushed at the tip, veins running along the length like something out of a wet dream. You whimper, thighs pressing together reflexively.

“You wanted this inside you so bad you couldn’t keep quiet,” he says, climbing onto the bed again, crawling over you until his weight cages you in. “Moaning my name with the fucking door unlocked.”

Your body arches up to meet him.

“Please,” you whisper.

He fists his cock once, dragging his head through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

You’re still sensitive. Still pulsing.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, notching the tip right against you. “Want me to stretch you open and fuck the brains outta that filthy little head of yours?”

You nod, desperate.

His cock sits heavy in his hand, the flushed tip glistening as he slides it through your slick folds again. Over and over—up and down—until you’re squirming beneath him, hips chasing every motion like you can’t stand another second of not being filled.

But he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

He drags the thick head over your entrance, slow and deliberate, just barely nudging inside before pulling back again.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you whimper, body arching.

“You’re soaked again,” he growls, almost to himself. “You got this wet just thinking about my cock?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. Not for him. He taps your clit once—sharp and teasing—and your whole body jerks.

“Say it.”

Your breath catches. “I—I thought about it every night,” you gasp. “I wanted it so bad. I still want it. Please, Bucky—”

He groans, low and ragged. The tip of his cock presses at your entrance again. Just a little. Just enough to make you feel the burn of it—how thick he is, how your body tries to pull him in even as he holds himself back.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, circling your hole with maddening precision. “How much your pussy needs me?”

You moan, desperate. Hands clawing at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can hold onto.

He grins. “Needy little thing.”

Then he pushes. Just the tip—slow and thick, stretching you inch by inch.

Your mouth falls open. Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“Oh my—fuck,” you cry.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Patience,” he mutters, teasing your entrance again. “Wanna feel you beg for it.”

“I’m begging,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky—please, I need it, I need you to fuck me—”

His mouth crashes over yours, swallowing your cry as he thrusts in deep—all the way—filling you to the hilt in one thick, devastating stroke.

Your back arches. Your vision whites out.

“So fucking tight,” he growls against your mouth, rolling his hips, grinding in deeper. “Fuck—you were made for this, weren’t you?”

He stays there for a moment—buried inside you—his cock stretching you open so wide it burns in the best way, hips pressed flush to yours. You can barely breathe, your body trembling with the shock of just how full you feel.

Then he moves. A slow pull out—just a few inches—before slamming right back in.

You scream. Not from pain. From everything. The pressure, the friction, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pinning you down like he owns you.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re fucking dripping around me.”

Your nails dig into his back.

He starts thrusting—hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with brutal rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over every sensitive spot inside you like he knows exactly where to hit.

And all the while, he talks.

“Been thinking about this tight little cunt every night since I got here. Didn’t know it was mine to take.”

You moan—choked and desperate.

“You wanted it so bad, didn’t you? Wanted me to catch you with your legs spread and fuck you like the filthy little cock-drunk slut you are.”

“Y-Yes—please—” you’re a mess beneath him, eyes wet, mouth open.

He grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare look away while I fuck your pussy.”

You blink up at him, dazed. And fuck—he looks insane. Hair a mess, sweat dripping down his temples, that metal hand gripping your thigh so hard you might bruise.

And still—he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like it’s punishment. Relentless. Ruthless.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, your body jerking with the force of it. The bed creaks beneath you, headboard slamming against the wall, your moans echoing like you’re meant to be heard.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You gonna soak my cock just like you soaked your fingers last night?”

“Bucky—Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing fast circles over your clit as he keeps fucking you open with brutal thrusts.

“You’re gonna come with me inside you, sweetheart. You’re gonna come on my cock like a good little toy.”

And it snaps.

You cry out—loud and broken—as your orgasm slams into you hard enough to steal your breath, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, grinding deep into you as you come, riding you through it. “That’s it. So fucking tight—so good for me—”

He’s close now too. You can feel it—his thrusts stuttering, muscles tensing.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “You want that, baby? Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy?”

You’re still shaking, but you nod. Whimpering. Needy.

“Please—inside—want it so bad—”

He buries himself deep and groans loud—raw and wrecked—as he spills inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as you feel every hot pulse of it.

You’re ruined.

His weight sinks down on top of you, breath ragged in your ear, and for a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting.

The room’s heavy with heat and sweat, skin sticking where it meets, your body still twitching with the aftershocks of how hard he fucked you.

Then he lifts his head. Eyes drag down your flushed face. Your parted lips. Your chest rising and falling fast. Still dazed. Still ruined.

He shifts back onto his knees between your thighs, hands gripping your hips, keeping you spread open wide beneath him.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he pulls out—slow and thick, his cock dragging against your fluttering walls before slipping free with a wet sound that makes you whimper.

And fuck.

You feel it immediately. The warm spill of him leaking out of you—thick and hot and so much—trickling down your folds and onto the sheets in sticky, glistening streams.

Bucky groans under his breath, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You took it all. So fucking good for me.”

You try to close your legs on instinct, flushed and wrecked and so overstimulated—but he stops you with a firm grip, holding you open with his metal hand.

“Uh-uh. Keep ’em open. I wanna see it.”

His thumb slides down, spreads you further, letting him watch as more of his cum drips from your aching hole.

“Look at that mess,” he murmurs, gaze heavy-lidded, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You’re leaking all over the place, baby.”

You shiver under him.

He swipes his thumb through the slick, then presses it back in—just a little—pushing some of it inside again while your body jerks from the sensitivity.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You were made to be filled like this.”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You’re gonna clean me up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick with command. “Gonna taste every drop.”

Your pulse spikes. You barely have the strength to move, still reeling from the wreck he’s made of you—but you obey, because you need it, because he told you to.

He shifts forward, settling between your thighs again. His metal hand spreads you open, keeping you wide for him, raw and messy. His other hand trails down, steadying his cock where it rests—still hard, still slick with both of you.

He throbs against your skin, flushed and glistening.

You lean forward without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the first salty bead that clings to the head. He lets out a quiet groan above you.

His eyes burn as you take your time, licking slowly around the tip—teasing, deliberate—before your lips part wider and you sink down, wrapping him in heat.

Your cheeks hollow as you draw him in deeper, your mouth soft and eager.

“Fuck,” Bucky grits, his hand sliding into your hair, curling tight. “You’re good at this.”

You moan around him, letting the praise sink in as you begin to move—slow, controlled bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls, tasting the mix of him and yourself, and it only makes you hungrier.

You’re not just cleaning him up. You’re savoring him and he knows it.

He pulls you up by your hair, not rough—controlled. Intentional. His mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and claiming, like he’s branding you from the inside out. His metal hand clamps around your waist, anchoring you, holding you still as he devours you like he owns you.

And fuck, maybe he does.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his breath ghosts over your lips, low and ragged.

“That’s enough,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and satisfied. “You did so well. That’s my good girl.”

Your stomach twists, body still trembling, as you melt into him — breathless and soaked, the taste of him still slick on your tongue.

He doesn’t move for a while, just lets his weight settle into you, chest rising and falling against yours, heart still pounding beneath sweat-damp skin. His breath is warm where it fans over your cheek, his metal hand still possessively wrapped around your waist.

Then, gently, he shifts. His fingers slide up, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. He kisses your forehead—soft, slow—like he’s claiming you all over again, but quieter this time.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, the words husky but reverent now. “You were perfect.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the sound, overwhelmed, wrecked in the best way. His flesh hand strokes your cheek, soothing the heat from it, while the metal one trails lazy circles over your spine.

“Did so good for me,” he whispers again, like a secret meant only for your bones.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nuzzle closer, tucking yourself into his chest.

Fuck, he did ruin you.

tags: @iamthatonefangirl

[undyingdecay]

pairings: john walker x reader cw: smut, afab reader, heavy details on bodily fluids (cum), dry humping, pain play-ish, reader and walker are both kind of switches (mostly dom!walker though), very faint non-con. translations: знал, что это дерьмо случится → 'knew this shit was going to happen'

you woke up in a pissy mood.

maybe it’s because you woke up late. you let the thought plant itself in the garden of your mind as you make up the bed, tripping over your phone charger in the process—cursing as the plastic brick snags your toe like it has a personal vendetta against you. or maybe it’s because alexei had eaten all the pancakes when you went downstairs for breakfast, plate licked clean and stacked with crumbs like a taunt. bob had given you that same apologetic smile he always did when things went wrong—soft and sunny like butter melting on hot toast—murmuring that there hadn’t been any more mix left for him to make you any.

maybe it was the fucking weather in new york. the gentle splatter of rain against the glass panes of the tower had started out soft, like a lullaby, but now it just sounded annoying. like the world was chewing with its mouth open.

or maybe it was because it was wednesday.

training.

val’s orders.

mandatory hand-to-hand sparring. because she liked everyone nice and angry and bruised up. and sure, you had training every day, but today? today was the one day of the week where you were paired with walker.

so when he purposely bumped into you in the hallway outside the gym—his shoulder knocking against your bicep hard enough to make your teeth click—you didn’t throw a punch, even though the thought crossed your mind like a reflex. he was taller than you, broader too, all chest and attitude and smug american confidence. so maybe it wasn’t your shoulder. maybe it was your whole goddamn side that he nudged like a dog staking territory.

“who pissed in your cereal this morning?” he asked, voice low and conversational, like he didn’t just bump you hard enough to jostle your spine.

you didn’t say it was him, even though it was. even though his voice made your skin itch and your jaw lock.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, walker,” you said instead, brushing past him, not waiting for the inevitable comeback. you could feel his smirk behind you like static.

the tower’s gym was unruly-huge. it felt like it echoed your mood back at you. equipment you couldn’t name lined the walls in tight, militaristic rows, all matte black and heavy metal, and the smell of rubber and sweat lingered in the air like a stain. a few punching bags hung lazily near the corners, one still swaying from when bucky had kicked it clean across the room last week.

“it’s too weak,” he’d said.

(you’d made a mental note never to spar with him again.)

and in the center of it all was the ring. four corner posts, padded ropes, and too much room for bad decisions.

it wasn’t required that the whole team show up—and even though you’d begged yelena to join, she’d refused, laughing into her smoothie. said she didn’t want to be “stuck watching you two dry hump like deranged squirrels again.” you’d told her to fuck off. but now, standing in the gym with only the distant hum of the a/c for company, you wished she’d been there just to cut the tension. or at least pass you a weapon.

you took a swig of lukewarm water from your bottle and turned to face walker, forcing yourself not to stare at how his compression shirt clung to him. it wasn’t tight—it was painted on. every line of muscle was on full display, shoulder to waist. you could practically hear the fabric stretch when he moved.

“do you… want to do some warm-ups first?” you asked, making a conscious effort to keep your tone neutral. maybe even disinterested. you didn’t want him here. this wasn’t voluntary. this was an obligation. mandatory misery.

“let’s get this over with,” he said. “three rounds. best out of three.”

you raised a brow. “and for the rules?”

he smirked—of course he did. “we don’t need rules.”

“we kinda do,” you replied, already feeling the irritation twist under your ribs. “because last time you dropped me on my ass so hard i had a bruise for a week.”

walker stepped into the ring first, ducking under the ropes. “maybe you should’ve blocked.”

“maybe you should stop fighting like you’ve got something to prove.”

that earned a glare from him, which you ignored—attempted to.

you climbed in, shaking out your arms, your boots hitting the mat with soft thuds. the padding underfoot felt springy—too bouncy, too reactive. you hated it. or maybe you just hated that you were here, facing him, already sweating despite the cold air.

he circled you lazily. like a goddamn lion. you mirrored the motion, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, trying not to get distracted by how his eyes tracked your hips rather than your stance.

you both moved at the same time.

the first few exchanges were quick—jab, parry, dodge. the rhythm came easily. it always did. as much as you hated to admit it, you were well-matched. you could read each other’s timing, counter without thinking. the frustration came not from the fighting, but from everything else—the way his hands lingered too long when you grappled, how his chest would brush yours if you got too close. you hated how your body noticed.

and then it happened.

a misstep—your heel caught slightly on the edge of the mat, enough to tip your balance, and walker lunged to take advantage of the opening. except instead of pinning you, the two of you collided—not forcefully, but clumsily, almost chest to chest. you let out a sharp exhale as your thighs tangled, knees bending instinctively to catch the fall.

but he was already halfway crouched, one arm wrapping instinctively around your waist to steady you, the other pressed to the small of your back. your weight shifted forward—too close, too warm—and suddenly you were halfway in his lap.

“shit—sorry,” you breathed, trying to shove off him, except—

except his thigh was right between yours, and your hips—

fuck.

you didn’t mean to move, but the balance was off and the mat was soft and your legs shifted on instinct—and suddenly, unmistakably, your core dragged against the muscle of his thigh in a way that was so subtle and accidental and deeply not.

both of you froze.

your breath caught. his eyes were already locked on yours, stunned for a half second—then unreadable. his hand was still on your back. you weren’t sure if it tightened or if you imagined it. you weren’t sure if you moved again or if the air conditioning just kicked on. you weren’t sure why your thighs clenched.

“uh…” you started, but your voice sounded weird. hoarse. too close to a moan.

his gaze flicked to your mouth, then away, fast. “you okay?”

you nodded too fast. “fine. just… awkward footing.”

he didn’t move his hand. neither did you.

your legs still straddled his thigh in a way that felt like the world’s worst balancing act. or the start of a very different kind of training session. there was a beat of silence—like the air itself was watching.

“you sure?” he asked again, quieter this time.

and it wasn’t even the words—it was the way he looked at you. like he wasn’t talking about the stumble at all. like he felt that exact moment too. the press of your pelvis. the grind. the breath you tried to swallow.

you nodded again, slower this time. “yeah. just… caught me off guard.”

you pushed off him, finally, but it was too late. the air had shifted. you could feel it between you, clinging like static. his hands fell away, but your skin still burned where they’d been. you turned back to face him, but the next round didn’t come right away. he was still watching you.

and your body? your traitorous, terrible body?

your thighs were still clenched.

fuck wednesday.

“again?” you asked, voice too level for how shaky you felt inside.

walker nodded once, that cocky little tilt of his mouth returning like it never left. you circled again, sweat already clinging in places it shouldn’t—your lower back, your neck, the inside of your thighs. the room felt hotter than before, too hot for the a/c’s dull drone.

you launched first this time—an elbow aimed high, followed by a sweep low that he sidestepped with infuriating ease.

“you’re getting predictable,” he said with a grin.

you lunged. “so are you.”

he blocked. his palm slammed against your forearm, then he turned his body and shoved. the motion was clean, rehearsed. you fell back onto the mat with a thud that wasn’t entirely painless.

before you could roll, he was on you.

a forearm pressed against your collarbone, his weight straddling your hips, one thigh locked between your legs like a goddamn puzzle piece. his free hand pinned your wrist down beside your head.

the heat of his body sunk into yours instantly.

you squirmed. “walker—fuck—”

“hurts?” he murmured, his voice rough, amused—condescending.

the way he said it—hurts?—like he already knew the answer. like he knew it didn’t.

“yeah?” he pushed again, voice dropping lower this time, something smug curling around the edge of the word like smoke. “right there?”

and fuck, you hated the way your body responded to that tone. you hated that your thighs instinctively squeezed around the leg slotted between them. you hated that your hips bucked up, just once, hard enough that your pelvis grazed his in a motion too slow to be mistaken.

your ass dragged against the hard ridge in his pants and he whined, a fully on whine you sweat—barely—but you heard it. felt it in the tension of his thigh. his hips jerked forward, subtle but deliberate, a shallow grind that answered your body without permission.

you sucked in a breath. “get off—”

“you first,” he said, and dipped his hips again, just to feel the friction. he’s desperate now, you can tell.

it was a war now. a different kind of sparring.

you twisted under him, trying to gain leverage, but he only adjusted his grip on your wrists, forearms flexing as he kept you pinned. you shifted your hips to throw him off—but the motion only made things worse.

your core ground against his thigh again, heat blooming under your waistband, obscene in how clothed you both still were. the contact was friction, soft and aggressive, the kind that sent sparks up your spine.

you bit back a noise. it didn’t sound angry. it didn’t sound like protest.

“fuck—get—off—me—” you tried again, but you weren’t moving to escape anymore. not really.

you arched again, more desperate this time. maybe to get him off. maybe to get more.

walker’s breath caught. he bucked into you again, this time slow. deliberate. testing.

you gasped. “don’t—”

“then stop moving,” he groans which broke off into another whimper.

but neither of you stopped.

he leaned in close, face hovering over yours, and you could smell the sweat and laundry soap and faint bite of cologne coming off him. his breath was hot against your cheek.

you surged up again—this time forcing him to lose some of his balance, your knee coming up to knock his side. he grunted, twisted, but still didn’t move off you.

instead, the shift made him rut against you harder, this time with a quiet, breathless curse.

“goddamn it—” he muttered.

you moaned before you could stop yourself. not loud. just a little choked noise in your throat.

walker froze. then slowly, he ground his hips down again. testing pressure. the thick line of his cock pressed through both your pants, dragging across the exact spot that was already aching.

“you’re not helping your case,” he murmured.

“shut the fuck up—” but it sounded breathy. weak. your thighs clenched again.

you twisted your wrist free and shoved at his chest, but he caught your hand and pinned it down again. the struggle only brought you closer, your hips meeting in another mindless grind that made both of you gasp.

it wasn’t smooth. it wasn’t graceful.

he rutted into you, clothed, thick denim grinding down against your leggings, and your hips met his like you needed it. you did. every part of you felt like it was humming now. frustration and arousal tangled into something reckless. every motion made it worse—more heat, more friction, more of your body giving away things your mouth would never say.

walker leaned down again, chest nearly flush against yours, his hips working in slow, rhythmless pushes. “say you want it,” he said, low.

“i don’t,” you lied.

he ground harder, your clit catching against the crease of your waistband, and your back arched off the mat in response.

“you sure?” he whispered.

you weren’t.

your hands gripped the mat, desperate for stability, but he was dragging against you just right, his thigh rocking into your core and making your cunt throb. your hips moved again—this time without thinking—and now you were the one rutting into him. your core pulsed against the friction of his jeans, every scrape of the fabric sending heat flooding low through your stomach.

his hands fisted in the mat on either side of your head. his biceps bracketed your face. he looked down at you like he didn’t know whether to tease you or fuck you into the floor.

you rolled your hips again, your leg wrapping slightly around his as you chased the next wave of contact. you weren’t pretending anymore. he wasn’t either. this wasn’t a spar—it was a dry fuck in slow motion.

and he gave in.

he bucked forward, hard, and his cock pressed along your clothed heat, grinding with rough, eager friction. the motion dragged a moan out of you you couldn’t swallow. your head tipped back. your neck arched.

your clit caught again on the seam of your leggings and your hips jolted. he rutted into the motion—again, then again—shallow thrusts that barely moved you on the mat, but each one made your breath catch. your body burned. you could feel the heat soaking through the cotton. your thighs trembled.

“you gonna come like this?” he asked roughly, mouth right near your jaw. “grinding on my thigh like a brat?”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

you only bucked your hips harder, clit catching again, again, your mouth falling open as a whimper slipped out. you were so fucking close now. you could feel it—low and tight and searing, the edge of something hot and humiliating and real.

“you like that?” he hissed, fucking into you now with full-bodied thrusts. “yeah—fuck—you do—”

you squeezed your eyes shut, choking on your own breath, your body arching into his. every grind pushed you closer. your hands gripped his shirt now, pulling him closer, keeping him there. his name slipped out of your mouth like a secret.

and walker—he didn’t stop. didn’t pull away.

if anything, he moved faster.

he wasn’t teasing anymore. he was chasing it. so were you. two enemies humping each other to the brink in the middle of the fucking training mat, slick with sweat and frustration, and god, you could feel it building again—hot, slick pressure, dragging through your core like a live wire—

“fuck—fuck—don’t stop—” you gasped, and his hips answered with another rough grind.

“come on, then,” he growled. “do it. come on my fuckin’ thigh, princess.”

and you did.

your hips jerked, breath tearing from your lungs, thighs clenching as a flood of wet heat soaked your panties. you came with a whimper, your back arching, every inch of you trembling.

walker groaned through his teeth and fucked into your convulsing body once more, riding it out, like he wanted to memorize the way you clenched under him. his own breath was ragged, jaw tight, hands still gripping your wrists like he couldn’t trust himself to let go.

when you finally opened your eyes again, he was still above you. still hard. still watching.

and you still hadn’t moved.

not until you heard the creak of the gym door open.

even then, it wasn’t really movement so much as tension—your entire body flinching under john’s just as your head snapped up, breath still ragged, hips still twitching faintly from what just happened.

yelena stood half in the doorway, smoothie in hand—half-drunk, the straw still perched between her fingers like she’d just stepped out of the kitchen.

she didn’t even blink. her eyes dropped to the sight of you pinned beneath walker—your thighs still spread around one of his, your hands twisted in his shirt, your expression frozen somewhere between post-orgasmic haze and absolute horror.

he didn’t move either. maybe didn’t know how to.

yelena arched an eyebrow.

didn’t really take a genius to figure out what was happening. what just happened.

she let the moment hang for maximum effect. her lip twitched—so subtle you could almost convince yourself you imagined it.

and then, with a casual sip from her smoothie, she muttered under her breath, voice thick with dry russian amusement “знал, что это дерьмо случится.”

she turnd without waiting for a reply, braid swinging behind her as she walked off with that same bored strut she used after throwing knives at a man’s groin.

the door creaked shut again.

silence.

you were still staring at it.

walker finally exhaled, a breath that sounded half-laugh, half-regret. his forehead dropped to your shoulder.

you groaned, hand dragging down your face. “we’re never living this down.”

“not a chance,” he muttered into your collarbone.

neither of you moved for another full minute. maybe two.

you were still too wet. he was still too hard.

and neither of you wanted to be the first to stand up.

[kunasthiast]

wagyu nights

you had exactly three things on your to-do-list that monday morning. yes, a monday. satan’s favorite day. the kind of monday where you wake up already annoyed, already hot, already feral. 

number 1. drink your overpriced espresso from starbucks that makes your heart do backflips and your soul exit your body. you only ordered it because that goddamn espresso song’s been living in your head rent-free for weeks. 

number 2. avoid signing another one of gojo’s illegal, morally questionable, legally actionable birthday cards. last time you did, his lawyer called you personally.

number 3. get a tattoo right above your ass crack and surprise your husband like the loving, stable wife you pretend to be in public.

because why the fuck not? 

you were thirty. rich. hot. emotionally stable (depending on the hour). married to that pink-haired demon of a man for five goddamn years – willingly and obsessively. no kids, yet. no regrets. just an unhinged, borderline feral, mutually destructive love story and an ever-growing collection of in-laws and nosy strangers asking, “so when are the babies coming?”

to which you always replied, smiling sweetly, creepily, and with too much eye contact: “we’re practicing really hard.”

and if there’s one thing sukuna adored even more than your face, your attitude, or your uncanny ability to outdrink him at every celebratory orgies of capitalism, it was –

“your fuckin’ back dimples,” he growled that morning, voice still hoarse, from where he lay starfished across your bed. shirtless. legs splayed. tattoos on full display like a fucking warning sign.

you stood in front of the full-length mirror, shirt lifted just enough to peek at your lower back, contemplating the most deranged monday decision possible: a sternum piece? an underboob tat? nah. a fucking tramp stamp.   

“what about them?” you asked absently, twisting for a better view, ass poked out, looking like a possessed girl in an exorcism movie.

his eyes raked over you like you were his personal religion (yes, you are), “they’re my favorite handles.”

“for what?”

“sin. more specifically, you bent over the bathroom counter-sin. five-star tasting menu kinda shit, babe.”

“romantic,” you deadpanned, still deciding between a cybersigilism tat, a cute hello kitty tramp stamp, or that fucking succubus design you’ve been manifesting since last month’s hormonal spiral.

but by the time your fourth sip of espresso kicked in and your third brain cell screamed YOLO – you were already texting yuki for a walk-in.  

because nothing says married life like getting a surprise ass tattoo and flashing it at dinner like a goddamn crackerjack prize. 

by noon, you were half in your sweatpants, wearing his hoodie over a crop top, sunglasses indoors, phone in one hand, car keys in the other. you looked like a rich housewife fleeing a crime scene. 

then, of course, sukuna came out of his office room, voice still scratchy from some hellish meeting (and yes, you definitely heard the phrase “who the fuck approved this?” echoed through the door). tattoos peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves. he looked good. he always does. dangerously so. and he definitely came out because he sensed the chaos radiating off you like a sixth sense.

“where the fuck you going today, baby?”

you froze mid-sprint at the door.

“uhh… nowhere,” you lied, immediately. “just… errands, love.”

he stared at you.

you smiled.

he squinted harder, “… you only say ‘errands’ when you’re gonna make a dramatic and irreversible decision.”

“what?! noooo! do i look like i make bad decisions?” 

“baby. last time you said ‘errands’ you came home with a cat and a navel piercing. so yes. yes, you do.”

“well, you love both,” you shrugged, opening the door.

he cocked a brow. “i do. but if you come back with a fucking dog, a nipple ring, or another limited-edition cursed item from that thrift store you claim ain’t haunted, we’re gonna have a serious talk, baby.”

“fine,” you grinned, blowing him a kiss.

he narrowed his eyes like a man who knew his wife was about to commit arson, metaphorical or otherwise. “wait. hold up –”

ding.

his phone lit up. followed by another. and another.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, reading whatever fresh corporate nightmare just got dumped on him (his own company = his own chaos = karma’s kiss on the forehead). and just like that – fate (and capitalism) intervened.

“baby, i gotta take this. don’t do anything –”

click.

door’s already closed. too late. 

you were gone. off into the wild, espresso-fueled unknown with a dream, a credit card, and the dangerous confidence of a woman who pays her own bills and gets off on impulsive decisions. 

—

thirty-two minutes later.

yuki took one look at you from her desk and said, “okay, what are we permanently etching into your flesh today?”

“i need something that says crazily in love but also i know where the bodies are buried,” you said, peeling off your hoodie. “thinking tramp stamp. succubus, cybersigilism style. red ink.‘kuna’s initials. maybe a heart in the middle. definitely unholy.”

“hmm, classic monday,” she nodded, already grabbing her ipad to draw it on the spot. “want some glitter drips?”

“yes,” you grinned, too excited for this.

“he’s gonna lose his mind,” you grinned, high off espresso, reckless affection, and the promise of delightful spousal torment.

“in a good way or a divorce way?”

“yes.”

forty-five minutes later.

you were face down, ass-up on yuki’s table, hair in a messy bun, chewing gum like it owed you money.

“‘kay, hold real still,” yuki said, gloves snapping on. “‘bout to tattoo the most feral love note of all time on your ass.”

“god bless,” you whispered, as the buzz of the machine started.

two hours later, your phone buzzed like a possessed bee on the tray next to you. texts. missed calls. a voicemail that probably just said “baby” in ten different emotional tones.

but you ignored it, because sukuna would find out soon enough. and please, your marriage survived worse. like the time you accidentally sexted the family group chat (your side). 

or that time you thought it’d be romantic to surprise him with a homemade dinner, only to somehow set fire to the kitchen and set off the smoke detectors. sukuna waltzed in, unfazed, and ended up effortlessly whipping up a five-course meal in under an hour – leaving you sulking on the couch, watching him plate perfectly cooked dishes while you nursed a glass of wine (your only consolation being the fact that at least you hadn’t set the house on fire. this time). but then, just when you thought he was gonna give you the “i told you so” lecture, he kissed you on the cheek, gave you a hug, and murmured, “still love you, babe.”

anyway, at least the tattoo’s done. and it looks glorious as fuck.

you admired it in the mirror like it was renaissance art. well… satanic, slightly unhinged renaissance art.

a little heart with “R.S” in the middle. glowing red. framed by digital sigils and glittery hellfire drips. you looked like the cover of a cursed y2k CD and it was absolutely iconic. just what you loved.

“i’m never wearing any tops again,” you declared, pulling your sweatpants up.

“he’s either gonna fuck you into next tuesday or call a priest,” yuki said, proud of her work.

“either way, it’s a win.”

—

you didn’t go straight home after the tattoo, obviously. you were an emotionally stable adult woman with needs and responsibilities.

so after the pain and the buzz wore off a little (just for today, obvs), you stopped by paradise. ready for some retail therapy. with a necessary detour to just distract yourself from the inevitable chaos waiting for you at home.

a few hours and a few (more like 5) shopping bags later, you stopped by that place. the one with the overpriced wagyu and the mochi ice cream your husband pretends not to like but always, mysteriously, finishes. it was part guilt on not replying to his texts and calls (fine, maybe 30% avoidance), part instinct, part monday-night tradition. 

he cooks 90% of the time, but random weekdays? random weekdays like monday tonight is for takeout treaty nights.

so you picked up dinner and rolled into the driveway at exactly 9:47PM. full of caffeine, permanent ink, and deeply smug satisfaction. 

your phone buzzed with the energy of a hundred (okay, 50?) unread texts, but you had food in your hand and a hot husband waiting to yell at you (let him fucking try), so life was good.

the moment you stepped in, you immediately announced with maximum dramatic flair, “babyyy, i’m hooooome!” fully expecting to find him in his usual end-of-day poses: brooding in the kitchen, bossing someone around on the phone, or lounging on the couch with black mirror playing on the tv and whisky on hand. 

and, of course – there he was. shirtless, barefoot, and tattoos out, as usual. leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of whisky on his hand and a phone in the other (probs, terrorizing his assistant). his crimson eyes, sharp as ever, were already scanning you with that knowing look. 

“you’re late,” sukuna said as he ended the phone call, voice deceptively calm.

you just grinned, kicking the door closed behind you and waltzing in too happily. “told ya i had errands, baby.”

his eyes flicked to the five shopping bags hanging off your arms like battle trophies. “did you rob a boutique or black out in dior again?”

“bit of both,” you winked, dropped the bags on the floor, placed the takeout on the counter like peace offering, and kissed him on the lips. “got us dinner, daddy.”

he stared at the takeout bag like it was a peace offering from a war criminal he loved deeply, “sweetheart, what’d you do.”

“excuse me?!” you gasped, scandalized.

“you only bring home wagyu and mochi balls together when you’ve done something insane. or need to butter me up for something worse than a felony, sweetheart,” he said, already digging into the bag like wasn’t fully planning on giving you hell for ghosting him all day. “go ahead. confess.”

you just blinked at him. smiled. took the mochi ice cream container and hugged it like it was a baby kitten. “maybe i just missed my emotionally unavailable, incredibly stressed-for-today yet very hot husband and wanted to feed him like the loving wife i am.”

“uh-huh,” he muttered as he raised a brow, unimpressed. “i texted you fifty-two times. called you over twenty.”

“and i saw every single one of ‘em,” you said sweetly, pulling out plates and chopsticks. “and ignored all. with love.”

“obviously, given your non-existent replies.”

“i was processing,” you said solemnly, handing him a plate. “like a baby giraffe. learning how to walk.”

he gave you that look – one that said i both adore and fear you – and took the plate. “tell me you didn’t crash the car.”

“pfft, the car’s fine, babe.” you said.

“tell me you didn’t sign another one of gojo’s birthday cards.”

“why would i –”

he stared. you stared back. and then, just like clockwork, he reached forward and tugged at the hem of his (your) hoodie you were wearing, “baby. what is it.”

“nothing.”

“show me.”

“nope. absolutely not.”

“sweetheart.”

you bit into your mochi dramatically. chewing on it. and then very calmly turned around, lifted up your hoodie, and pulled down your sweatpants just enough to show off the new ink on the small of your back. that fucking succubus red-inked tattoo with his initials. all stylized. deadly cute. 

you didn’t need to look at him to know that he was staring.

sukuna blinked. put down his chopsticks. stared like you just pulled a gun on him. well, obvs  yeah, not literally. 

“oh, fuck,” he muttered after two seconds. 

you pulled your hoodie back down and faced him, still chewing. “like it? so freaking cute, right?”

his voice dropped. low.“you got my fuckin’ initials tattooed on your ass.”

“technically, above it.”

he exhaled like he’d seen god, “baby. what the fuck. ‘course i fuckin’ love it.”

“you’re welcome,” you said sweetly, stealing a piece of his wagyu like a menace.

he stared at you for a beat… then he started laughing. not chuckles. not that fake corporate laugh he does when he’s about to buy out someone’s soul. real, head-thrown-back, unhinged maniacal laughter your husband is capable of.

and then he said, still breathless: “fuck, baby, i love you. but the only position we’re doing for the next month is backshots.”

you picked up another mochi ball, chewed slowly, and said, like a woman casually signing a soul contract, “i mean, that’s all we can do right now anyway. tattoo aftercare, duh. can’t have friction. or—y’know—fluids.”

there was a pause.

“such a sacrifice. i’m selfless like that.”

—

which is how you found yourself bent over the fucking kitchen counter.

ass up. hoodie, crop top, and bra somewhere on the floor. tramp stamp fully on display. and your hot, undeniably feral husband was shoving his thick fucking cock in your pussy like this was his last day on earth. giving you that much deserved backshot. 

“fuck, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight,” sukuna grunted, his teeth grazing your neck. his hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you from behind, his cock stretching your tight pussy with each thrust. hitting deep and hard, so perfect. 

“mm, fuck yes, more baby more,” you moaned into the marble, eyes fluttering.

and sukuna – god, he was loud. and when he moans? he fucking moans it out. loud, unfiltered, guttural sounds right in your ear. “want more, baby?”

his words sent shivers down your spine, and you arched your back, pushing your ass against him, “mmm, harder, ‘kuna,” you nodded and begged, voice already wrecked.

he didn’t need telling twice. he slammed into you harder, relentless with forceful thrusts that had your tits bouncing with every stroke and making your toes curl. 

“shit, you’re taking me so fucking well, baby.” he growled, one hand found your clit, the other tightening around your hips. “gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard tonight.”

your moans grew louder as he continued to hammer your pussy, the pleasure building with each powerful stroke, and very determined to make you cum hard on his cock. your moans filled the kitchen, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“oh god yes, yes, baby, just like that!” you cried out, feeling your climax approaching rapidly. “i’m cumming, i’m –”

sukuna shoved himself deeper, thick cock buried inside as your pussy clenched around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth. you screamed his name, back aching, and body shaking. 

“fuck baby, i love you!” he groaned, hips stuttering as he came with a loud, filthy growl. his hot seed spilling deep inside you.

you both stayed like that for a moment – breathless, trembling, and fucking grinning in the aftermath of your intense and sukuna’s selfless lovemaking. 

then he smacked your ass and said, with deep reverence, “i fucking love this pussy and that fucking tattoo.” 

“now that’s what i call romance, daddy” you said as you turn your face to look at him. his cock still very much inside you. 

yeah.

that was probably the night it happened.

the one that’d changed your life in about nine months.

but that was future you’s next challenge.

tonight, there was wagyu. mochi. your menacingly feral husband. your very smug tramp stamp. and a kitchen full of bad decisions marinated in love.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n: this is me convincing myself that tramp stamps are fucking sexy and i’m getting them as my next piece of tat this year lol also fuck I need this sukuna in my fucking life – universe, gods, angels… PLEASE hear me out

[alchemistc]

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

[ca1tlynsgf]

pitfighter!vi after a breakup with you

warnings: angst, descriptions of injuries, substance abuse

an: i just farted this shit out idek if it’s good not gonna proof read

——————————————————————————

the bottles seem to keep falling empty out of her hands and rolling onto the rotted wood of her bedroom floor, clanking into each other as vi downs them one by one. it’s been two weeks, fourteen goddamn days since she saw your tear-stained face, cursing at her, “i never want to see you again!” as you left her standing there in the cold, dark street. fourteen days.

in these days, vi has been nothing but drunk and bloody. she upped her fights to three matches a night, four if she’s high enough. her body aches from the amount of trauma it’s been through; a few broken ribs, knuckles bloody and raw almost to the bone, her left eye greenish-blue and slightly swollen.

nothing really hurts though, as long as she keeps putting the bottle to her lips—

“vi?” your voice called out, low and soft in her darkened bedroom. the light from the moon shined onto the floorboards and clutter. vi sat, knees bent and hands resting on them, back against the few cushions she called a “bed.” she didn’t really remember how she ended up on the floor, but she also didn’t even know what day or time it was, either.

she blinked a few times, seeing an outline of a body in the doorway.

she had to be hallucinating. it was the alcohol, it was… no way in hell you would show up here, how did you even get in? how did you find her? how in the fucking world did you-

“violet, what did you do…” your face came into the light, your eyes bore right into vi’s. she tightly shut hers and shook her head, trying to get you out of her mind.

warm hands cupped her face. you knelt down to be face level with her, your thumbs caressed her makeup-stained cheeks. “vi?” that little crease in between your eyebrows that vi loved so much was prominent as you worriedly surveyed the wounds and injuries all over her body.

“are you real?” vi’s voice was coarse, it didn’t even really sound like her. it was like she was talking through water, outside of her body.

you felt tears welling up in your eyes as you heard the broken woman sitting slumped in front of you. “yes, yes i’m real.. i’m here.”

vi’s opal eyes looked into yours, a certain yearn and heartbreak in them.

“i’m so sorry..” she slurred her words, “i fucked up so bad, y/n. you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and i destroyed it just like everything else.” her head hung low on her shoulders as she looked to the floor, hiding her face in her blackened-pink hair. “you loved me in a way no one ever had, saw through all my bullshit. you-you even fucking showed up right here, right now, after all of the shit i yelled at you.. all the things i did….” a sob racked through her body. she was tipping over, the weight on her shoulders becoming too much, and you found yourself catching her with your body. vi clung onto you, wrapping her strong bandaged arms around your lower waist as she buried her head into your stomach. you stayed on your knees, making you just a little taller than her.

vi broke in your arms. she (tried) to hold it in these past couple weeks, not allowed herself to think too much or be alone for too long. of fucking course, as soon as you come in, all of it comes back to her. (it doesn’t help that’s she’s incredibly drunk or how tired she is, either)

“you came back, why did you come back?” vi’s voice was shaking as the inky tears stained your shirt, causing your heart to break even more for the girl in your arms.

“loris came to me, told me you were.. you weren’t well. you’re doing three fights a night, vi? why the hell would you do that, huh?” your fingers gently caressed her head, holding her broken body to your chest.

when vi didn’t answer, you carefully lifted her head. her eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed.

had she fallen asleep in her drunken state?

“violet, baby, wake up” you stroked her cheeks, but she was out like a light.

you helped her get into her bed, took off her shoes and carefully wiped off her makeup with a wet wash cloth from her dirty sink. she didn’t stir once, not until you got up from her to leave. her hand softly grabbed onto your forearm, and she slurred something that sounded like “stay with me” but you weren’t completely sure.

——————————————————————————

MY SHAYLAA😭😭😭😭🚬😪

[sturnlsstuff]

FAMILIAR STRANGER | chapter three

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter two | chapter four

— warnings; smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, dry humping, eating pussy, fingering, pet names (slut, bitch, princess, etc.), bratty reader, cursing, mentions of murder - english isn't my first language.

~~~

one of your strengths, which others might consider a flaw, was definitely how easily you could ignore people. deep down, maybe you even loved this skill. when someone pissed you off or you just didn't feel like having a conversation with them, it was easy for you to distance yourself and pretend that person doesn't exist. it was really helpful in some situations.

for example, you've been avoiding chris for the last week. whenever you saw him in the hallway at college, you quickly disappeared into the crowd of people so that he wouldn't notice you. you both also didn't have any classes together, so that was also really helpful. there was no need to even try hard since you barely saw him and you were very happy with that.

you were sure everything would go back to normal. you didn't say anything about what you found out about him and you had no intention of doing so for the sake of your friends. if something went wrong and chris got caught, matt would unfortunately suffer the consequences too, which would break emma's heart, and you didn't want that.

so you stayed quiet.

you were also silent about what happened between you and chris. you didn't mention that kiss or... the rest, to anyone and that was definitely going to be your most hidden secret. you told yourself it wasn't important anyway. though the mixed feelings irritated you so much that you wanted to pull your hair out ten times a day.

forgetting the way his lips felt against yours was impossible, you couldn't shake the feeling no matter what. you even tried to wash it with your goddamn toothbrush.

what's worse, you were constantly turned on, which led to you snapping at people out of frustration. your friends were sure that what happened to jake was the reason for you to be acting like this, and it was incredibly convenient for you, so you let them think that, glad that you don't have to explain yourself.

"...and i hear that motherfucker saying the cringiest pick up line i've ever heard in my life. and i'm so sick and fuckin' tired of actually hearing all this bullshit, to be honest. i was ready to fucking slice my ears off, so i never have to hear someone speak to me again. i'm tired of these cringe men, holy fuck..."

constant giggles keep leaving your and emma's mouth as nick continues to rant on about his failed date last night. it was a peaceful sunday evening, all three of you sitting on the couch in your apartment.

"...like all i need is a body building, mud eating, disgusting straight looking man. do i ask for much?"

"nick—" you chuckle in disbelief, "that's insane."

"it's true though, like..." he sighs dramatically. you and emma give each other a look, "it's just a failed date, you'll find someone cool soon," emma says.

you add, "it's not like you need a man anyway."

"but it's good to have someone, the closeness and..." emma mumbles, causing nick to nudge her with his elbow. "girl, her ex just died, that's not..."

"oh, right," your bestfriend covers her mouth, both of them looking at you intensely now, while you just shake your head in disbelief, holding back a laugh really bad. you didn't want your friends to think you really are a heartless bitch, still not telling them that you don't care about jake's death.

so you ask instead, "can we not talk about that?" both of them immediately agreeing and changing the topic.

"i have no clue what to wear to that costume party," emma says, your attention now caught. nick replies, "i'm going as fred from scooby doo, y'know the spo—"

"what party?" you frown. their heads turns towards you immediately, "girl what do you mean 'what party'? alice's birthday themed party? at the frat? everyone must dress up."

"you forgot about the party?" emma raises her eyebrow and that's when you remember that this is this weekend.

alice was a random girl from your class, she was pretty popular, everyone loved her. it's not like she was your friend, but she was always nice and definitely doing the best parties. her and one of the frat guys were together so they were throwing her birthday party in a frat house. and she clearly wanted everyone to dress up, this girl loved halloween and even if it was almost christmas, she clearly still lived in october.

you aren't a person to forget about a party, but this time you simply did, since for the past week all you could think about was chris, whether you liked it or not.

"oh, no, i remember, i just didn't think it's this friday."

nick takes a sip of his soda, "yeah, you got a lot on your mind." you can easily tell the reference to jake's death. though you prefered this than for them to know about you and chris kissing. "do you know what you're gonna dress up as?" emma asks, but you just shake your head.

"i didn't think of that yet."

emma nods, "i'd love to match with you, but i already told matt we were gonna do that." you wave your hand dismissively, "it's fine, don't worry."

"you could pull on elena gilbert really good," emma scans your face and body, then looking at nick with raised eyebrow.

"girl who? her as elena? this girl is fucking katherine."

"oh, spare me, i've never seen this show!"

nick scoffs, "me neither and i know she's definitely katherine."

the rest of their words gets blurry, while your mind wanders somewhere else. the party being at the frat house is very inconvenient for you, since chris will obviously be there. the possibility of you seeing him is bigger than you'd like. you even start to think about reasons why you'd just simply not go without arousing suspicion, but you haven't found any. you never say no to a good party, unfortunately. however, you really didn't want to see chris with that stupid smirk of his on those stupid, pretty, pink, soft li-

"hello?" your bestfriend snaps her fingers in front of your face, bringing you back to earth. "are you listening?"

"huh?" you ask stupidly, blinking in a confusion. emma rolls her eyes, "i asked who do you think is right, but i see you aren't clearly with us here."

the irritation you feel is definitely completely unreasonable here and you know it, but the constant frustration you feel and the fact that you can't get that kiss out of your head, makes even the smallest things pissing you off. so you say something that you know will make emma feel guilty, but at least take attention away from you.

"oh, sorry i can't focus on anything, my ex got killed literally a week ago."

the silence that fills the room makes you regret that you had even said that. "damnnn..." nick looks between you and emma and leans over to put his soda on the coffee table.

you sigh, rubbing your temples, "forget it, is just... i don't really care about that party right now." your bestfriend nods and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. your throat was feeling dry, the overwhelming feeling growing more and more each second.

"you drinking it?" you ask nick, pointing at the dr.pepper. he shakes his head and grabs the can again, giving it to you, "nah, you can have it."

"thanks, chris."

the room remains silent once again, but this time it's heavier as both sets of eyes look at you in confusion. your heart speed up, a wave of heat washes over you. there's no way you said his name. you'd vanish into thin air if you could.

"nick. thanks," you corrected yourself, hiding the panic in your voice and taking a big sip of the soda, kind of wanting to choke and die, that's how embarrassed you were.

"did you call me chris?" nick asks, raising his eyebrows. emma adds, "i did hear chris..."

"i misspelled," you mutter, feeling your palms starting to sweat. "it's 'cause i'm annoyed and he always annoy me so i associate this feeling with him and that's all."

that was such a bad explanation, but you couldn't think of anything else with both of your friends eyes locked on you intensely.

"that's interesting that you're misspelling me with him, when he just asked me yesterday 'bout you."

this time you nearly actually choke on that drink after hearing nick's words. you cough a few times, your eyes watering, "he what?"

"he asked about you."

"really?"

"no, i'm just messing with you," nick smirks, watching you closely. "wanted to see your reaction."

you narrow your eyes at him, "not funny at all."

"funny to me," he replies. "you got a little excited?"

"no? why the fuck would i?"

you couldn't lie that the thought of chris asking about you made you feel something strange, but nick was really just teasing you. now you felt stupid.

"i don't know, maybe you tell me, 'cause there's clearly something up with you."

warmth washes over you immediately, you would like to melt off the face of the earth if you were able to. you couldn't tell them what you found out or what had happened between chris and you. there was no way you can get out of this situation.

"well..." you clear your throat. "nothing is up with me. we had like another dumb argument, he pissed me off really bad this time so as i said, i'm annoyed and that feeling reminds me of him."

"god, you two are like little kids," emma speaks up. "it's been years and you keep fighting with each other."

"not my fault he's stupid," you cross your arms over your chest.

nick sighs, buying your explanation, which made you a bit relaxed, "he's not that bad, you two are just insane."

"he's fucked up."

"you just didn't have the chance to know him closer."

"he never gave me one."

"did you try?" nick questioned, raising his eyebrow.

you scoff offended, "of course i did, nick."

"i'm not talking about the first time you met us," he says. "he's always distant at first, but if you two actually had a normal conversation and not decided that you dislike each other since the very beginning, everything would be different."

emma agrees, "it's a bit tiring hearing your arguments all the time."

you felt that irritation growing inside you again at their words. they didn't understand. nick was chris's brother, and emma was his other brother's girlfriend, which made the communication with chris easier for the both of them. however, for some reason, you felt from the beginning that chris couldn't stand you, and you were a person who didn't let anyone disrespect you, so these arguments were on the agenda from the very beginning and it was hard to somehow change it.

"whatever. can we not talk about chris?"

they both eventually agree, which makes you relieved, since talking about him definitely didn't help you in trying to forget about the kiss.

—

a few hours later, lying in bed alone at night, you couldn't sleep. not only did you think about chris being a ghostface killer, but also about what happened before the kiss. the fact that chris was aware that he made you wet, was constantly causing your stomach twist in every direction. never before has anyone made you horny so quickly and so much like he did. and the question he would ask you, if it was the knife, the mask or him that turned you on. the more you thought about it, the more you were sure it was everything.

you had to admit that when he moved your hair out of your face and neck with his knife, or ran it down your stomach, that was when you wanted to throw yourself at him more than ever. you had intrusive thoughts about chris before, sometimes when you were alone, desperate at night and you weren't able to come, he appeared in your mind, which always helped you to get off. you were always embarrassed afterwards, promising yourself that it would never happen again, but it did every now and then.

also the fact that you knew that you had made him hard made you shiver. you would never think that you can affect chris like that. well, he was a man after all, he also was known by hooking up with every girl at campus constantly, so it shouldn't be that shocking to you. it's probably not even the fact that it was you, he for sure reacts like this to other girls too. still you can't help but wonder, would have happened if you hadn't come to your senses in time?

you groan painfully, hiding your face in your hands and trying to ignore the growing heat between your legs. it was like this every single night since you and him kissed.

you're pulled from your thoughts by the faint sound of something being thrown at your window. you freeze in place, listening and hearing another faint thump, as if someone was throwing pebbles at your window. confused, you get up and walk over there, slowly opening the blinds.

it was so dark you barely could see anything, but then you notice a tall figure, dressed all in dark, but thanks to the street lamp you could see half of his face hidden by the shadow provided by the hood he was wearing.

your heart rate immediately speeds up.

"what the fuck are you doing?" you ask in a hushed voice, your tone rough, as you open the window and stick your head out.

chris stops his hand mid-swing, seeing you. he smirks, "i knocked on your door, but you weren't answerin', so i assumed you either ignorin' me or sleepin'."

this was a little concerning, apparently you were so lost in thought, you simply didn't hear anything. "so you decided to break my window?!"

"it'd be impossible with these," he swings again and another pebble flew towards you but hit the wall next to the window. you dodged anyway, his smirk widening at your reaction.

annoyed, you push your hair out of your face and look at him again, "are you normal?!"

"chill a little, would ya?" he rolls his eyes at the dramatics. "open the door."

"for what?" a crease appears between your eyebrows.

"talk," chris answers simply, causing the nervousness grow within you.

"it's almost one in the morning, i have classes tomorrow."

"do i look like i give a fuck?"

suddenly it felt like the last week of you trying to ignore him never happened. you were talking to him again and the thoughts you'd have a few minutes ago and every night for the last few days intensified. you were afraid that if you let him into your apartment, you would lose control, so you shake your head, "i'm not letting you in. go back to the frat."

"you ain't my mom to tell me what to do," he rolls his eyes. "stop being complicated and open the door."

"no, chris. now i'm going back to bed, so go away," you say, ready to end the interaction here. then you add, "and stop throwing shit at my window."

with that you do as you said, closing the window and disappearing from his sight, returning to the bed. you sigh, putting your head in your hands. you were curious about what he wanted, but you also felt that you did the right thing. he was messing with your head.

not even a minute later you hear a slight noise outside your window. you hear a knock and after turning around you see chris. you jump out of bed and open the window, seeing him holding on to the gutter.

"what in the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"move," he just says out of breath and starts climbing onto your windowsill, swinging one leg over it and then the other, forcing you to take a step back. he gets into your room, almost falling to the floor as he does so, but catching his balance at the last moment.

chris straightens his clothes, pulling his hood off his head and running a hand through his hair, meeting your shocked gaze. "what? could've been easier if you jus' opened the fuckin' door, y'know."

your expression so shocked that he literally climbed up the gutter to enter your room, that it made him roll his eyes again. you lived on the second floor so it wasn't very high but still, it was crazy.

"this is like an invasion of privacy," you say crossing your arms, only now realizing that your pajama shorts and thin crop top aren't covering much. chris noticed it too, his eyes sparkling.

he scoffs, closing the window, then shamelessly taking in your appearance, "i told you to let me in, didn't i?"

"and i told you no," you notice his slightly red eyes. "are you high?"

"nah, m'chris," he mumbles and walks around your room, acting as if he wasn't here just a week ago.

the smile that appears on your face shocks even you and you have to cover your mouth with your hand, holding back a laugh.

"sooo...?" you lean against your desk, watching him moving around. "what do you want?"

"yeah, right," he takes one of the photos of you and nick and looks at it, then puts it down and turns to look at you. "do you have to be so annoyin'?"

"huh?" you raise your eyebrows.

"for literally no reason, i can't get that kiss outta my head," chris admits, licking his lips. the annoyance flashes in his eyes, "which is crazy, 'cause m'not some fuckin' virgin to be actin' like it was my first one."

silence falls for a moment, you think he looks very pretty with your bedside lamp dimly illuminating your room and shining on his face. then he continues, "what did you tell nick? m'chillin' with him in my room and then he asks me 'bout some dumb shit, being all like 'why won't you just try to talk to her like a normal person'?" chris mocks his brother's voice. "kid pisses me off, like..."

"wait what?" you pull yourself off the desk, taking a step closer, with confusion written all over your face.

panic washes over you at the thought of nick telling chris that you by accident mixed up their names.

"yeah, like, bro's outta pocket askin' me that," he rolls his eyes. "don't think anythin', m'not talkin' about you or whatever, he brought that up."

"did you ask him what he meant?"

"he said we fight too much blah, blah, and apparently he was with you earlier today, so i guess you told him somethin', since he never acted like this before."

chewing on your bottom lip nervously, which causes chris's attention, you answer, "i didn't say anything, i don't know what he's on about."

he scans your face suspiciously, but nods, then pulling out the mask from the large pocket of his hoodie. your eyes widen, as he asks, "what 'bout this?"

"you're carrying it around in your pocket?!"

chris gives you a glare, "you think i'm stupid? obviously not, just this one time."

"and for what exactly?"

"i asked you a question first."

"i didn't tell nick about this, if that's what you're asking."

"good. keep that pretty mouth shut," his eyes travel down and up your body again, your breath hitching in your throat. he was not helping the situation you were in for the past week. "maybe you're not as stupid as i thought after all."

"oh, thanks," you respond sarcastically, with an eye roll.

he smirks and puts the mask on, immediately making your breathing quicken, "boo."

the things you feel in that moment are so strong and conflicted that it makes your head spin. you swallow, trying to ignore what was happening between your legs, "wow, you're hilarious, really."

"i know, right?" his smirk widen under the mask, as he watches you going to sit on your bed, clearly avoiding looking at him. "i should start callin' you boo, since you're clearly too scared to look at me."

"i'm not scared at all?" you grimace as he stands right in front of you, so you have to look up at him. "can you stop goofing around and take this off? and actually go, if that's all you've wanted."

"nah, i might stay a lil' bit," he flops down onto your bed, pulling the mask off his face. "wasn't climbing through your window to be here for ten minutes and go, y'know."

"no one told you to do that?"

"you didn't wanna open the door f'me, so..." he plays with the mask. you sigh annoyed, standing up. you just needed to do something, before you lose your goddamn mind.

you had to make him leave fast.

"well, last time i didn't open it either and somehow you got inside."

chris grins, watching you and clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, "yeah, next time you're out of the house, close that window."

"thanks, now i'll remember," you answer sarcastically, as he sits up.

"you movin' around as you had some worms in your ass."

the stare you give him makes him smirk more. chris was really enjoying this actually, the weed in his system also making everything even better.

"god, stop smiling and get out of my bed," finally getting fed up, you walk over to him, grabbing his arm and trying to get him to stand up and leave you alone.

but he doesn't even move an inch so you finally give up and sigh in irritation, snatching the mask from his hand. "you can put it on, y'know," he says, "bet you're curious."

you ignore him, asking, "can you just go already?"

"take that stick outta your ass and chill," he rolls his eyes and stands up. "i'll go if you put this on."

"stop talking about my ass," you grimace. your eyes move down to the mask in your hand, then back to him. chris grins, waiting impatiently, "c'mon, it won't bite."

you don't understand why he wants you to put it on so badly, but you were actually curious, so you go to the mirror and do it. your hair is sticking out from under the ghostface mask, but you almost feel like other person. it was such a strange feeling.

chris stands behind you, heat radiating from his body, his eyes scanning you in the mirror. the sight of you in that barely-covering pajamas and his mask twisted his stomach into knots.

"see? feels different, doesn't it?" his voice hoarse with desire, goosebumps appearing on your skin. you nod in response, his hands finding your hips and pressing your back against his chest, causing your mind to spin at the sudden touch.

before you can say anything he turns you around him, pulling the mask off your face and tossing it to the side. the room suddenly becomes tighter, the air heavier, and you both feel the same tension you felt a week ago before the kiss.

"i did what you wanted," you speak up, holding his gaze. "now you should go..."

he nods, not moving even an inch, "yeah. i should."

for a moment you both just look at each other and then at the same time, both of you press your lips against each other, your arm wraps around his shoulder and your fingers tangle into his hair. your tongues dancing together, the kiss is hungry and rough, as if you both knew that one of you would eventually push the other away again.

neither of you does it this time.

chris moves back towards the bed, his lips never leaving yours as he sits down and pulls you into his lap, so now you're straddling him. you hum in approval, his hands move to your waist and he trails kisses to your jaw and down to your neck, tilting your head back to give him more access.

the fact that neither of you had been able to forget about that kiss for the past week, made you even more turned on this time. his hardness is straining uncomfortably against his black sweatpants, and you, not wearing any underwear to sleep, feel your pajama shorts getting soaked. though he knew you wouldn't let him fuck you, no matter how much you wanted it, you held back.

"y're pissin' me off, kid," he mutters against your skin, sucking on it.

pulling on his hair, you move his hair back to make eye contact with his full of lust eyes, "you're annoying."

chris smirks, pulling you into another kiss, making you move even closer, feeling his hard dick beneath you which steals a soft, quiet whimper from you. he hears it and breaks away from your lips, his expression cocky, "what was that, princess?"

your cheeks burn from embarrassment and desire after his words, something that doesn't usually happen, but he notes that he made you blush twice now.

"can you shut up?"

"i can," he tilts his head to the side, not breaking the eye contact and clicking his tongue against his teeth. "but judgin' by what i just heard, i assume you wouldn't be able to do so."

"is this a challenge?" you question him with raised eyebrows.

"maybe."

"and what if i win?"

chris grins and shrugs, "depends from ya, but if i win, you'll let me do anythin' i want."

you narrow your eyes, the tension heavy in the air. this was such a bad idea. "fine, but nothing extreme."

"you mean nothing that includes my dick deep inside you?"

your jaw drops at his bold words, eyes wide, "oh my god..." then you add, "didn't you say, and i quote, 'it's not like i want you anyway'?"

"forget 'bout it," he grins, enjoying the effect he has on you, "so? deal?"

all your logical senses were screaming not to agree to this, and to end what was happening as quickly as possible, but you stopped acting logically the moment you kissed him back for the first time. "yeah, deal," you nod, chris's eyes sparkled with satisfaction and he kissed you again, spreading his legs and moving you onto one of his thighs, your knee between his legs now.

while you are too busy kissing him, he still holds your hips and starts moving them, giving you some needed friction. you grab his arms to balance yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.

"chill," he mutters against your lips, "ride my thigh, c'mon."

breathing heavily, you slowly relax into his touch, the need and wetness between your legs taking over your senses. you start grinding down against him, chris smirks at that and presses a trail of kisses down your neck again, desperate to make you fall apart and lose the bet.

"mhm, good," his voice is muffled by your skin, "keep goin'... take what ya want..."

being quiet is starting to feel harder by the second, so your lower lip gets quickly between your teeth as you bite it to keep from making any sounds, while pressing further down against his thigh.

"shittt," he hisses, pulling away from your neck. "look at that, soakin' my fuckin' pants..."

you look down, continuing to rub against him, noticing the dark, wet spot on his sweatpants from your arousal. you cover your mouth with your hand to keep from making a sound, but he quickly moves it away, his grip on your wrist tight.

"that's cheatin'," he smirks, clearly enjoying it. your eyes catch the visible bulge in his pants, only now realizing that it was also really hard for him as well. "so wet f'me, your soakin' thru your goddamn shorts? that's naughty."

"shut up," you breathe out, feeling the knot in your stomach growing so fast, it shocks you. chris's grip on your hips was so tight, his fingers were leaving marks.

he scans your flushed face, the sight of you like this and that he was the one to make you feel like this, makes his dick painfully pulse in his pants.

"m'not the one who should keep their mouth shut," he retorts cockily, looking down at your clothed core grinding against his thigh. "let's test somethin', shall we?"

chris wants to make you lose at all costs. he uses his thumb to remove your bottom lip from between your teeth so you're helpless now, and you shoot him a glare, before he grabs his ghostface mask that was lying at the end of the bed and puts it on with a smirk. your eyes widen and you freeze for a moment, but he grabs your hips, urging you to start moving again. he remembered how turned on he made you last time, and he wants to check if it's really this mask that has this effect on you.

"you claim to hate me, but y're humpin' my thigh like i was your personal pillow," he chuckles darkly. "what a desperate little slut..."

barely managing to hold back a moan, you let out a shaky sigh instead. his words and that ghostface mask, took you closer to the edge and chris noticed it, knowing you'll fall apart soon, and he's gonna win.

"you like that, huh?" he continues teasing you with his words, making you struggle. "i wonder how many times i made you wet before, without me knowin'... or have you ever gotten off to the thought of me...'cause ya clearly a needy bitch f'me..."

that's when you break, losing control and moan loudly, feeling your hips stutter, barely being able to keep yourself on the edge. it's like music to his ears, chris forces your hips to stop, not letting you move, and hearing a soft whine of protest coming from you. you look at him with half-opened eyes, while he takes off his mask, that big smirk on his face telling you that you've lost.

"well, well, well..." he licks his lips slowly. you remain quiet, digging your fingers into his shoulders, embarrassment and lust written all over your face. "oh, don' be silent now, when you jus' moaned so pretty f'me..."

fuck. that's the only word you hear in your mind right now. telling by his expression, you knew it's gonna end up bad.

"so?" he raises his eyebrow, "ya lettin' me do anythin' i want now?"

you nod hesitantly, "a deal is a deal. but no..."

"no fuckin', got it," he rolls his eyes, moving you off his leg and adjusting his sweatpants in an attempt to get some relief. "though, can't lie, i'd love to rock your world a little."

"chris," you say warningly, pushing aside the image that just popped up in your mind.

he keeps grinning and lies flat down on your bed, head resting comfortably on the pillow, "sit on my face."

your eyes are almost popping out of their sockets, "what?!"

"stop actin' all innocent when we both know you far from that," he grumbled annoyed at your shocked expression. "you almost came jus' from ridin' my thigh."

"i said no fucking—"

"i agreed not to stick my cock in you, not other things."

your face grimaces, cheeks heating up again, "don't say it like that."

chris rolls his eyes again, "c'mon, just sit on it. you're needy and soaked as fuck, lemme help you out." seeing your hesitant face, he adds, "no one will know."

your desperation makes you take off your shorts with a pounding heart, putting them aside and kneeling on the mattress next to his head, feeling his focused gaze on you.

"if you ever bring this up—" you start seriously, but he shushes you and licks his lips, waiting impatiently. he had to taste you.

nervously you swing your leg over to the other side of his head, positioning yourself above his face. his eyes go to your glistening, dripping pussy and he feels his dick hardening even more, the tip sticking uncomfortably against his pants due to the leaking precum.

you slowly lower yourself onto his face, making chris smirk and he gives you a first lick along your wet folds, groaning against you at the taste. your breath hitches in your throat as he immediately starts sucking on your pussy, his fingers spreading you open further. loud, slurping noises filling the room.

"oh, fuck," you gasp for air, automatically tangling your fingers into his hair, your other hand gripping the headboard.

he pauses to push two fingers into you, crooking them upwards to rub against your g-spot, "you taste so fuckin' good."

"chris, don't— don't stop..." you mewl, your hips moving a little. he smiles, "wasn't plannin' on it."

he redoubles his efforts, sucking on your clit as he pumps his fingers faster. he's determined to make you cum on his tongue, to claim your pleasure for himself. his ego demands it.

you were a moaning mess now, your hips grinding down against his face. noticing your desperate movements, chris smirks against your pussy, curling his fingers more insistently as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. "yeahhh, fuck my face, gorgeous," he mutters against you.

you maintain eye contact, pulling his hair more and being closer to the edge again. chris pulls his fingers out of you, gripping your hips instead. his nose is buried into your dripping hole, his mouth making sloppy, wet noises as he devours you.

"fuck! so... s-so good," you moan, chewing on your bottom lip to muffle the noises a little bit.

he groans, sending vibrations through you. the way you tasted and the sounds you were making, causing his dick to twitch in his pants, desperate for a release. chris is lost in the sensation of your pussy riding his face, your juices dripping down his chin.

"chris—" you whine, your eyes rolling back. "come on my face, i wanna taste it," he pulls away just to speak, then going back to his work.

chris's tongue flicks skillfully over your swollen bud, as your legs starts to tremble and trying to close around his head, causing his hands move to your thighs, gripping them tightly. you cry out his name again, your hips stuttering and the knot in your stomach finally releases. "oh my god—"

the moment you start coming, chris sucks on you harder. he eats you out like a man dying of thirst, his own hand rubbing his cock through his pants as he watches you shake and convulse.

"oh... fuck..." you breathe out, looking down at him. chris moves his tongue over your clit, not ready to pull away from you. his own release is right there, his cock throbbing painfully in his sweatpants as he imagines his face covered in your cum. "holy shit, chris.." his name leaving your lips like that, pushes him over the edge. he moans against you, his body tensing as he cums in his pants, his release seeping through the material.

you blink a few times, panting and move yourself off his face, sitting down on the mattress beside him. you see his flushed cheeks and heavy breathing like he just ran a marathon, your eyes traveling down to his lap, noticing the dark, wet spot.

noticing your gaze, chris feels a wave of embarrassment and annoyance. he quickly sits up, wiping his lips and chin with the back of his hand, then trying to cover the stain on his pants. "shit... don't fuckin' look at that," he snaps, his face a little red.

"you came in your pants," you observed wisely, still looking at his lap even as he tried to cover it.

"s'not like you made me do it or anythin'," he scowls. "now stop starin' and gimme some tissue to clean this, before i make you lick it up."

you had to hold back a smile as you stood up and went to get two towels from the bathroom. your ego was boosted at the thought that he came in his pants just from eating you out.

you throw him a towel, starting cleaning yourself up and he did the same, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down a little, but you didn't dare to take a peek.

"that's actually kinda hot..." you mutter under your nose, putting on some clean pajama shorts. "shut up," he retors, moving his pants back up and standing up.

you both look at each other for a second, only now realizing what even happened.

the tension in the room suddenly grows more awkward, you feel embarrassed that you let him touch you like that, and he was annoyed that he came just by eating you out. it never happened to him before. he wanted you so bad and you had no idea.

"so," chris clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "s'late as fuck, i gotta go."

you're almost relieved that he didn't wanna talk about this, "yeah. i'm going to sleep so..."

he nods, putting the hood over his head, as you walk towards the bed. "you can leave through the door, y'know..."

"where's the fun in that?" he asks sarcastically, trying to somehow go back to the back and forth. he opens your window, giving you one last stare. neither of you said anything, so he quickly disappears from your sight, the sound of him climbing down the gutter, filling your ears.

after a while you move to close the window, and sit on your bed in shock, also noticing he left the ghostface mask on the mattress. you grab it, looking at it and shaking your head in disbelief.

that night neither of you could sleep.

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: It’s not the usual suspects trying to summon the undead this time, and it’s proving to be a massive headache for John Constantine. They seem...Competent. 

When John sniffed out a new plot to summon a ghost, he kind of laughed it off. Ghosts were not more than shades of the people/creatures they used to be, without all the right resources and enough buy in from the greater spirits of the Infinite Realms, most entities that came thought might scare some kids at a slumber party but that was at most. Plus, kids were scary resilient these days thanks to the internet, so really, John’s not worried. 

Then he hears about the gathering of artifacts and he has to care a little more. He learns that one Jasmine Fenton is involved and he’s... Surprised. She’s got a public record of dismissing her parent’s inventions and causing stirs at supernatural conventions (not to mention a great reputation as a research focused psychologist). Jasmine’s credit cards report a great deal of cash (refunded to her account by an unknown off-shore account) being taken out and her location is right next to the last place anyone could find a shard of the Crown. 

Yeah, that Crown. The Infinite, ancient blessed and deity cursed one. John had meant to get around to investigating if the shard of obsidian (fire forged) was legit, so he begins to set his sights on Jasmine for a ‘chat’. 

Then Sam Manson, a scary ass Heiress, pulls up in a limousine and all but kidnaps him and dumps him outside city limits. She tells him that he’s been cursed for the next 48 hours to stay out of their city- If he comes close, any plant will identify him in a heartbeat and come to life to kill him. (Fun fact: there are a goddamn lot of plants surrounding this stupid town, even the dandelions are forging knives to kill him.)

THEN worse, Red Robin gets on his ass about cybersecurity of all things. Turns out another player, identified by the moniker TooFineTooFurious has been tracking John’s phone and has been rummaging around official JLD documents- How was John supposed to know that keeping his passwords on the notes app could be hackable? Red Robin declares him incompetent and John can only sigh, crush his phone and move on. 

That all leads him to the summoning portal in front of him in this weird ghost themed high school gymnasium. It’s far too competent. It gives him goosebumps even before he can read out that they’re summoning the King of the Infinite Realms himself. John clicks the panic alarm on his JL communicator before engaging with the Trio before him. 

They’re not wearing any capes, no candles are lit, but this is the scariest cult he’s ever seen. Jasmine Fenton, ghost denier, Sam Manson, Heiress and Plant Witch (?), Some other dude with a beret and fucking DRONES (he considers this might be the man who hacked him). John pleads with them, they don’t know what they’re trying to do. Pariah Dark will kill them all, eat their entire planet for breakfast!! Everyone rolls their eyerolls at him, and he’s taken aback by their nonchalance. 

Plant guards grab him and a drone has a laser sight on his forehead. He fights but is subdued- They’re almost done chanting when Superman, Green Lantern, Red Robin and Cyborg all appear. Despite their disruption- the chanting ends with the green illumination of the circle. Despair fills the air. 

And then- Poof- a groaning young man appears. 

“Dudes you have no idea how unhelpful the Infi-map is sometimes. I was lost for like weeks and CW was being such a bitch ab- What. Wait, who are all- Holy shit did you guys summon the Justice League?” The Ghost King in full Regalia stared back at them in questioning concern. The three summoners start bitching  at the monarch and John... isn’t sure if this is going to be an interdimensional incident yet. 

[livingdxadwriter]

A Little Thing Called Fate

Erik Campbell X Alt!F!Reader

Summary: When a rough night leads you meet him. One piercing later and a what if, you end up in his chair one more time after hours. You definitely want to come back for more.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, mdni, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, riding, sex in the tattoo parlor, choking, Erik is a slut what can I say, lil dom!erik, piercings (nose and nipples), reader is a tatted pierced baddie and you will love it, I also feel like Erik is 24-25 so let’s roll with that

WC: 4.1k

A/N: I’m gonna be so fr, I wrote this like a week ago but I was so tired and overwhelmed I didn’t even want to edit it. Mind yall I started writing this the night after I saw FD in theaters. This shit has been brewing for a min. But I finally proof read it. This was originally longer but I realized it was too much happening for one lil fic so I split it into two. I’ll post the follow up when I have time, for now is this.

Meeting him was completely out of impulse. Coming back for more, was also a thrill seeking impulse. But it was a feeling you couldn’t get enough of. 

It all started as an impulse driven by your best friend after a particularly rough shift the night before. You put up with so much fucking shit at that shitty run down bar less than ten minutes away from your place. All of that to put yourself through school at twenty-fucking-three, to say that you were so goddamn miserable that only putting yourself through deliberate pain would make you feel, something, anything. 

It was absolutely an impulse when you allowed her to drag you to the shitty—and let’s be honest—sketchy tattoo parlor down the street. And at nine at fucking night, this place definitely gave you weird vibes. You were just hoping that whatever poor fucking soul was stuck at this place wasn’t a weirdo. 

Erik was so over this shit. Over these shitty fucking customers who bitched about everything, over his dipshit boss who made him lock up by himself for the third time this week, literally all of it. He was very tempted to just close before he was supposed to. He sure as hell didn’t think anyone was taking a stroll in the middle of the night on a random fucking Wednesday to get tattooed or pierced. He damn near jumped out of his chair as soon as that clock hit nine, both thanking and cursing at whoever was pulling at the strings of his life that his night would finally be over. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” You cursed, all but rushing inside the tattoo parlor with your friend in tow. You stopped dead on your feet when you damn near ran right into a guy. Were you staring? Yeah, you were definitely staring. It wasn’t until your friend nudged your back that you actually said something. “Shit, hi, sorry. I’m sorry, are you still open? That’s a dumb question, you were probably about to close. We’ll come back later—“ 

You were talking so fucking fast Erik could barely understand you. But truthfully? He just wasn’t paying attention to anything you were saying, like at all. He was more focused on how fucking pretty you were. And just how fucking hot your tattoos were. And how nice your voice sounded. It took him a minute to register just what the fuck your were saying. 

Wait, you were leaving? 

Oh, fuck no. 

“No, no, it’s all good. I just thought nobody else was gonna come in. I can definitely get you.” He was looking right at you as he said it, not realizing you weren’t, in fact, alone. “Like, both of you. I can only do piercings though. If you want a tattoo you’re gonna have to make an appointment and shit.” 

Good fucking save, dude. 

You were definitely smiling, like a fucking dumbass. And you were definitely staring, too. You were counting how many tattoos you could see, and wondering if he had more you couldn’t see under that black tee. Erik was looking at you like he was expecting you to say something, which you quickly realized. 

“Oh, no, yeah, that’s cool. My friend just wants her tongue pierced, if that’s cool.” You eventually replied, swallowing a bit. Erik nodded, a small grin of amusement on his face as he pointed to the waiting area with his head. 

“Yeah, cool. She just needs to fill out this, like, liability form, y’know.” Erik sighed, as much as he hated the fucking paperwork, he knew he had to do it. You both nodded, and waited. And as Erik was looking through the drawers for the paperwork, his eyes glanced back at you. “What about you? You’re not getting anything?” 

“Uhhh, I don’t think so. I wasn’t really planning on getting anything.” You shrugged. It wasn’t that you were opposed to the idea, you were just suddenly a flustered, nervous mess. 

“You sure? I see you already got a nose ring. Just do the other side. I think it would look pretty sick.” He shrugged as he handed your friend the form without even so much as looking at her, just looking right at you. Which he knew he probably shouldn’t do because it was fucking rude, but he just couldn’t help it when you were literally the prettiest thing he had ever seen. 

The look you gave him was downright sinful. A soft gasp of surprise and a smile you tried to hide biting down on your lip. Most people didn’t look at you long enough to notice that you had anything pierced, or they just didn’t care enough. But Erik definitely noticed, he noticed every little detail about you he could ingrain in his memory. All your piercings, all your tattoos, or the ones he could see, anyway. As much as he could. He was damn sure he could recognize you if he ever saw you again. Fuck, he hoped he saw you again. 

“Sorry, I usually don’t make girls cry ‘til after the first date.” Erik joked, his tone so quiet and low only you could hear it. You giggled a bit as you wiped the tear that slipped from your eye as he screwed in your new nose stud. He was so goddamn close your stupid heart was beating out of your chest. 

He usually gave them another reason to cry, he thought. 

You gave him a big-eyed look, lips curved up into a grin of amusement. He was definitely flirting with you, and you usually shot down any attempts by most guys that hit on you at work. But you didn’t want to shut him down, quite the opposite actually. 

“Oh? Well, fuck. What happens after the second date, then?” You decided to follow along, feigning innocent curiosity, but it was a little hard to mask that your curiosity was anything but innocent. Erik didn’t mind. 

Erik had a lopsided grin on his face and shrugged his shoulders as he rolled away in his chair to discard the used needle. 

“Guess you’re gonna have to figure that one out on your own.” He gave you a devious look, shooting his shot as he walked around to the cash register, remembering that there was in fact another person here other than the two of you. Which definitely ruined his mood, he would totally fuck your right here and right now if you were alone. 

You clicked your tongue as you stood, tilting your head at him the slightest bit as you debated on whether or not you wanted to follow that far along. You normally weren’t too receptive of random guys hitting on you so openly, you had an aversion to it, actually. But him? Him you would fuck on the nearest surface of this goddamn place without even knowing his damn name. 

“Maybe I should, huh?” You shrugged, batting your eyelashes in a way that made him want to shove his cock down your throat until you gagged. He blew out a chuckle as he leaned over the counter, his icy eyes staring you down like he was plotting something far from innocent. 

“I’m Erik.” He finally offered, flashing you a large grin that melted your fucking brain. 

You offered him yours. 

Erik definitely wanted to see you again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned against the brick wall, one hand held your vape to your lips and the other held your phone against your ear as you listened to it ring. It rang twice before Erik picked up. 

“Hey babe. What’s up?” You immediately smiled like a fucking idiot at the sound of his voice, there was always a little humor to him that made it seem like he enjoyed talking to you as much you did him.

A little over a month you had been hanging out. How the fuck two dysfunctional freaks like the two of you have managed that is a mystery, to both of you. You made out in an alley on your first date, he ate you out on your second. Surprisingly enough, you haven’t fucked yet though. But it wasn’t for lack of trying, you definitely wanted him to fuck you stupid, but even a mess like you has some self-preservation. Erik was just happy to be there. He does whatever you want, when you want, and he’s more than okay with that exchange. 

“Just taking a break. I’m fucking sick of these people.” You blew out a breath, a cloud of smoke coming from your mouth and nose. Erik laughed. 

“Oh, I felt that. Can you believe this fucker is having me close alone, again?” He scoffed, shuffling around the shop trying to find something to kill time with or else he’d be bored to fucking death. 

“Oh, you think that’s bad? My manager just yelled at me in front of like four people ‘cause I told him I wouldn’t come in on my day off. Mind you, I have fucking midterms I have to study for and this bald fuck wants me to work six days in a row when I’m not even supposed to be full time!” You damn near shouted into the empty alley, but Erik heard you loud and fucking clear. He was trying not to laugh at your outburst, but it was a little amusing. But deep down he liked that you would tell him anything on your mind, he liked to listen.

“He just wants to look at your tits in those tank tops, I’m telling you.” He snorted but quickly stopped when you gritted his name through your teeth. “Jokes, babe. Your manager is an asshole, I know. My boss is a prick who thinks I’m his bitch. We have shity bosses. Should we like… kill ‘em? We can make it look like an accident.” 

Now that made you laugh, snorting into the back of your hand at his morbid sense of humor. No matter how shitty your day had been, hearing the outright nonsense that came out of his mouth made your day a little less miserable. 

“Okay, fucking morbid.” 

“Okay, well, not if it's just an accident. Weird shit happens all the time.” He said nonchalantly, clicking his tongue a bit when you scoffed. “Just saying.” 

You fell into silence for a minute, as you simply tried to wind down before you had to return to the loud music, sticky bar, shitfaced men old enough to be your father trying to hit on you, or calling you a bitch, there was no in between. You just wanted to disappear and never be found. Your eyes shot open as an idea popped in your head. 

“Hey Erik,” he hummed in acknowledgment and waited for you to continue. “If I asked you to pierce my nipples, would you do it?” 

Erik nearly choked on his Redbull when he heard you. He cleared his throat, excitement getting the best of him as he ignored the two dudes who had just walked in. 

“Are you serious?” 

“I mean, yeah? You have yours pierced. And it’s kinda hot, so. Would you?” You bit your lip a bit nervously, excitement settling in your own stomach as you waited for his answer a bit impatiently. 

“Oh, fuck yes. Is that even a question? What time do you get off?” He held up a finger to the guys who were shooting him daggers as he held his phone to his ear. 

“One.” 

“Sick, just come here, I’ll wait for you.” 

You were giddy and overwhelmed with anticipation the rest of your shift. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Can you take your shirt off while I lock up?” Erik said as he went to lock the door. You snorted.

“Okay, well at least take me out to dinner first.” You rolled your eyes as you pulled your black tee over your head. Erik shot you a confused look. 

“I have. The fuck you mean.” 

“Oh, right.” You snorted a bit at Erik’s annoyed look as he sat in front of you. He stared at you like he was waiting for you. 

“Bra, please?” He said blankly, almost unconsciously falling into his work persona. He was used to anxious people coming in to get work done, not knowing what to do and scared of the process. He was strangely good at peaceful comfort. No rushing, not passive-aggressive directions, just straightforward and calm instructions. He didn’t get anything out of having jittery and anxious clients he could potentially hurt if they moved too much.

Your lips fell open a bit embarrassed and you laughed awkwardly. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, baby. Just relax for me.” He reassured you as you took off your bra and set it on the armrest of the chair with your shirt. He was trying to be professional, he truly was, but he definitely felt his cock twitch in his jeans. “I’m gonna touch you, like a lot. I promise it’s not sexual. Not right now, anyway.” 

His naturally silly demeanor calmed you down and you nodded, letting out a long breath as he did his work. It was definitely nerve wracking, your heart was pounding so loud and you were shaking a little. Erik reassured you with a kiss and a squeeze of your thigh before he sterilized everything. 

“It’s gonna hurt but I promise it’ll only be a second. Just breathe in for me.” 

Yeah, it definitely fucking hurt. But you had so many tattoos and piercings you so couldn’t say you weren’t used to this kind of pain. Erik was talking you through the whole thing, which definitely helped focus your mind on other things. He was done screwing in the jewelry for the second one before you even realized. 

“See? All done. Good job.” He announced as he rolled away in his chair to dispose of the needle. You giggled, biting down your smile as you looked down to admire your new addition. You couldn’t deny it, it was hot as fuck. “Okay, I can get hard now.”

Your eyes shot up to look at him and you gasped, “Erik, please.” 

“What?” His voice was high pitched like he was trying to defend him from your outrage. But you really weren’t that offended. “Okay, listen, I just pierced your tits, as if you could somehow get even hotter. I’m just a guy, doll.” He defended himself as he stood in front of you. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes and batting your eyelashes. 

“A slut at that.” You teased and he sighed through his nose, his cock getting progressively harder each time he caught a glimpse of your freshly pierced tits. God, he had issues. 

“Says the girl that asked me to pierce her tits at one in the fucking morning just because it would be hot. So who’s the slut?” He tilted his head at you, grabbing your face to usher you on your feet. “Promise I won’t touch ‘em I just wanna look while you ride me.” 

Your lips parted open, sucking in a deep breath at his words. You knew he could get dirty really fucking quickly, but it still sent a sense of excitement through your body. The rational part of your mind screamed that this was a bad idea. But when did you ever listen to reason? Another part of you drove most of your decisions, especially when it came to guys. And for Erik? You were a bitch in heat, at that. 

Before you realized Erik had taken you to his station towards the back of the shop, where he did most one-on-one sessions when needed. He would sanitize it later, right now he could not give one fuck about any of that. 

You were straddling his lap in nothing but panties, shamelessly rubbing yourself against the hard on in his jeans. His shirt was somewhere he doesn’t remember, in solidarity with your state of undress. He was moaning into your mouth, fingers laced in your hair as he held you against his mouth. 

His free hand slipped between your bodies to feel just where you were soaking through your panties. You whined into his mouth as he tugged the fabric aside, exposing your swollen clit to the cool air and the rough fabric of his jeans. He pulled back from your mouth to spit on his fingers, blue eyes swallowing you whole as your eyes rolled back when his fingers rubbed deliberate circles on your sensitive clit. 

“Oh, you needy little slut, look how wet you are. Already making a mess over here.” He laughed, a smug grin on his face as he coated his long fingers with your slick. His mouth fell into an oh gesture, coaxing you mockingly as he slid his fingers into your pussy. “Lucky for you, doll, I like things real fucking messy.”

With his free hand he brought you down to meet his mouth, fingers laced into your hair as he fucked you with his fingers. You were moaning and whining into his mouth as he tongue kissed you and you were grinding down on his hand with each curl of his fingers and flick of his wrist. 

“Please, please, Erik. Need it.” You whined into his mouth, chest heavy, surely dripping on his jeans. He blew out a laugh, pulling back to watch your face as he curled his fingers in the most thigh shuddering way possible.

“Yeah? You want it?” He asked mocking, rutting his palm against your sensitive clit, his fingers buried to the knuckle. “You wanna get fucked now? That what you want?” 

You nodded frantically, words getting caught in your throat. Erik was tempted to torture you more, make you beg for it, but alas, his cock was starting to feel real fucking uncomfortable in those skinny jeans he had on. He said nothing as he pulled you down by your hair, tongue kissing you, so messy and sloppy, his fingers leaving you empty to fumble with his belt and zipper. He groaned in relief when his cock was finally free from the confines of his briefs. His hand left your hair to hold your panties to the side just enough for him, ready to shove his cock inside you. 

Erik rubbed his tip over your clit, coating himself in your slick, his tongue in your mouth. And then you felt it. The pathetic sound of disbelief that left your throat was so loud Erik actually heard it.

“Erik,” you gasped, a bit of shock and alarm coating your voice, immediately looking down between you, not believing it was in fact what you thought it was. “Erik, what the fuck. Oooh my God.” 

Were you drooling? Maybe a little.

“What?” He laughed a little, very amused by your shock. But he was also amused by your look of awe. He hadn’t been with too many people after he got it, he had gotten looks of apprehension, a weird look once, but you? You looked anything but freaked out. “You’ve never fucked a guy with a dick piercing?” 

You shook your head, slowly lifting your head to meet his eyes. The look he gave you made you clench around nothing.

“Go ahead then, sit on it. I know you’ve been wanting to. So do it.” 

Erik sat up, eyes never leaving you as he waited for you to make your move. It was with a shaky hand that you grabbed his cock and slowly slid down. Your mouth fell wide open as his ringed cock pushed its way inside your cunt. You damn near wanted to cry at the feeling of his ring brushing your walls.

“Fuck, Erik. That feels so—” You couldn’t even finish your thought, your eyes rolling back slightly as you rocked your hips, both hands flat against his chest as you dragged yourself along his cock.

It was with a groan that he gripped your hips, digging his nails into your flesh and staring at your freshly pierced tits with blown eyes each time you bounced on his cock. His cock definitely twitched at the sight.

“Oh, I know. Feels fucking good, doesn’t it?” He spoke with smug pride, sitting up all the way until his chest was flushed against your stomach, careful not to snag or touch your piercings, he wrapped one arm around your waist and bucked his hips, meeting you in the middle. He sat so deep each time he fucked into you, you could feel his goddamn ring bruising your cervix.

“Yesyesyes. Feels so good.” Your little gasps and broken sobs fell in his ear as your head fell into his shoulder, at this point doing nothing more than rolling your hips against his each time he slammed into you. Your arms were thrown around his neck as you clung to him, crying pathetically into his shoulder.

“Such a pretty little thing, and such a slut, letting me use you however I want.” He spat, panting a little, each brutal drag of his cock only bringing you closer to your release. You were sputtering nothing but incoherent curses and babbling that kind of sounded like his name, your face deep on his shoulders and eyes screwed shut. “Whatcha hiding for? Take it like a big girl.”

His hand came up under your jaw, long tattooed fingers sprawled over your throat and he forced your head back, enough to be able to see your face. And he most definitely saw the way your eyes rolled back into your head and your lips fell open into a little gasp when he squeezed your throat the slightest bit.

“Of course you love that shit, huh? Like it when I hurt you a little? Choke you a little? Fuck your pussy wide open?” Sure, Erik liked hearing himself talk sometimes, but he definitely felt the way you were squeezing the fuck out of his cock with each filthy word he spat at you. He squeezed a little tighter, pounded into you a little deeper, leaving you a twitching and shuddering mess when he loosened his grip on your neck.

“Ooooh, fuckfuckfuck. Yes, God, yes, I love it.” Your broken words came out in between your soft cries, your fingers pulling and tugging at his hair with each passing second that you felt your orgasm near. You needed it so fucking bad. “Please Erik, need it, need it so bad.”

“Need what, baby? Need to come? Is that what you need?” He was mocking you now, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he admired each twist and frown of your eyebrows, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort that made you so fucking delirious. You nodded, mumbling desperate pleas. “You deserve to come, don't you? You’ve had a hard day, huh? Mmm, yeah, you deserve to feel good.”

Erik used his arm around you to hold you right where he wanted you, angling his lips just enough to drag his pierced tip over your tight walls each time he rutted his hips against your cunt. And he didn’t stop when your body twitched and shuddered on his lap, gushing and dripping all over his jeans.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it.” He grunted, his head falling back and lips parted as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own not too far behind now, unable keep himself together. He wouldn’t be able to even if he fucking wanted to. “Where do you want me, baby? Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside me, please. Want it so bad.” You whine, your words falling in his ears like a fucking prayer. You pressed your forehead against his, fingers laced in his dark hair, rolling your hips down as he gave you a few more sharp and deep thrusts.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me I swear.” He blew out a laugh, his mouth falling open and his nails digging into your side deep enough to leave marks as he spilled himself deep inside you. “Take it just like that.”

It wasn’t long before you became painfully aware of just how cold this damn place was, the ceiling fan blowing cold air against your bare back. You clung to him, still on his lap with his cum stuffed inside you. It wasn’t until your mixed releases started to seep out of your cunt and dripped onto his jeans that Erik sighed.

“Fuck, you’re messy.” He teased, smirking at the offended gasp you let out, pulling back just enough to shoot him a glare.

“I’m messy? Dude.” You scoffed, your lips slightly curved into a smile as you held his face in your hands. 

“Nah, you’re right. You’re a slut.” He looked up at you, a grin on his face and blue eyes full of mischief. Yeah, you couldn’t lie about that. You said nothing, your eyes fixated on his, your heart pounding against your chest and your stomach fluttering as you thought about how fucked you were now.

And that? That you thought about for fucking days. Any other man? Completely fucking ruined for you. You just wanted Erik, and you kept coming back for more.

[lila-lou]

✨Fucking Brats - 3/3✨

Summary: You and Ben have two teenage daughters, and lately, they’ve been nothing short of awful. With Ben away on missions, you've been taking the heat. But when he finally steps back through that door and sees how they’ve been treating you? Hell breaks loose. Because no one—not even his own brats—messes with his girl.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst

Word Count: 5041

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Ben just nodded toward the door. “Let’s go. Your mom’s probably busting her ass making dinner while you two emotional wrecks sulk up here”.

Liv scoffed. “Wow, apology rescinded”. Ava smirked, standing up. “Yeah, let’s go before she makes something weird”.

Ben let out a loud laugh as he led them out the door.

As the three of them made their way downstairs, Liv, Ava, and Ben were already running their mouths, loud and dramatic, feeding off each other like a pack of assholes with too much confidence.

“I’m just saying”, Ava started, hands gesturing wildly. “Mom’s pregnancy cravings? Insane”. Liv groaned, throwing her head back. “Oh my god, the pasta”. Ben snorted. “That goddamn pasta”.

You raised an eyebrow, standing by the stove as you stirred the pot, eyeing them suspiciously. “What about my pasta?”.

All three of them stopped at the kitchen entrance. For a brief second, there was silence, before Ben smirked. “Oh, we’re talking about that shit you made last week”. Liv gagged dramatically, dropping into a chair. “With the peanut butter. And the pickles. And the hot sauce”. Ava shuddered. “I’m traumatized”.

Ben scoffed, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, grinning as he shook his head. “I’ve seen war crimes less offensive than that fucking meal”.

You gasped, placing a hand over your chest, offended. “Excuse me?”.

Liv shot you a look. “Mom. Mom. Be honest with yourself”. Ava nodded aggressively. “You couldn’t even finish it!”.

You huffed, turning back to the stove, gripping the spoon tighter. “It sounded good at the time”.

Ben chuckled, coming up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hands resting over your growing belly. “Baby, I love you”, he murmured against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. “But that shit was a fucking crime”.

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him anyway, the warmth of his body melting away any fake offense you were holding onto. “Well, good thing I didn’t make it tonight, then”.

Ben grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

Ava mumbled as she plopped down into a chair, crossing her arms like she was genuinely suffering. “You two are so cheesy with each other now”, she grumbled. “Like, way worse than before”.

Liv nodded, stabbing her fork into the table for emphasis. “Seriously. Ever since Mom got pregnant, it’s like, constant touching, constant whispering, constant gross couple shit”.

Ben, still pressed against your back, grinned.

“Oh, I’m sorry”, he drawled, tightening his grip around your waist, swaying you both slightly. “Does affection make you uncomfortable, princess?”.

Liv gagged dramatically, shoving her chair back. “Ugh”. Ava made a face, waving her hands in front of her like she was warding off a curse. “Make it stop”.

You just laughed, reaching back to thread your fingers through Ben’s hair, tilting your head slightly toward him. “You hear that?”, you teased, smirking. “We’re disgusting”.

Ben grinned, his stubble scratching against your jaw as he purposely kissed along your neck. “Yeah?”, he muttered, low and smug. “Guess we better really lean into it, then”.

Liv and Ava groaned loudly, practically hiding their faces in their hands as Ben purposely kissed along your neck, clearly enjoying how much he was torturing them. “I swear”, Liv muttered, voice muffled by her arms. “I will move out”. Ava nodded dramatically. “I’ll help you pack”.

But then, the doorbell rang. All four of you paused. Your brows furrowed slightly. “Were we expecting someone?”.

Ben immediately stiffened, his instincts sharp as ever as he pulled away from you, his expression shifting from playful to wary in an instant. “Nobody told me shit”, he muttered, his jaw tightening.

Liv, on the other hand, looked suddenly uncomfortable. Suspiciously uncomfortable. Ava noticed immediately, her head snapping toward her sister. “Oh, no fucking way—”. Before she could even finish, Liv bolted for the door.

Ben’s eyes narrowed as he watched her practically sprint across the room. “…What the fuck is that about?”.

Ava, already grinning, propped her elbow on the table. “Ohhh, this is gonna be good”.

Ben shot her a look before pushing off the counter, his instincts fully activated now. Liv never rushed to answer the door. Ben always got to the door first. So the fact that she was moving so damn fast? Yeah. Something was off. And he didn’t fucking like it.

By the time he made it to the door, Liv had already opened it. And standing on the porch, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his jacket, stood some goddamn kid.

Tall. Athletic. Smug as hell.

Ben stepped up right behind Liv, his broad frame towering over her, his presence instantly taking over the entire space. His green eyes flicked over the kid standing on the porch, his expression dark, unimpressed, borderline murderous. “Who the fuck is this?”, he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

Liv froze. Jason, hadn’t even spoken yet. Because the second his eyes landed on Ben, they went wide as hell. The confidence, the casual ease he had just seconds ago? Gone. Completely fucking wiped out. Because Jason knew exactly who was standing in front of him. And, more importantly, he realized exactly whose daughter he had been chasing for the past year.

“Holy shit”, Jason blurted out, taking a step back like he had just been physically hit by the realization. “You’re—you’re Soldier Boy”.

Ben narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “No shit”.

Liv inhaled sharply, suddenly stepping in front of him, her back practically pressed against his chest as she waved her hands in front of Jason’s stunned face. “Okay, okay, no need to freak out—”.

Jason’s eyes snapped to her, still wide as hell. “You’re his kid?”.

Liv groaned loudly, rubbing her temples. “This is exactly why we never told anyone”.

Ben’s frown deepened. His gaze flickered between the two of them, the gears turning in his head, piecing together exactly what was happening right now. “Wait a fucking second”, he muttered, stepping around Liv slightly, his sharp eyes locking onto Jason like a goddamn target.

Jason immediately stiffened, swallowing hard.

Ben crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head slightly. “You knew my daughter before this moment?”.

Jason hesitated. Ben’s brow twitched. Liv groaned again, running a hand down her face. “Dad—”.

Ben ignored her, his focus entirely on Jason. “Lemme guess”, he muttered, his voice like gravel. “You been sniffin’ around her?”.

Jason visibly paled.

Ava, who had been silently watching from the kitchen, immediately burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Oh my god, this is so much better than I thought it’d be”.

Jason’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Ben took a slow step forward. Jason immediately took one back.

Liv gritted her teeth, throwing her arms up. “Dad, can you not scare off the first guy who actually has the balls to like me?”.

Ben stopped immediately. His head snapped toward her. His eyes narrowed. “What the fuck did you just say?”.

Liv’s own eyes widened slightly, like she had just now realized what she admitted out loud.

Jason inhaled deeply, running a hand down his face. “Shit—”.

Ben turned back to him so fast that Jason actually flinched.

“Oh, hell no”, Ben muttered, taking another step forward, his voice sharp as hell. “You got a fucking crush on my daughter?”.

Jason hesitated. And that? That was a big fucking mistake. Because now Ben knew. The hesitation. The look of panic. Yeah. This little shit had been chasing after Liv.

Ben clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply, rubbing a hand down his face. “You gotta be fucking kidding me”, he muttered under his breath.

Liv let out a loud, frustrated groan, shoving at Ben’s shoulder, which did absolutely nothing, of course. “Dad”, she snapped, her face red with pure humiliation. “Can you not make this weird?”.

Ben laughed humorlessly, looking at her like she had just asked him to burn his own house down. “Not make it weird?”. He turned back to Jason, who still looked one second away from passing out. “How old are you?”, Ben snapped.

Jason blinked rapidly, suddenly unsure how to answer that question without dying. “Uh—”.

Ben’s expression darkened. “Too fucking slow”.

Liv immediately shoved him back again. “Dad!”.

Jason let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m seventeen”, he muttered.

Ben snorted. “Not even a legal adult. Great”.

Jason bristled, squaring his shoulders slightly, as if trying to regain an ounce of confidence. “I’m the top of my class at Godolkin”, he muttered. “I have full control of my powers. I—”.

Ben immediately cut him off. “Oh, you got powers, huh?”, he muttered, tilting his head, his gaze suddenly much sharper. “Go on then. Tell me what you do, kid”.

Jason hesitated again.

Ben grinned. “See?”, he muttered, glancing at Liv. “If he won’t even fucking say it, it means he doesn’t want me to know”, He turned back to Jason, his voice dropping into something dangerous. “So what the fuck do you do?”.

Liv groaned aggressively, shoving at Ben again. “Can you not interrogate him like we’re in a goddamn war zone?”.

Ben ignored her, his eyes locked onto Jason, who still hadn’t answered.

Jason exhaled sharply. “I—control electricity”, he muttered quickly. “Like—bio-electric energy”.

Ben just stared at him. Then he grinned darkly, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s fucking adorable”.

Jason tensed.

Ben chuckled, glancing at Liv. “This the best you could do, kid?”.

Liv glared. “Dad!”.

Ben sighed dramatically, rubbing his jaw. “Jesus, you couldn’t have found a kid with lasers or some shit?”.

Liv threw her hands up. “WHY WOULD I NEED A GUY WITH LASERS?”.

Ben just grinned. “For protection, obviously".

Liv groaned so loud you were pretty sure the neighbors heard it. Ava, meanwhile, was dying in the background, choking on her own laughter. Jason just looked like he wanted to leave and never come back.

You sighed heavily, stepping forward and placing a hand on Ben’s arm, giving him a pointed look. "Stop being an ass, Ben". Ben turned to you, his smug grin still firmly in place, like he was fully prepared to keep making this kid’s life a living nightmare.

You, however, were done with it. Turning your gaze toward Jason, who still looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him here, you gave him a small, polite smile. "You hungry, Jason? We were just sitting down for dinner".

Ben’s head snapped toward you so fast you swore you heard his neck crack. Liv visibly paled, her eyes wide as hell. “Mom, what the fuck—”.

Jason blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Uh…”.

Ava, still fully entertained by everything happening, immediately perked up. “Oh, this is gonna be good”.

Ben scowled hard, his arms crossing over his chest, his glare cutting through you. “Oh, fuck that”.

You shot him a look. “Ben”.

Ben scoffed. “No. No fucking way”.

Liv, already red-faced and fully spiraling, let out an embarrassed groan, throwing her arms up. “Mom, please don’t”.

You ignored her, tilting your head at Jason. “Well?”.

Jason hesitated, glancing at Ben, then at Liv, then back at you, his brain clearly scrambling to decide whether or not dinner was worth dying over.

Liv, face still completely red, turned to him, her voice low, pleading. "Do not say yes".

Jason, clearly aware that either decision would result in some level of pain, hesitated for another second. "Uh… sure?".

Liv slammed her eyes shut. “Oh my God”.

Ben let out a sharp, unbelievably dramatic laugh, shaking his head as he turned away. Ava, at this point, was basically crying, gripping the back of a chair, her laughter completely uncontrollable.

You just nodded, smiling pleasantly. “Great! Come on in”.

Jason stepped inside hesitantly, his shoulders tight as hell, clearly expecting to get tackled at any second.

Ben, who was now standing off to the side, glared at you hard as hell. You turned to him, patting his chest, giving him a sweet smile. “Be nice”.

Ben let out a low, borderline murderous chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, I’ll be real nice”, he muttered under his breath. “Real fucking nice”.

Liv groaned loudly, dragging a hand down her face as Jason nervously took a seat at the table.

Dinner was a disaster from the moment it started.

Jason sat awkwardly stiff at the table, his hands folded in his lap like he was mentally preparing for combat. Liv looked like she wanted to crawl under the table and disappear. Ava was fully thriving, watching the whole thing like it was the best show she’d ever seen.

And Ben was having the time of his goddamn life, watching Jason squirm, his smirk deadly, his sharp green eyes never leaving the poor kid.

You sat across from them, already exhausted, regretting every choice that led up to this.

Ben leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, casually studying Jason like he was interrogating an enemy combatant. “So, Jason”, he drawled, his voice low, dripping with pure menace. “You been chasing after my daughter for how long now?”.

Jason choked on his water immediately.

Liv snapped her head up, her face bright red. “Dad!”.

Ben just grinned. “What? It’s a simple question”.

Jason, still recovering, cleared his throat aggressively. “Uh—I, um—”.

Ava, now fully invested, leaned her chin on her hand, smirking. “Yeah, Jason, how long?”. Liv shot her a murderous glare. “You are literally the worst”.

Jason exhaled deeply, looking like he wanted to die. “We’ve, uh… known each other for about a year”.

Ben’s smirk widened. “And in that year, how many times have you thought about dating my daughter?”.

Jason froze. Liv’s entire body tensed. “Dad, I swear—”.

Ben leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Go on, kid. Tell me”.

Jason swallowed hard, his jaw tightening slightly like he was trying to find the right answer that wouldn’t get him killed. “…I think she’s great”, he said carefully. “She’s strong. Smart. And, uh… yeah. I like her”. Liv’s face burned, and she immediately grabbed her napkin, covering it like it would save her from this moment.

Ben just stared at Jason for a long moment, his eyes sharp as hell, his expression unreadable. But then, he nodded slowly. “Alright”, he muttered.

Jason blinked. “…Alright?”.

Ben picked up his fork, stabbing a piece of food. “Yeah. Alright”.

Liv, still hiding her face, peeked up slightly. “Wait, what?”.

Ben shrugged, chewing. “I mean, he coulda said some dumbass shit like, ‘She’s hot’, or ‘She’s having a nice body" or some other garbage”. He swallowed, gesturing at Jason with his fork. “But this one? He at least knows she’s got a brain”.

Liv just stared at him, still suspicious. “So… you don’t hate him?”.

Ben exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “I still don’t like him”.

Jason visibly tensed. “That’s… fair”.

Ben smirked, pointing at him. “But at least you know your place”.

Jason just nodded slowly, like that was the best response he was going to get. Ava groaned dramatically, shaking her head. “Lame”. Liv exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. “I cannot believe we just survived that”.

Ben scoffed. “Dinner ain’t over yet”.

Jason went stiff again. Liv groaned loudly, dropping her head onto the table. You sighed, reaching for your drink, already regretting inviting him over in the first place.

After Dinner, you exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against the counter to steady yourself as a sharp, heavy ache crawled up your spine. It was sudden, radiating from your lower back up through your shoulders, the kind of pain that made you pause, made you clench your jaw as you tried to breathe through it. It wasn’t unfamiliar. You had felt this before.

When you were pregnant with the twins, every symptom had been ten times worse than what a normal human pregnancy was supposed to be. You had been exhausted, your body constantly sore, the weight of carrying half-supec genes making everything more intense. And this? This was the same.

“Mom?”.

You turned your head slightly, catching Ava standing by the sink, her brows furrowed, her sharp eyes scanning you like she knew something was off. You forced a small smile, waving a hand. “I’m fine, baby, just—”. Another sharp wave of pain shot up your back. Your hand immediately gripped the edge of the counter.

Ava’s eyes narrowed. “Mom”, she said, her voice firm this time. “You’re not fine”.

You exhaled deeply, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before slowly straightening up, rolling your shoulders. “It’s just my back”, you muttered, shaking your head. “It was the same with you two. Everything’s just… heavier”.

Ava’s jaw tensed, like she was processing that. Like she didn’t fucking like it. And before you could reassure her, Ben and Liv’s voices cut through the kitchen, still loudly bickering over Jason.

“Oh, come the fuck on”, Liv groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Jason does not look like a GQ model”.

Ben scoffed. “Kid, if that boy wasn’t a supe, I guarantee he’d be modeling overpriced cologne in some goddamn magazine”. Liv snorted. “Well, at least he’d smell good”.

“Okay, no. Fuck that”, Ben grumbled and threw a towel after her. Liv cackled, dodging him immediately as he reached for her, their play-fighting escalating into complete chaos in the background.

But Ava? Ava wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Her focus was still entirely on you. Her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a tight line before she took a slow step forward. “Does it hurt a lot?”. she asked, her voice quieter now.

You blinked, caught slightly off guard by the shift in her tone. “Oh—no, it’s just… a dull ache”.

Ava didn’t look convinced. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she did something that actually surprised you. She stepped closer and placed a careful hand against your lower back. Immediately, a soft, almost electric warmth spread over your spine, a soothing sensation rolling through your body, the pain dulling under her touch. Your breath caught slightly. “Ava—”.

“Shh”, she muttered, her brows furrowing slightly in focus. “Just… hold still for a second”. The warmth continued, humming just beneath your skin, easing the tension from your muscles like a steady, controlled pulse of energy. It was gentle. It was intentional. And it was the first time you had ever felt Ava use her powers like this. Your throat bobbed, your eyes slightly wide as you glanced down at her. “You… can do this?”.

Ava exhaled slowly. “I—yeah. I mean… kinda”, she admitted, her voice softer now. “I don’t really know how it works. I just… thought about it”.

You blinked, watching her carefully. For all her sarcasm, her attitude, her occasional recklessness, Ava had never been the type to use her abilities this way. Never the type to heal. And yet, the pain in your back was already gone. You inhaled slowly, resting a hand over hers, squeezing gently. “Ava”, you murmured, your voice full of something warm, something proud.

She just huffed, shaking her head like she was shrugging it off. “Don’t make it weird”. You smiled, your eyes still soft. “I’m not".

Ava cleared her throat, stepping back, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well… you’re carrying my sibling, so, like… can’t have you breaking in half or whatever”.

Your chest tightened slightly. Because that? That was her way of saying she cared. Before you could respond, before you could even process what just happened, Ben’s loud, dramatic voice filled the kitchen again. “Alright, I’m done talking about that fucking kid, who, by the way, is never stepping foot in this house again! What the hell are you two whispering about?”.

You and Ava both turned immediately, blinking at him like two kids caught doing something secretive. Liv, catching the shift in energy, frowned slightly. “Wait. What just happened?”.

You opened your mouth, but Ava, forever her father’s daughter, just rolled her eyes and muttered— “Nothing. Mom was just being dramatic”.

Ben grinned. “Hah! See? She gets it from you”.

You sighed deeply, shaking your head. But as you glanced at Ava, you caught the way she was still watching you, still making sure you were really okay. And in that moment, you knew she was her father’s daughter. But she was yours, too.

You shook your head, still feeling the lingering warmth from Ava’s touch, still processing the fact that she had just used her abilities to help you, not to fight, not to lash out, but to heal. It was a small moment, but it meant everything. But of course, Ava would never let you make it sentimental. So instead, you just exhaled, offering her a small smile before turning back to the sink.

Ben, oblivious as ever, just grinned at Ava’s comment. “See? You are the dramatic one”.

You shot him a look. “Oh, please. You just spent the last hour interrogating a teenage boy like it was a CIA op”.

Ben’s smirk widened. “Yeah, and?”.

Liv groaned, rubbing her temples. “Can we not bring Jason up again? I’m begging”. Ava snorted. “Hey, at least he survived”. Ben scoffed. “Barely”. Liv shot him a glare. “You barely let him survive”. Ben just shrugged, looking way too satisfied with himself.

You sighed, shaking your head as you continued cleaning up. “Well, if he actually sticks around after that disaster of a dinner, then maybe he’s not so bad”.

Ben immediately scowled. “Or maybe he’s too stupid to be afraid”.

Ava laughed. “Or maybe he really likes Liv”. Liv groaned dramatically, standing up. “I’m leaving this conversation”.

Ben smirked. “Good. Make sure you lock your goddamn window, or else Romeo might come crawling in”.

Liv froze. “It was just one-".

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Wait”. His head snapped toward Liv. “You haven’t snuck out to see him, have you?”. Liv’s silence was the only answer he needed.

Ben’s entire expression dropped. He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand down his face before muttering, “Fuck Liv".

You closed your eyes, pressing your fingers against your temple. “Liv”.

Liv threw her hands up, stepping back. “Okay, listen—”.

Ben pointed at her immediately. “Nope. Don’t even fucking try”. Ben, meanwhile, was one second away from blowing a goddamn blood vessel. “You’re fifteen, Liv”, he muttered, shaking his head. “Fucking fifteen, and you’re already sneaking out to meet some punk-ass kid?”.

Liv groaned. “It’s not like that!”.

Ben scowled. “Oh, so you just sneak out for fun?”.

Liv clenched her jaw, arms crossing over her chest.

Ben exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You really wanna piss me off, don’t you?”.

Liv stared at him, her expression hard, her defiance bubbling back up. “I just wanted something that’s mine”, she muttered, her voice quieter now, but still firm.

Ben paused.

Liv inhaled deeply, looking down. “Something that’s… normal”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, his throat bobbing slightly. You saw it, the way his whole body shifted, the way his rage didn’t disappear, but simmered into something else. Something understanding. Something frustrated, but not at her. Ben exhaled, shaking his head. “Jesus, kid”, he muttered. “You’re making it so hard for me to stay mad at you”.

Liv rolled her eyes, kicking at the floor. “I mean, you could just let it go”.

Ben snorted. “Yeah, not happening”.

Liv sighed, shaking her head, but there was a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. Ava, still watching, leaned toward you. “Okay, but can we talk about the fact that Liv just admitted she has a boyfriend?”. Liv’s head snapped toward her. “Shut up, Ava!”.

Ben’s eyes darkened again. “Boyfriend?”.

You couldn’t help but smile. Because despite the chaos, despite Ben nearly combusting at the thought of Liv sneaking around with a boy, despite Liv looking ready to throw herself out a window, this was normal. And that? That was all you ever wanted for them.

You knew what it meant to to deal with all that supe-bullshit, what it meant to have a life that was anything but normal. And while your girls would never be average, would never have a simple life, the fact that they were getting to date, to have crushes, to sneak out and make dumb choices like teenagers, it made your heart feel full.

Ben, meanwhile, was still stuck on the word boyfriend. His eyes flickered back to Liv, sharp and disapproving. “You’re fifteen”.

Liv groaned loudly, dragging her hands down her face. “OH MY GOD”. Ava was laughing at this point, her smirk pure evil. “She loves him, Dad”.

Ben snapped his gaze to Liv so fast you thought his neck might break. “You… LOVE him?”.

Liv froze. Her lips parted slightly, like she hadn’t actually processed what she had admitted yet. She clenched her jaw, glaring at Ava. “You suck so bad”. Ava just grinned. “I know”.

Ben let out a sharp exhale, rubbing his hand down his face aggressively before looking back at you, as if pleading for support. “You’re really okay with this?”.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you placed a hand on your hip. "Ben", you said, amusement lacing your voice. "I was eighteen when you knocked me up".

The room went dead silent. Ava’s jaw dropped. Liv made a sound like she was actively dying.

Ben, meanwhile, just froze, before he let out a long, suffering groan, rubbing both hands aggressively down his face. "Oh, for fuck’s sake", he muttered.

Ava, already grinning, turned to Liv. "Dude". Liv snapped her gaze to you, her face horrified. "Mom. MOM. WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?".

You shrugged, still smiling. "Just putting things in perspective".

Liv gagged dramatically, throwing her hands up. "OH MY GOD, THIS IS TRAUMATIZING". Ava, who was very much enjoying this, grinned wider. "Wait, wait, so if Mom was eighteen, then how old were you, Dad?".

Ben immediately glared at her. "Drop it".

Ava ignored him completely. "What was it, like… thirty-something? Forty?".

Ben pointed a sharp finger at her. "I will throw you through a fucking wall, kid".

Liv stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. "I AM LEAVING THIS FAMILY".

Ben rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, calm the fuck down, drama queen".

Liv gasped, pointing at you. "YOU WERE A TEENAGER, MOM. A TEENAGER".

Ben groaned loudly. "Can we not make me sound like a fucking criminal?".

Ava laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair. You just smirked, watching Ben suffer, leaning against the counter like you were thoroughly entertained. "You’re the one freaking out about your fifteen-year-old having a boyfriend", you reminded him, tilting your head. "And here you were, getting me pregnant when I was barely an adult".

Ben scoffed, throwing his hands up. "Oh, so now I’m the fucking bad guy?".

Liv nodded aggressively. "YES. YOU. ARE. GROSS".

Ben just rolled his eyes again. "Jesus, you two are so fucking dramatic".

Liv stormed out of the room, muttering under her breath. "Fucking disgusting. Nasty. I’m gonna need therapy. Hope you’re ready to pay for it, Dad".

Ben sighed deeply, shaking his head as she disappeared upstairs, before he turned back to you, his expression deadpan. "You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?".

You grinned, stepping up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. "More than anything".

Ben huffed, resting his forehead against yours, his hands sliding over your stomach. "You’re lucky I love you". You smirked. "Oh, I know".

From the stairs, Ava called out, "You’re still a cradle robber, though!".

Ben groaned again, burying his face against your neck. "I fucking hate this family". You just laughed, holding onto him.

Ben exhaled sharply, still gripping onto you, his jaw tight.

You leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, smirking. "Now you got a full taste of what I have to deal with all the time".

Ben let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, you fucking deserve it".

Then, before you could even react, his arms were suddenly under you, and with zero warning, he scooped you up effortlessly, lifting you against his chest.

You yelped, gripping his shoulders. "Ben!".

His smirk was sharp, dangerous, so goddamn smug as he carried you straight toward the stairs. "Pregnant or not, baby, you're gonna pay for that".

Ava’s voice called out from the living room. "OH MY GOD, CAN YOU TWO NOT?".

Liv groaned loudly from her room. "THERE ARE CHILDREN IN THIS HOUSE".

Ben just grinned, carrying you up the stairs with zero shame, his grip firm, possessive.

You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head. "You're ridiculous".

Ben pressed his lips against your ear, his voice low, teasing. "And you're fucking mine".

Your stomach fluttered, your heart pounding as he kicked open the bedroom door. He tossed you onto the bed, his grin wicked, his green eyes burning as he climbed over you, bracing himself on his forearms. You looked up at him, breathless, smirking. "You mad, old man?".

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, baby". Then he dipped his head, brushing his lips slowly over yours, his voice rough, teasing. "I'm fucking thrilled".

Ava groaned loudly from her room. "SERIOUSLY, I HOPE THIS BABY KEEPS YOU BOTH UP EVERY NIGHT".

Liv’s voice followed. "IT’S WHAT YOU DESERVE".

Ben just laughed against your lips, shaking his head. "God, I fucking love our family".

And you? You just smiled. Because despite the chaos, despite the madness, despite everything, so did you.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[diminuel]

Crocodile, having been woken by the 4th snail call this week, currently managing 3 tiny terrors and very, very tired: dragon, if you call me about this one more time, I WILL fuck your goddamn dad

(this is how little sabo and ace first learn what fuck means. they never, ever forget)

He's got three kids now and only one hand...! Poor guy!

(Haha! It's not like Crocodile cares if his kids curse, but that's a bit unfortunate.)

(Sorry, low quality 2 AM doodle.)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Where Do You End Pt. 3

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have a talk.

Author's Note: Here we go. Dean about the be on his KNEES (for several reasons)

Word Count: 5.3k

A lot was happening. 

Cold wind had filled Dean’s body—Her body—and then suddenly the bunker library was gone. Sammy was gone. Everything was gone, and he felt like he’d been flipped in and out, turned in a circle, and everything was spinning when the world came back into focus. 

And he was so fucking confused.

He was back in his own body. Taller, easier to control, better to reach high things with, and less likely to accidentally move too fast and slam into something. He had his own legs and arms and feet and hands.

Dean had never really appreciated his hands before this. But son of a bitch, he’d missed them. One week without them, and he’d failed to open jars, had Her fancy, looping handwriting that he couldn’t even read, and dropped three guns. She could always hold a gun easily, but Dean had almost taken Sammy’s ear off.

He’d never take his hands for granted again.

He’d never take his body for granted. As fun as boobs had been for about two days—he’d never touched them, She would’ve killed him, but he’d liked watching them bounce—he’d quickly gotten sick of bras and how sometimes they just hurt. A lot of Her body had just hurt at random points through every single damn day. Dean was never going to be sure how She just did things, because he’d gotten a fresh wave of what Sammy had called post-menstrual syndrome, and he’d wanted to kill someone. 

He’d missed being taller, missed having Little Dean, missed not needing to worry about walking through the gas station at night—he’d had to start taking Sammy every time he wanted some pie, and he was never going to leave Her alone in a bar again—and not having to keep track of his goddamn hair all the time.

Even now it was too long. He’d been ready for a cut by the time the curse had hit, and somehow over just one week of being unattended, Dean felt like he had a mane. When he rubbed a hand over his jaw he could feel stubble, and She hadn’t even left him a razor. Or scissors.

If fact, the room seemed to be mostly empty, save for a lot of books, some stray ritual materials on the floor, and the motel furniture. There wasn’t even food or beer, and the bed looked hardly slept in, and Dean had a feeling that all those books would have worn pages from Her attention.

He didn’t quite know what he’d expected, when they switched back. A warning would’ve been nice, or a heads up that he’d suddenly be transported to the middle of freakin’ nowhere. All he knew what that She’d spent the week somewhere rainy, with trees and a view of the ocean, crashing up in waves on the rocks. Somewhere where the motels had cabin-like furniture and a lot of photos of bird and moose. 

This limited information told Dean that he was either on the upper East Coast, or the upper West Coast. 

So if he called Sam and took a gamble, he had a fifty percent chance of getting rescued, along with an equal shot of being stranded even longer as Sammy fucked off in the wrong direction and Dean tried to work out where the hell She’d landed him.

But if Dean was here, She’d be back in the bunker with Sam. So, hopefully, She wouldn’t be so pissed that she’d just leave Dean to find his own way back. 

Hopefully when Dean got back, She’d still be there.

He’d spent most of the week scowling at books and random points on the wall, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix this. He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t lose Her.

And She did love him. She’d said she loved Dean, and she’d used the present tense, and there was still hope. He’d fix this. Dean had spent the whole week repeating to himself that he would fix this. He’d read a bunch on articles online, asked Sam what he did when Eileen was pissed—Sam had said Eileen never got that pissed at him, so Dean had thrown out all his lettuce—and tried to call Her over and over to fix this.

Dean had been worried She wasn’t getting his messages. He’d started to feel something heavy and sickening grow in his stomach, because She could have been in danger. Sam said She’d been emailing him about the curse, but maybe whoever had been hurting Her had gotten her laptop, and they’d been using the emails to throw Sam and Dean off the trail. Maybe She’d been waiting for Dean to come help Her, but he’d just been brooding so now she thought he didn’t care.

Her laptop was still open, and when Dean clicked on her inbox, his emails had been left unread. Her phone was on the bed, and he could still see all his messages on the notification screen. She hadn’t been in danger. 

She’d just been ignoring him. 

And he could feel his jaw clench—his hands fist and his brow draw—as anger began to settle in his muscles and throat, but he didn’t have the right to it.

Because Dean was pretty sure She thought he didn’t care. 

About Her. 

“She just needs space, dude.” Sam had looked up at him from across the war room table about a week ago, his voice dangerously close to a lecture tone. “She just found out you’ve been lying to her for years-“

“I lied for her.” Dean had snapped, glaring at his phone. “Why won’t she call me back-“

“Because as far as she’d concerned, you just lied. She doesn’t care that it was for her,” Sam had put quotation marks around those last words, and Dean had scowled. “She cares that you didn’t think about her at all-“

Dean head had snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Shut the fuck up, Sammy, of course I care about her-“

“I know that.” Sam hadn’t wavered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you tell me. But all you’ve done with her is make her feel confused and dumb-“

“She’s not dumb-“

“I fucking know that Dean! I’m trying to tell you how she feels-“

“I wouldn’t need you to tell me,” Dean’s words had been pushed through his teeth, and he’d been damn near ready to punch Sam in the face or smash his phone on the table. “If she’d pick up the phone.”

Sam had given Dean a long, odd look, and then shaken his head. “Whatever, man. Not the love of my life who’s gonna hate my guts.”

Dean had felt the blood leave his face. He’d felt his whole world shatter just a little, felt his heart fucking stop. Just go dead in his chest, because She didn’t hate him. She loved him. Dean had decided that he’d be fine not being able to touch Her or hold Her as close as he wanted, because at least She’d be safe, and She’d never hate him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look in the mirror and see anything but a rotten, cracked pile of trash if She hated him.

But he’d looked in the mirror that same night, and he’d seen Her. Awesome, smart, funny Her.

He’d never known what he’d done to trick someone so beautiful into loving him. Dean had been satisfied knowing that possibly, maybe, hopefully, he could’ve been good enough.

That even if he’d never get to have Her, he’d been good enough for Her to trust him, to let him hold Her heart in his hands and keep it safe, just as he’d built his own heart to sit on an alter that was made of Her. An alter that tended to and existed only for Her, that would shatter and cave if he ever became something horrible enough to make Her not want him-

Son of a bitch.

He’d gotten it. 

He’d stared at Her reflection, and he’d felt it, in Her chest. Worked out why he’d spent every moment in Her body trailing after himself, and moving to his will, leaning into his own touch. Why his eyes kept scanning around rooms for something he didn’t understand, but would know when he found it. Why when he’d taken a shower and the smell of his shampoo had drifted through the steam, everything in his body—Her body—had relaxed.

She’d built Her own alter.

To Dean. 

Of all fucking people, She really did love him in the way he’d always refused to hope for. He’d wanted—for Her sake and his own painful reparation—for Her love to be strong and real, but fleeting.

He’d prayed that She did love him, and She’d always like him, but it would pass and Dean wouldn’t have to spend his life forcing himself a few steps back from grabbing Her and fusing Her love into his ribs until he could really fucking feel it.

He hadn’t wanted to feel it. He’d wanted Her love to wither, so Dean could tend to his own selfish desire in peace, and She could be happy.

A piece of him had hated the idea of Her being happy without him. But that had been part of the sacrifice. Dean would have to break himself down until he learned how to stop getting jealous when Her attention drifted, when he figured out how to lie to himself about not caring if She settled safely with some boring douchebag in a way that stuck on his body. 

He’d told himself that one day She’d start flirting at a bar, and his legs would forget to chase after Her because he really did want Her to be happy. 

But now he could feel it. He had been able to feel the part of Her that moved and rolled and hummed only for Dean.

He’d started rehearsing his speech that night.

He had a whole thing ready. He’d tell Her she was right. He’d stay he was sorry, and that he’d make the same choice a million times to keep Her safe but he’d never be able to live with himself She thought he didn’t care. He’d say he cared. He’d say it over and over until She understood that Dean could be reduced to ash and sand, and he’d still care. He was just bad at it. He was just bad in general. But he loved Her, and that made him feel okay.

He’d practiced in his head when he was in Her body—using Her voice to apologize to Her had felt strange and wrong—and he spent the time while he waited for Sammy to arrive going over it in the mirror. She’d forgive him. He’d run the speech by Sam, and Sam had rolled his eyes and called Dean a loser and an idiot, but he’d said it would probably be fine. 

It would be fine.

Sam said Dean would be picked up in a day, and he’d get to back Her, apologize, and everything would be fine.

He packed Her things as he waited, running over the speech one last time as he heard the rumble of Baby’s engine outside.

But when there was a knock at the door, it wasn’t Sam standing on the other side. 

——————

It’s raining. 

It fucking raining.

You’re standing outside in the rain, your hair clinging to you brow and your clothing stuck to your bone, and Dean’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost, and this is so dumb.

“Hi.” Your voice is flat and not as strong as you’d like, but you’d also been out here for a minute before he’d answered the door, and the cold is already sinking too deep into your skin.

“Uh,” Dean stares at you, a small line forming in his brow. “I thought you’d be Sam.”

“I’m not.” You raise your chin slightly, holding his gaze. “I’ve had enough of being someone else for a long, long time.”

“I- you- Uh,” he clears his throat, and there’s something shaken and slightly off in his gaze, something that makes him falter. “I’ve never been good at-“

“Am I allowed inside?”

Dean blinks at you, his brow fully drawing, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s raining, Dean.”

He frowns, scanning over the grass behind you and the pavement, and the sight of the mist and darkened concrete almost seems to shock him. He stands a little taller, almost stumbles back, and grabs your arm.

Yanking you right inside after him.

Forcing your body to fall right over his, keeping you there for a brief second as you regain your balance, and then just fucking moving away.

He’d been so warm. He hadn’t quite smelled right, but you’d smelled like him, and it had made up the difference. His strong, steady arm had wrapped around your back for a second, and then he’d left you standing in the center of the room as he shuffled away.

He’d left you standing alone.

Nothing had changed.

“I missed you.”

You glower at the air, turning to see that his voice had come from the bathroom. The door has been left ajar, and you can see him moving around inside, and you hate that you’re still listening. That it’s Dean’s voice—his real voice, with all that same gravity he always has and the deep sound almost a bass in your chest—so you’re clinging to it like it’s wood and you’ve been set adrift.

Dean set you adrift. He’s the one stranded you and threw you to the waves and lied. Then he’d always pulled you just close enough to the shore for you to foolishly believe he’d left you rest somewhere warm, and then he’d fucking left again.

“You missed me.” Your voice has a little more fire behind it, and you can feel it bubbling up in your neck and stomach. The explosion. “You fucking missed me?”

Dean’s head pokes through the door, and there’s a small frown on his face. “Of course I-“

“Did you really miss me? Or are you just saying that when you secretly want me gone?”

He flinches. Dean visibly recoils, like you’ve stabbed him, and you’d feel worse about that if he hadn’t broken your heart into pieces with the blunt end of a gun and then fused you back together a little more his than before. A little more devoted—because at least he’d cared enough to pay you any mind—and a little angrier.

Dean says your name slowly, you hold your hand up, and his mouth shuts closed in a second.

“We’re going to fight, Dean.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over his face. “We’re going to fight, and then I’m going to leave.”

His eyes widen, something wild and panicked flashing behind them. “You’re-“

“I’m leaving with you. Or without you. But I,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut because you can’t look at him. He looks wounded and smaller than he should be, and he can’t do that. Not now. “I need to know, now. I need to know why you lied, and why you just made me stay in love with you-“

“I didn’t mean to.” He mutters, and his voice is soft, and you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t- You had to be safe-“

“I was safe-“

“Yeah, you were. But you wouldn’t have been, with me.” 

Something’s passed to your hands, and it’s soft and warm. You risk one eye open to stare at the fluffy towel in your hands, and Dean’s still talking.

“You woulda had a target, people with me and Sammy always get targets, and they always end up dead. And I-“ He chokes on something, and you’re staring at his knees. You still feel like you’re seeing too much. “I couldn’t lose you. I don’t- I won’t lose you. I needed to protect you, and I wanted you to be happy-“

You scoff, glowing at his thighs. “That’s a lie. You always stopped me from moving on-“

“I know-“

“You don’t know, Dean!” You’re shouting at his stomach, strangling the towel in your hands. “You have no idea how- It hurt! It hurt all the time that you’d say you didn’t love me, and then you’d turn around and tell me nobody was good enough for me, and I- I was confused, and lost, and lonely-“

He says your name, and you shake your head at his chest. 

“No! I would’ve been safe! I’m always safe with you-“

Dean’s laugh is dry and humorless. “That’s not-“

“It is. You-“ You choke on the air, and the base of his neck tenses. “I don’t trust just anyone, Dean, and I trusted you with my life, I loved you-“

“Loved?”

You stare at him, and he’s never been so still. Like he thinks that if he even breathes a little too loud, you’ll bolt. 

And he looks pained. 

You can feel it. In your own chest there’s a phantom of something clenching at your heart, and there’s a wired tension in your muscles that you’d grown used to over the past week. 

He’s shivering a little. It’s humid in the motel room, and he’s dry, but Dean’s shivering. 

And it’s a little hard to breathe.

“Love.” You whisper. “I love you. But it hurts, Dean. It really fucking hurts.”

He bows his head, and only mutters, “I- I had to protect you-“

He keeps repeating that, like it’s a mantra or prayer. Like he can make it real, if he just says it over and over until the words are only sounds.

“You didn’t need to protect me Dean, and you know it.” You sigh, rubbing your neck with a hand as Dean seems to curl into himself. “You were just afraid.”

He flinches again. “I-“

“But you are not a coward, Dean Winchester.” You force your voice to be a little stronger, your spine moving to stand slightly taller as you watch him. “You are an asshole, and a masochist, and self-sacrificing dick, and the best man I know.”

He glances up at you, swallowing slightly, and you push on.

“You’re clever, and resilient, and loyal, and caring. You’d give your life in a second for anyone, and you’d give your happiness for the people you love because you are an idiot who can’t see how it kills us. I did not fall in love with you against my will. I am a smart woman, and I chose you.” You narrow your eyes at him, taking a firm step closer. You can feel something charged and bright moving between your bodies, and you don’t know if it starts in him or you, but it’s all the same. Right now, it’s only you and Dean in the whole world. “I chose you because you are brave, so stop being a coward and be fucking happy, Dean.”

“I-“

“Tell me you’ll be happy.”

Dean stares at you. “I- I’ll be happy.”

He frowns at the words, as if they taste odd on his tongue. 

You’ll have to work on that.

You nod. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” He almost lurches forward, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching out to hold you. “I’m so goddamn sorry, and I’m never gonna-“

“Tell me you love me. But,” You stand a little taller, and this could break you. “Only if you really fucking mean it-“

“I love you.” The words are fast. Firm. 

They jumpstart your every nerve at once, and you’re going to be okay. 

“I’m in love with you,” Dean says your name, his hands fisted at his side. “I love you, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be happy, and just- Don’t leave. Don’t leave, please. I love you, goddamnit, so don’t-“

“You can say it all you want.” You swallow, keeping your gaze locked on his. “I want to see you do something.”

There’s a long moment where he just stares at you, but there’s no sickening worry in your body. You didn’t push him too far, you said everything you had to, and Dean might be drawing ragged breathes you can feel tighten around your own lungs—might just be standing there and watching you—but if he does nothing at all you’ll know. You’ll finally know in a way that you can trust, and you’ll be able to walk away and relearn how to move and think in a world where Dean really doesn’t want you-

He moves so fast. One second Dean’s staring at you with a drawn brow and flared nostrils, and the next he’s on you. Bent over your body, his hands molded and perfectly fit on your waist and jaw, his lips slammed over yours and pulling every part of your soul out through your mouth.

And every bit of doubt evaporates without any suffering or pain.

Because Dean cares.

And you can feel it.

It’s not just in how he kisses you, like he’s returned from war and you’ve been a crumpled picture in his pocket, his kiss bruising and searching all at once, as every bit of his adoration and desire and hope—there’s something that’s still delicate in this kiss, because his hands stay on your body like you might be set adrift once more and he’s fighting against all the tides and rocks to keep you at his side—sinks from Dean’s lip into yours.

It’s in the lingering sensations you can still feel between your bodies. It’s in how when your arms wrap around Dean’s neck and you return the kiss with every bit of wrathful and determined love you’ve ever held for the man before you, you can feel the rush of relief in his body.

He pulls you closer, and groans against your skin when you squirm in his hold. Dean presses kisses over your collarbone and sucks a line up your neck that makes you fold into him like putty, and when you scratch at his arms a prickle runs over your own skin.

You think Dean’s feeling it too. He grabs at your hair and tugs it back to bite and kiss at your throat, and his own body jerks slightly. He falls over you on the mattress, and makes a low grunt that matches the weight of him that’s

been dropped on your chest. You reach a hand between your bodies as he nips at your lower lip—palming and squeezing at his bulge, feeling yourself melt into the sheets at his low groan—and when he swats you away he replaces the loss with his knee, his thighs tensing in that brief moment where you’re aching without relief.

Dean rises over you, and furrowed expression on his face.

“Got makin’ up to do.” He mutters, his eyes so dark on yours it feeds something in your gut that had been flickering and humming into an inferno. And you could get lost in that darkness. They’d be warm. “I just- I’m takin’ care of it, sweetheart. You need to trust me-“

You push up to kiss him, cupping your hand around his head and keeping it short and gentle.

“I trust you.” You whisper against his lips, running your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m staying. Just- I-“

You don’t have the words. For how if this is it, if he’s going to love you and hold you, he can’t drop you. You can’t do this just to be left stranded once more.

But you don’t need the words. 

Because there’s still a little bit of you that is Dean, and he understands. 

Dean lays you back on the bed, pulls his shirt over his head, and now you have nothing but time and care. His hands trace and map over your body as he strips you out of your wet clothing, and lingering cold from the rain vanishes as Dean starts to touch you.

Really, properly touch you.

Rough, calloused hands squeezing and pulling at your breasts and hot, full lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking and pulling it between his teeth with low groans that vibrate through your body. By the time he’s trailing down your stomach—sucking dark marks all over your skin that make your back arch off the bed and your knees spread in a silent plea for him to move further down—you’re tugging at his hair and gasping his name in need.

Then Dean dives right past where you’re dripping and rolling the sheets for him, kissing down your thighs and up to your ankle, switching legs and keeping you pressed to the mattress with one firm hand.

You can see his own need, pushing against his jeans. You can feel it, throbbing and pulsing in your core.

“Dean,“ You moan as he nips at your knee, slowing working his way back up to your center. “Shit, Dean, please-“

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, sucking another, almost possessive spot right near your core before hiking your legs over his shoulders, his breath warm over you pussy and his mouth so close-

“Dean-“

“That’s my name, baby.” He hums. “Get ready to scream it.” 

The asshole winks at you, and you barely have time to glare at him before he dives into your cunt, and everything in your body lights on fire.

It’s infuriating how everything Dean does, he’s good at. How even eating pussy feels like something artful when it’s Dean doing it, and he’s working you like clay with only his mouth. Turning you into a writhing, moaning mess on the bed as he licks and sucks and bites and kisses, and his scruff is just long enough to burn on your thighs in the best way, and his hands are drawing pattern on your thighs in perfect rhythm with his movement between your clit and clenching pussy, humming and growling against you in harmony and pushing his tongue into you right as your hips buck off the bed-

When you start to grind and moan a weak warning of your release—barreling towards you like a tidal wave—Dean keeps you on the edge with teeth on your clit and teasing movement of his tongue for just too long. Just until you’re whining and squirming and trying push your cunt right into his face, and then he pulls your clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue over you in almost a frenzy, and you unravel.

You might be screaming his name. Your heart feels like it’s filled with helium and your body feels a little bigger as Dean presses one calming kiss over your clit and draws away—keeping at least one part of his body pressed to yours as he sheds the remainder of his clothes—and you think he might be proud.

You’ll let him have this. Just for tonight, when all he’s done is eaten you out and you feeling like you’re glowing, you’ll let Dean be pleased with himself.

He settles back over your body, his gaze locked to yours as he bumps against your inner thigh, and every breath feels important.

“I-“ Dean clears his throat, scanning over your face. “I, uh- You didn’t happen to bring protection-“

“I’m clean.” You whisper, your fingers curling on his chest. “And on the pill.”

He swallows, nodding slowly. “And you’re okay-“

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure-“

“Dean.” Your voice gets a little more solid, your eyes firm on his. “If you don’t want to, we won’t, but I’m more than-“

You yelp as Dean slams his mouth down to yours, kissing you into the mattress and swallowing your high sound as he pushes his cock right into you without resistance.

He pulls back to watch you as he bottoms out, reaching down to trace a small circle on your clit, and his hips jerk with a grunt.

The movement make him press right against your g-spot, Dean groans and rolls his hips, you whine and start to grind against him as your own pleasure crest and vaults, and you both freeze as you realize what’s happening. 

Dean pressed his thumb flat on your clit, the movement slow and careful, and lets out a hiss through his teeth. Still staring at him, you purposefully clench around him, and stars cloud your vision as need pools deeper in your gut. 

Something snaps. 

And you’ve never been higher. 

Every movement is doubled, and everything seems to only carry you higher. Dean begins to slam into you at a brutal pace that grows sloppier and sloppier the more you grind and writhing beneath him, squeezing his cock whenever he hits that spongey, needy part deep inside of you, the feeling of practical euphoria doubled and practically intoxicating. 

At some point Dean rolls onto his back, never removing himself inside of you and never breaking his pace. Your nails scratch at his chest as you ride his dick, rubbing your clit over his chest and reaching a hand behind you to play with his balls as he guides you up and down with a tight grip on your hips-

Dean almost roars when you squeeze his balls with light fingers, and you would’ve fallen forward if he didn’t hold you up. One of Dean’s thumbs move to furiously rub at your clit, and you’re not sure who cums first.

All you know is that it’s all an almost infinite high as you fuck yourself on his cock through your orgasm, and Dean pushes up to suck at your tits as his release drips down your thighs. 

You could’ve stayed here forever. Basking in the little, electric aftershocks of your shared orgasm, squeezing around Dean when he twitches inside of each other, watching each other with open looks of wonder because you might have just found a backdoor to heaven. 

But eventually, Dean has to roll you onto your back press a kiss to your brow before shuffling to the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth that gets tossed to a corner of the room once he’s cleaned you up, and wastes no time settling his body back over yours with a low groan.

“Sammy’s gonna have a field day.” He mutters against your skin, and you giggle, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Been telling me for years to just talk to you.”

You hum. “You should’ve listened. Sam can be wise beyond his years sometimes.”

He snorts. “You’re supposed to be on my side-“

“I am.” You tilt your head to kiss his cheek, smiling against his scruff. “Just not for this.”

“Whatever.” Dean grumbles, and he’s clinging to you like you’re a teddy bear. “Long as he shuts his big mouth about it-“

“We could make out in the war room. When we get home. Just to fuck with him.”

There’s a long pause, and when Dean speaks again, he sounds a little breathless. You feel a little lightheaded.

“You’re my dream girl.”

“I know.” You smile at the ceiling. “Dean, can you still feel-“

“Yeah.” He pinches at your waist, as if testing that the aftereffects are still there. “Kinda hot, though.”

“You wanna keep making it up to me?” You hold his gaze as he pushes up on his elbows, raising his brows at you. “Sam doesn’t know where we are, you still have about four years of missed sex to catch up on, and it is storming outside-“

Dean grunts your name, and you give him your best innocent pout.

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I’d like a few more apologies, please.”

He raises his brows. “Am I ever gonna get to stop apologizing-“

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “But mostly just because your apologies are amazing.”

Dean rolls his eyes, you open your mouth to tell him that you have forgiven him—so if he really doesn’t want to keep having sex, he by no means has to—but you don’t have to.

He knows. 

And based on the fervor with which he kisses you back into the mattress, he wants nothing more than to try and fuck you until you’re turned inside out, and he’s gotten that lingering bit of the curse inside of him to stick.

End Note: Rare Dean Winchester dealing with emotions, spotted in the wild! Thank you so much for reading!! Shoutout to the anon who requested a body swap series, huge W for that idea <3, this one's for you.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@kr804573

[deansbeer]

like father, like daughter!

୨୧ warning(s). domestic fluff | toddler swearing | ben being a menace & bad influence on ur child | affectionate teasing (?) | light humor.

୨୧ kari notes. i wrote this yesterday in my car while i was running errands for my baby sister's birthday LMAO and this sounded funnier in my head but (in bree's words) fuck it we ball. i also missed writing for mr. soldier boy <3

saturdays are sacred.

it's the one day of the week where you don't have to rush out of bed, don't have to fight through traffic or sit through meetings or deal with deadlines. it's the one day you get to just be—with ben, with your daughter, with the small, messy, ridiculous family you somehow built together.

today had been a good one.

you'd all gone to the park, let your daughter run wild for a few hours, watched her climb the jungle gym with the reckless confidence of a toddler who thinks she's invincible. ben had trailed after her the whole time, grumbling about little shits not watching where they're going when other kids ran too close, but you caught the way he smiled every time she threw her head back and laughed.

now, the three of you are home, settled in the living room. your daughter sits on the floor, surrounded by a mess of her stuffed animals and plastic dolls, while you and ben take up the couch, curled into each other as an old '80s movie plays on the tv.

it's one of ben's favorites—something with big explosions, bad one-liners, and way too much synth in the background music. he's been mouthing along to half the dialogue, grinning whenever a fight scene starts.

"god, movies were so much better back then," he mutters, stretching his arm across the back of the couch.

you snort. "you just like them because they're all violence and tits."

"yeah, and? what's your point?"

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling.

it's nice—the warmth of his body beside you, the steady hum of the tv, the quiet sounds of your daughter mumbling to herself as she plays. it's one of those rare, perfect moments where everything just feels right.

but sometimes… those moments aren't always forever, are they?

"oh, for fuck's sake."

your daughter's tiny voice rings out clear as day, full of frustration as she glares down at one of her toys like it's personally offended her.

your head snaps toward her so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash.

ben stiffens beside you.

"what," you say slowly, "did you just say?"

your daughter huffs, still frowning at the plastic dinosaur in her hands. "i said, 'for fuck's sake.'"

you stare at her.

then, just as slowly, you turn to ben.

he's sitting completely still, eyes locked on the tv, expression carefully blank—like if he doesn't move, maybe you won't notice he's there.

you narrow your eyes. "ben."

"hmm?"

"benjamin."

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "look, before you start bitching—"

"are you fucking kidding me?"

the man smirks. "oh, now who's teaching her bad words?"

you elbow him hard in the ribs.

he grunts, but he's still grinning, the asshole.

meanwhile, your daughter is just looking between the two of you, completely unfazed, like she hasn't just dropped a full-blown curse word like it's nothing.

"baby," you say, rubbing your temples, "we don't say that."

she tilts her head. "but dada says it allll the time."

ben immediately turns away, suddenly very interested in the movie again.

you shoot him a glare. "unbelievable."

he shrugs. "what? she spends all day with me, she's bound to pick up some things."

"yeah, like a sailor’s vocabulary."

he smirks, leaning in, voice dropping low. "c'mon, sweetheart, you didn't exactly marry me for my clean mouth."

you swat at him, fighting back a laugh. again asshole.

your daughter, still sitting cross-legged on the floor, lets out a little put-upon sigh and mutters, "jesus christ."

ben loses it.

he throws his head back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake, like this is the funniest thing in the goddamn world.

you groan, flopping back against the couch.

this is your life now.

[formulakracing]

vii. the in-between - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 5.2k

warnings: buckle up y’all cause we go. angst, cursing, size kink, edging, praise kink, FUCKING, LOTS OF FUCKING. toto being a simp, banter, yearning, mentions of divorce, mentions of alcohol use, creampie, teasing, yadayadayada… y’all know what’s about to go down

prev. | next.

“it’s fine, mom. really.” 

bringing a hand to your temple, you begin to massage, attempting to alleviate the accumulated pressure. 

“i mean, yeah, i’m not in trouble or anything. as far as i know, the fia is letting me race in suzuka. it was my first offense so they dropped the investigation. as long as i publicly apologize for my actions, everything will be cleared up.” 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

do you know how many people have asked me about you? baby, people approach me at the goddamn grocery store asking me why you beat up that poor little british boy! he’s built like a twig for god’s sake! 

rolling your eyes, you lean back in your chair, keeping the phone pressed against your ear, “mom, his name is george russell. he drives for mercedes. he’s not some little boy.” 

all right, all right. well maybe he needs to come over for some dinner or something. get some meat on those bones. anyway, did i tell you that your father has been scouring ebay trying to purchase sports cards with your car on it? well, he’s found ones with you on them too. he wants to make a booklet of his favorite kiddo. 

with that discovery, your heart swells, “is he really? tell him to look up topps chrome cards. those are the best ones. since i’m not as popular as max or lewis, they should be pretty cheap. and mom, i’m your only kiddo.” 

that’s why we’re so proud of you. even if you get into fist fights, we still love you bunches. when do you think you’ll come home? your dad wants to take you out in his baby. he’s made some modifications to it. he thinks you’ll appreciate it more than i will. 

“where is dad? is he asleep?” 

yes honey. he’s asleep. snoring away on the couch with the dogs. i wish we could give you a taste of home somehow. maybe i could have a care package sent to japan? 

“mom,” you exhale, “that would be so much money. don’t worry about it. were you guys considering flying out for miami?” 

oh yes, about that! you perk up in your chair, anticipating your mom’s response. we are going to be there. we can’t wait to see you. we miss you so much. it’s so quiet when you’re not home. will i be able to meet some of your coworkers? 

letting you a giggle, you shake your head, “mom. they’re my fellow drivers. we’re not coworkers. but yeah, i could probably introduce you to a few of them. daniel wants to meet you two.” 

what about that handsome fellow with the bright blue eyes? he drives for redbull! and yes, i would love to meet daniel. 

“max verstappen?” you arch a brow, “we’d have to see about that one. he’s a very busy man.” 

okay, okay. the line cuts out briefly. hey honey, i think i need to head to bed. i love you so much. keep in touch, okay? we’ll see you in a few short weeks. 

nibbling on your lower lip, you nod, “i love you too, mom. tell dad i love him. i miss you guys. i can’t wait to see you.” 

me either. goodnight honey, or good morning or afternoon or whatever time it is over there. i’ll text you when i wake up! love you. 

“love you,” your lip trembles, hands clamming up as you the line goes silent. 

fuck, were you homesick. 

you just had to make it a few more weeks. then, you could finally reunite with your parents in miami. although you knew you would be so fucking busy, you would make time. 

you always did when it came to your parents. 

also, you had another plan brewing as you scroll through your contact list, searching for a certain dutch assassin. a certain dutch man who happened to be a three-time world champion. 

somehow, someway, your mom was going to meet max verstappen. 

you had to make that happen. 

you had to. 

currently, you were sitting on the edge of a bed in a suite in london, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your driver. a decently-sized suitcase sat near the door, a carry-on stacked on top. 

this driver was provided specific instructions to transport you from london to brackley, dropping you off at the door of a certain team principal’s home. 

yet, you were well aware that it wasn’t going to be just any old home. 

this man was billionaire, after all. 

buzzing in your grasp, your phone notifies you of a new text. 

from none other than toto wolff. 

the driver is on the elevator, heading up towards your suite. DO NOT handle your bags. he will do that for you. i don’t want you to fuss over a single thing. from there, he will bring you here, where he will punch in the code for the gate. i will be waiting for you at the door. 

i can’t wait to see you, schatzi. i miss your beautiful face and sweet laughter. 

oh, and i can’t wait to kiss you. 

(and yes, i am pacing around in my office as i type this. i can’t focus on anything else but your arrival) 

with sazuka quickly approaching next week, you would only have a couple of days with the team principal before you had to part ways. he would have prep, meetings, press, where he would then fly out to sazuka. meanwhile, you would have to catch a flight, meet with your team, prep, and potentially meet with press, fans, and the other drivers. 

additionally, you had to address the incident that occurred last week at the australian grand prix. to your surprise, the fia had dismissed the investigation, finding no substantial evidence that the two of you needed to be punished. due to the nature of the accident, george was not punished, as he did no illegal maneuvers or intentionally attempted to take you out of the race. 

on the other hand, the fia was adamant that if this happened again, you were going to face consequences. you would have to shell out a pretty penny for fines, and then you would be immediately disqualified from three future races, deeming you unable to participate.

although they were merciful, the fia made it very clear that since it was your first offense, they were going to be fair.. 

however, if there was a next time, they would not be so kind. 

a crisp knock rang out, startling you. 

springing to your feet, you open the door, an older man smiling in greeting. 

“you must be golden girl,” sticking out his right hand, he dips his head, “i’m theodore. i’ll be your driver to brackley this evening. i am here to not only be your escort, but to tend to anything you may need. mr. wolff made it very clear that you were not to fret over a single thing.”

“good morning,” the corners of your lips curl into a quaint smile as you shake his hand, “thank you. i’m eager to see the english countryside.”

“i’ll handle your bags ma’am,” theodore clears his throat, “you just take it easy.”

“will do,” you nod, “how long is the drive?”

“about an hour and a half,” theodore responds curtly, slinging your carry-on around his shoulder, “don’t worry, it’s not too boring. follow me this way, my lady. our chariot awaits!”

following him down the hall, he presses the button for the elevator. there’s a silence between you, but not an uncomfortable one. theodore’s presence was warm, inviting even.

upon meeting him, you understood why he was toto’s right-hand driver. once he escorted you to the car, he opens the door for you, ushering you inside. when you settle into the backseat, you notice the glint of a redbull can, along with your favorite snacks and candy. 

“mr. wolff wanted to ensure you wouldn’t be hungry,” theodore states as he climbs into the driver’s seat, pressing the button for the ignition, “he told me that you can be a little cranky if you don’t have any snacks.”

“oh? he said that?” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “did he say anything else about me?”

“oh yes,” theodore chuckles, turning the gear shift, “he’s told me all about you. to be quite frank, he hasn’t shut up about you the last week or so.”

“so you know who i am?”

“of course i do,” theodore nods, flashing you a grin in the rearview mirror, “you’re one of the best formula one drivers on the grid. you drive for williams racing. you’ve only won one grand prix, but i believe you’ll win a few more this season. your hometown is in yuma, arizona. you’re twenty-two years old, and from what toto has shared with me, you have a very bright future ahead.”

“are you a formula one fan?” you arch a brow, punching open the can of redbull. 

“who isn’t?” he shrugs, “well, ms. golden girl, we are going to begin our journey. if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to speak up. if you’d like, you can tell me a little bit more about yourself. we will have plenty of time.”

as theodore promised, the drive to brackley was painless. yet, as the car pulls up to the gate, your heart skips a beat.

this was no quaint english cottage.

toto’s brackley residence was a sleek and sprawling two-story home, a black and white exterior with massive, thick windows. your jaw almost drops, and theodore notices, letting out a hearty laugh, “don’t act so shocked, golden girl. i’m sure you’re aware toto is a very wealthy man.”

“i thought he would have kept things somewhat simple.”

“oh love,” theodore shakes his head, “you and i both know that toto is anything but simple.”

rolling down the window, theodore punches in a code, the gate sliding open. as the car lurches up the drive, your heart thumps in your rib-cage, blood roaring in your ears. 

this was really happening. 

you were really staying with toto. 

“nervous?” theodore senses the shift in energy, “you have no reason to be nervous. he’s been anticipating your arrival. he’ll be happy to see you.”

“thank you,” you manage to muster a meek smile, “i-i just didn’t think we would get this far.”

“well savor the time together. time flies, especially in our world. one day you’re at a track, the next you’re in another country. he adores you, golden girl. so don’t you fret about that. just relax, and enjoy your time. i will be here in a couple of days to bring you to the airport for your departure to sazuka.” 

“thank you,” at his words, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief, “i look forward to our next drive together!”

“as do i,” shifting the gears, theodore puts the car in park, slipping out of the driver’s seat, “we have arrived. let me get your bags.”

he strolls over to your door, opening it as you clamber out, stretching your sore legs.

no matter how much time you spent in a car, there was always that persisting stiffness. 

you’d probably need a double-knee replacement by the time you were forty, but that was the least of your worries. 

out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure strolling towards the car. with the large stature, you knew it could only be one particular individual. 

he’s dressed in a royal blue button-up, paired with khaki slacks. on his feet are earth-toned dress shoes. the blue hue of the button-up complements his dark hair, almost brightening his features, giving them a youthful glow. tufts of his hair are all over as the wind blows. 

yet, he looks as gorgeous as ever, his toned muscles rippling under the thin fabric of the button-up. 

“welcome to brackley schatzi,” the grin enveloping his face is radiant, “i hope the drive wasn’t too bad.”

“not at all,” you shake your head, the team principal nearly sucking the wind out of your lungs as he wraps his arms around you, squishing you against his chest. 

“i missed you so much,” tender lips connect with your cheek, “good afternoon, theo! did she behave herself?”

“of course,” theodore promptly places your bag next to the entrance, suitcase in tow, “i have another commitment here soon, mr. wolff. i hope it is all right i placed her bags next to the door?” 

“don’t worry about it,” toto’s fingers find yours, intertwining them together, “i’ll get them. please drive safe, theo.”

“i will, mr. wolff,” theodore dips his head, turning to you, he takes your hand, shaking it, “it was lovely to meet you. i look forward to our next meeting, golden girl. enjoy your time together, you two!”

“we will,” toto squeezes your hand, “goodbye, theo.”

“goodbye, mr. wolff!” theodore spins on his heel, making his way to the car, “behave, you two!”

in response, toto gives a thumbs up, theodore slipping back into the driver’s seat. as he peels off, toto shifts his body, facing you.

“charming, isn’t he?”

“he’s great! kept me entertained the whole drive!”

“i told him you have a short attention span so to keep you occupied,” toto shooks you a wink, earning an eye roll. 

“i can’t stand you.”

“you’re standing right now, aren’t you?” his chuckle is light, “come, let’s head on in. i have lunch waiting for us.”

“you made me lunch?” 

“yes, i’m going to drive you all the way out here just so starve you,” he scoffs, yet his tone says otherwise, “i have food ready. and wine, if you want some.”

“don’t tell me you want to get me drunk so i’ll confess all my secrets.”

“consider that my new goal for the afternoon,” toto grabs your bag, along with your suitcase. pushing open the door, he clears his throat, “welcome to my home away from home.”

as you step in the entrance, your eyes widen, lips parting.  

the space was truly a reflection of toto. refined and elegant, with a hints of charm. the marble floors gleam under the soft lighting, rays of sun shining through the vast windows. the walls were covered in a menagerie of decor, from pieces of art to mercedes memorabilia. it was not the typical billionaire’s home, where the air felt sterile and cold. 

this place was warm and full of life, coaxing you to stay. 

“cat got your tongue?” his breath fans against your ear, a hand gliding along your back, “follow me, schatzi.”

“your home is beautiful.”

glancing over his shoulder, you are met with his gorgeous smile, dimples and all, “thank you, love. i’m glad you like it.”

trailing behind the austrian, you stroll down a long hallway, turning into the last room on the left. toto places your bag and suitcase next to a glass door, “this is my bedroom. you’ll be staying here with me.”

“straight to the bedroom huh?” you fold your arms across your chest, teasing, “you just couldn’t wait–”

“come here,” toto growls, hands grasping your wrists, bringing you in, “no, i can’t wait.”

looking up, you match his gaze, cocking your head, “what are you going to do about it?”

at your rebuttal, toto’s eyes narrow, “what do you think i’m going to do?”

“fuck me.”

“hmmmm,” he hums, leaning in, “you’re right, schatzi. i am going to fuck you. i’m going to fuck you till you’re weeping me for me to stop.”

“weeping?” your hands roam, tugging on his button-up, “i’d like to see you try.”

“oh schatzi,” he tsks, “you don’t know what you’re in for.”

“show me then.”

“i will,” lips ghost over yours, “i’ll show you how badly i missed you baby.”

as he kisses you, it’s tender at first, brimmed with the sweetness of reunion. one of his hands wraps around the base of your neck, tilting your head back as his tongue gains access to your mouth, the tang of redbull tracing your mouth. yet, as you whimper, a fiery hunger sets ablaze.

fuck, he missed you. 

he missed you more than he liked to admit.

tension hangs thick, clouding the space as his mouth places sloppy, wet kisses down your jawline, finding your neck. nipping gently, it takes every fiber in his being to resist the urge to just mark you all over. to leave marks where they could see. to make them wonder who was doing this to you.

but he couldn’t. not there. 

in response, your hips buck forward, grinding against his. toto groans, his head rolling back. 

there was not a single coherent thought in his mind. 

only lust. and fuck, was it consuming him whole. 

scooping you into his arms, he brings you over to the bed, your back meeting with the plush mattress. 

“i can’t wait,” he pants, chest heaving, “i can’t wait any longer. i need you.”

“then take me,” your words drip like honey, oh so sweet, “make me yours, toto.”

jesus fucking christ.

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. right here, right now.

there was no going back. 

he ached for it. he yearned for it. the fantasy flooded his dreams at night.

the things he wanted to do to you? 

downright filthy. sinful, even 

he couldn’t lose his inhibitions. not yet. he had to hang on. 

however, at this point, toto was hanging on by a thread. 

peeling your leggings and panties off, he tosses them to the floor, “sit up.”

you obey, nearly trembling with anticipation as fingertips hook the hem of your crewneck, pulling it over your head. nimbly, he hovers over you, finding the clasps of your bra. he undoes them, a crimson hue dusting his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you completely naked beneath him. 

god, you were absolutely breathtaking. 

every inch of you was stunning. every scar. every mole. every freckle. every stretch mark. 

you were so fucking beautiful. 

his hands fly to his button-up, eager for what was to come. 

yet, your hands find his, “let me.”

toto bites his tongue as you carefully undo the buttons of his shirt, his cock twitching, aching for your touch as your fingers delve towards his belt. you unbuckle it, tilting your head back, batting your thick lashes.

fuck. fuck. fuck. 

could this moment last forever? 

“toto.”

“yes?”

“i-i don’t know if i can take it all,” there’s apprehension inflected in your tone, almost as if you were embarrassed, “to be honest, i’ve never–”

oh god. 

this was going to ruin him.

just like he was going to ruin you.

“don’t worry,” a tender hand cups your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone, “i’ll go slow. i won’t make you take it all. i’ll take care of you baby, i promise.”

you nod, lips pursed as you tug on his slacks, hooking the hem of his boxers, “you’re just so fucking big. like holy shit.”

pride swells within the austrian for a moment, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, “i promise you that it’s not as big as you think.”

“can i see for myself?” the question is so innocent, so pure. 

yeah, he was going to ruin you.

he was going to make a mess out of you. 

“lay down schatzi,” he orders, authority oozing into the words. 

kicking off his slacks, he curses slightly as his boxers stick around one of his ankles. this wasn’t going to be perfect, but he wanted it to be. for you. 

he wanted this to be a moment you remembered for the rest of your life. he wanted this memory to fill your thoughts every second of every day. he wanted you to touch yourself to this, desperate and oh so wet, throbbing for him. yearning for his mouth. for his touch. for him.

carefully, he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. as you look down, you can feel his gaze searing into you, burning right through. 

his cock was far bigger than your fantasies. it was thick, approximately eight or nine inches. you couldn’t tell. his tip was tinged pink, the glisten of precum catching in the light. veins wrapped around the length, throbbing as your hand wrapped around its base.

“fuck,” as he moans, you lick your lips, realizing how much you loved the sound that just filled your ears, “let me feel you, please.”

“please toto.”

swallowing thickly, he inhales sharply as he positions his tip at your entrance. applying pressure, a whimper rings out as he pushes in, your walls stretching. 

your pussy was heaven. absolutely perfect as it wrapped around his cock, begging for more as he pushed further and further. you were absolutely drenched, the juices slick and oh so sickeningly sweet. he didn’t even have to taste you to know. he just knew you were sweet. like pure ambrosia. 

perhaps he could get a taste.

“toto,” your lashes flutter, his name so perfect from your lips, “you feel–”

“your pussy is perfect,” he finds a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of your tight hole, “absolutely perfect baby. fuck, you’re perfect.”

skin connects with skin, the temperature of the room elevated as his hands found yours, pinning them to the bed. lips collide, the kisses desperate, hungry and bursting with need. as he picks up the pace, moans fill his mouth. 

fuck, it felt like he was going to split you into two. 

“t-toto,” there it was again, his name. music to his ears.

“yes baby?” a sheen of sweat clings to his forehead, tufts of hair dampened, “what is it? does it hurt? do you need me to slow down?”

“no. fuck me. just fuck me.”

oh god. 

oh, fuck. 

his cock twitches, the pleasure building in your abdomen as the tip brushes your g-spot, back arching, begging to be closer. closer to him.

could you be any closer to him in this moment? was it even possible?

before you know it, his arms wrap around your frame, picking you up off the mattress. he holds you close to his chest, one hand holding your head, cupping the back of your skull. the other remains on your lower back, gripping you tightly as the new angle sends bliss rippling all throughout your body.

he fucks you, and god there was no holding back. his cock was pounding into you now, showing no mercy. your ass slaps against his thighs, filthy noises flooding the space. 

as you bounce, you tense, your walls practically squeezing him, “toto, oh my god, i’m going–”

“good girl,” his coos, “be a good girl, baby. cum for me.”

as you get closer and closer, toto watches. fuck, the way your lips were parted ever so slightly. the way hairs clung to your forehead. the way your lashes fluttered. all he could see was pleasure. pure, intense pleasure. 

you unravel, coming undone. 

that sight alone was enough to make him cum.

“come here,” toto hisses through gritted teeth, “come here baby.”

the moment his lips mold with yours, you feel his cock throb, pumping threads of cum into your weeping hole. your muscles spasm, shuddering as he pulls out. 

the two of you study one another for a moment, catching your breath. fingertips brush stray hairs from your temple. 

“i’m sorry.”

“for?” you nuzzle into his collarbone, relishing the way his cologne lingered, mixing with his natural scent. 

“going too far.”

“that was not too far.”

tenderly, the austrian pulls you down with him, letting out a sigh as his head hits the pillow. your head remains against his chest, admiring the definition and tone for a moment. he peppers kisses along your forehead, browbone, and cheeks. 

“if i ever go too far, let me know.”

“i think we’re both in too deep,” you murmur, “you’re lucky you had the blinds drawn.” 

“that would be something,” his chest vibrates as he speaks, “could you imagine? some random mercedes intern witnessing the team principal fucking the most beautiful woman on the planet?”

however, a gleam catches your eye.

on his left ring finger, your heart sinks as you notice the ring. 

his wedding band.

toto senses your silence, the way you tensed up against him, “what is it schatzi?”

“why are you still wearing your wedding band?”

oh, so you had noticed.

“it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” your voice falters as you prop yourself up with your elbow so you could meet his gaze, “you’re wearing your fucking wedding ring. it’s not that complicated.”

“yes, i am, wearing my ring,” he exhales, “would you prefer me to take it off? it has no meaning anymore. susie and i are divorced. we finalized it last december. when we signed the papers, we made a mutual agreement to wear our wedding bands when we were in the public eye. it keeps the speculations at bay. it’s mostly for the sake of my children. and for her sake. we respect one another and i would hate for her hard work to be diminished by rumors and gossip.”

although his words were sincere, your heart races still, anxiety a swirling torrent in your stomach, “how long have you been separated?”

“almost three years. we separated in july of 2021.” 

“oh,” you suck in a breath, shame washing over you, “i-i’m sorry for the sudden questions. i just–”

“it would complicate your feelings for me. and no one wants too mess around with a married man. i get it baby, i really do.”

although he provided a very base-level explanation of his failed marriage, toto was more than willing to go into more depth. that is, if you wanted. more than anything, he wanted you to know. that aspect was becoming increasingly frustrating, as the team principal tried to maintain that dominant, bold, persona.

you were making him weak. his little soft spot. 

well, not so little these days. 

“i cannot stand how well you read me,” rolling your eyes, you turn your back to him.

“don’t turn your back on me now,” he tsks, “do you believe me, schatzi?”

“i don’t think you could ever lie to me.”

“i couldn’t,” toto leans over, placing soft kisses all over your shoulders, “i think it would destroy me. the guilt would be too much to bear.”

“if we’re spilling secrets now,” you roll over, face-to-face once again, “i have another question for you.”

“all right.”

“why did you approach james about my contract behind my back?” 

for once, the team principal is caught by surprise, his heart skipping a beat. 

the hurt plastered across your features is clear, your brows furrowed, eyes narrowed. there’s a glimmer of anguish in their depths, slightly glossy from the threat of tears. 

“i wanted to gauge how he felt if you were to leave williams,” that was the truth, really, no other intentions behind it, “he was not too keen to discuss it, but i just wanted to know how upset he would be if you were to sign with another team. i did it for you, to soften the blow.”

“soften the blow?”

“yes,” toto nods, “to soften the blow when you tell him you’re leaving williams and signing with mercedes.”

“you don’t know that for–”

“but i do,” his voice hardens, “i do know. we can’t just lay here and deny that in your heart, you want to be with me at mercedes. you’ve made the decision already. you just haven’t figured out how you’re going to approach james, alex, or your team.”

biting your tongue, you turn your head, averting his gaze.

toto was right. you had made your decision. 

it was just a matter of time before you had to face the facts. 

“i’m right, aren’t i?” 

“you are,” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut, “i-i just don’t know how to tell everyone. i don’t know how to tell my parents. i don’t know how to bring it up to james. it’s just so.. fuck. it’s so fucking overwhelming to think about.”

“then let me help you.”

“how?” you inquire, “how would you possibly do that?”

“i’ll keep my distance from here on out, but i will help you draft up a letter that you can give to james. or, i can help you practice what you’re going to say. just let me help you schatzi,” fingers grasp your chin, turning your head. 

“you hear me? i’ll help you.”

“can we just worry about it later?” 

“of course,” strong arms envelop your frame, drawing you in against his body, “for now, we can snuggle. would you like that?”

“i would.”

your tough exterior completely crumbles as his mouth hovers by your ear, murmuring words in german. desperately, you ache to know what he said. was it something important? or just sweet nothings? 

sometimes he was a difficult man to decipher.

“hey, have you opened that gift yet? the one i brought to you in jeddah?”

“no,” you admit, heat billowing into your cheeks, “i have a hard time accepting gifts.”

“clearly.”

before you can respond, he’s up from the bed, strolling over to your bags. unzipping your carry-on, he searches for that parcel. fishing it out of your bag, he sets in on the bed, sliding on his boxers before plopping it in front of you.

“open it. right now.”

“right now?” you echo, “toto, i–”

“open it.”

“fine,” nimbly, your fingers untie the bow, peeling away the wrapper. 

underneath the paper, there is a tiny velvet box. it’s long and slender, rectangular in shape.

“what is this?”

“open it and you’ll know,” toto urges, following your every move, anticipating your reaction.

opening the box, your heart swells at the sight before you.

it’s a bracelet, a dainty figaro chain, complete with a charm. the charm is an outline of the saudi arabian track. picking it up, you inspect it, noticing a date engraved on the backside of the charm. 

“how were you able to get this so quickly after the race?” 

“i have my ways,” toto bears a sheepish grin, “do you like it?”

“like it? i love it.”

well, you didn’t love it. you fucking adored it. it was perfect, and so you. it was something that you could wear everyday, a constant reminder of the years of effort to get you here. not to mention it was gorgeous, the chain shiny, freshly polished. 

a hand reaches out, plucking the chain from the box. his brows are knit together with concentration as he slips the chain around your wrist, ensuring it’s safely clasped.

“i figured it would be something you could always wear. a reminder of when you made history.”

“it’s beautiful,” sitting up, you shift your weight to your knees as you wrap your arms around his neck, “thank you, toto.”

“always, schatzi. don’t worry, i will always spoil you.”

as toto nuzzles into the crook of your neck, he was well aware of one thing.

you had made your decision. 

you hadn’t outright said it, but he knew you made your decision. 

you would be signing to mercedes for the 2025 season. 

you were finally going to be by his side every day. 

there was no more in-between. no more will she or won’t she. no more nights of him lying awake, wondering where you stood. no more driving himself insane pondering all of the possibilities that could unravel. 

he had you. 

you were all his now. 

and god, did that leave such a sweet taste in his mouth. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @joalslibrary @martwll @prettiest-at-the-party @pucksandpower @kravitzwhore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @annewithaneofthegreengable @persona1lies @zoeyjadetice2010 @whoisss @sinners-98-world

if i missed anyone, please let me know! also, you are more than welcome to be added to the taglist! thank you for reading! <3

[purplecoffee13]

Kisses to my exes*

Wc: 1k

Warnings: SMUT, dirty talk, degradation, toxic (ex)relationship, Harry being a cocky asshole (what else is new in my fics)

A/N: Hi, so I wrote this blurb a couple of days ago and it was just kinda sitting in my drafts… but sharing is caring so here ya go🤭 enjoy

General Masterlist

Blurb Masterlist

Y/N had sworn last time was truly the last time she'd ever do this, and she had meant it when she said it to Harry. So where it really went wrong she couldn't quite place, but she reckoned it had something to do with the amount of drinks she'd downed after spotting him at that bar tonight.

Harry and Y/N broke up three years ago; different aspirations and such. However, since then, she ran into him at least three times a year, and somehow it would always be the exact times she was finally moving on with someone else.

The first time she ended up in his bed when she was really not supposed to, was about two and a half years ago. She'd had a bad date, ran into him, and that was that. A minor slip-up, she figured. Only it didn't stop there.

Any time she ran into him in a bar, she'd somehow always end up in his bed. It was a curse, she concluded about a year and a half ago. It was the universe fucking with her for whatever evil thing she had probably done in the past.

When about four months ago she ran into Harry again, she truly thought it would pan out differently. After all, she'd been dating a very nice guy for about a month at the time, and it was going really well. And still... still she ended up waking up in his goddamn bed the next morning. She broke up with the other guy that same week, feeling absolutely horrible about what she had done. Right then and there, she decided that that was the last time. Harry was making a bad person out of her and she needed to put an end to the madness.

When she saw Harry tonight and decided to approach him, it wasn't at all with the intention to end up with him drilling into her, but the exact opposite. She found him outside, smoking a cigarette, and when he flashed that signature smile of his at her, she couldn't help but march towards her ex.

"I just want you to know that I hate you, and I'm done with you." She grumbled, pointing an accusatory finger at him. His eyebrows raised slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging up. It frustrated her that he clearly didn't seem to take her seriously.

He'd only nodded, muttered an 'alright', and Y/N had found herself stunned. She'd expected him to argue with her; just have at least some sort of reaction. But he didn't, not really, so she walked into the bar and began to drink the embarrassment away.

After her third drink, Y/N excused herself from her friends and went to the bathroom. Upon returning, a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the wall.

"What the fuck was that?" Harry growled at her, and Y/N smiled, glad to finally have an ounce of emotion from his side.

"I told you, I'm done with you and this back and forth bullshit." She said proudly, but Harry didn't look the slightest bit convinced. She swallowed when he leaned in closer, his hand inching up her inner thigh.

"Are you?" He tilted his head, fingers grazing over her increasingly wet panties. She still got soaked easily at the sight of him, even the smell of his perfume could make her go crazy. Y/N didn't dare to move or to speak, hoping he would continue his movements. Unfortunately for her, he backed off.

"I'm going home." He said in a bored tone, and turned around to walk back into the crowd and probably to the exit. Y/N blinked for a couple of seconds before turning on her heels and following Harry. She took a de-tour, saying she was going to smoke a cigarettes with a friend she'd ran into, and headed for the exit.

And now she was in his car, bouncing on his cock and fogging up the windows. Her tits pressing against Harry's face, she moved with a determination to please him. She'd always had that when it came to him. It felt good to make him feel good. She let out a string of moans at each thrust, feeling him deep inside her belly.

"Good girl." He grunted, the vibration running over her chest, and she gasped at the sting on her right ass cheek. Eyes rolling into the back of her head, she savored the burn, and took the brunt of another one.

"I'm gonna cum—" she whined, her eyes fluttering shut as she began to increase her movements. Y/N's fingers moved down to her clit, and she began rubbing on it intensely as she began to chase her orgasm.

"Of course you are." Harry said with such confidence that it could've singlehandedly buckled Y/N's knees. "You always do with me, it's why you keep coming back."

A high pitched moan escaped her throat, trying to handle the physical sensation and the putty that her mind would turn into whenever Harry spoke with those dirty words of his. Another slap hit her cheek.

"You know it's true, you can't get enough of my cock, baby." He said over the sounds of Y/N's approaching orgasm. She swore the car was moving along with them.

"Doesn't matter if you tell me it's the last time, or that you're done with me, you always end up letting me fuck you stupid anyway." He rasped, and it was enough for Y/N to fall apart. She cried out, the high hitting her like a goddamn truck, and she gushed all over his legs. Her breathing was erratic and heavy, and she was not at all prepared for Harry to suddenly start thrusting up into her.

"You always come back to me. Wanna know what I think of that?" He asked, voice surprisingly stoic despite the heavy movements. Y/N felt like she was going cross-eyed. She was so sensitive, but this was typical Harry; always pushing her limit. Gathering every ounce of energy she had left, she muttered out:

"W— what?"

Harry's lips pulled up into a shit eating grin, looking up at her with those irresistible green eyes of his.

"I think that means you're mine, forever."

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