sstan-hoe

[sstan-hoe]

I'm Yours

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.7k words. Joel comes to you after he's injured. The next day he gets jealous. Part of the Hard Bargain series.

RATING: E. Rough sex. Blow job. Power dynamics. Dirty talk. Light D/s. Praise Kink. Jealousy. Possessiveness.

A/N: My week has sucked so far so I wrote myself a pick-me-up.

You’re almost asleep when you hear the knock.

Three times, sharp and controlled. Then silence.

You don’t bother asking who it is. You already know.

You open the door and Joel’s standing there, soaked in sweat, one hand braced on the frame. His shirt is dark with blood, stuck to his ribs in a way that says this isn’t new — it’s been bleeding a while. His jaw’s tight. His eyes aren’t glassy, but they’re close.

“Jesus,” you whisper. “What the fuck happened?”

“Didn’t go clean,” he mutters. “Didn’t go bad either.”

He stumbles forward and doesn’t wait for permission. You grab his arm and feel the heat coming off him like fire under skin. He doesn’t pull away. You kick the door shut behind him and steer him toward the cot.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. “You should be at-”

“I’m not goin’ to them.”

You stare.

His eyes flick to yours, hard and final.

“I came here.”

That lands heavier than it should. You say nothing, just nod. You help him sit down.

Joel breathes like every rib’s bruised. You tug his jacket off slowly. Then his shirt. It peels from his body with a sticky, wet sound; half-dried blood soaked through the fabric, torn just under the ribs.

He winces, not much, just a little. The wound isn’t deep but it’s ugly. You grab the bottle of antiseptic and a rag. Your hands shake. He watches.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Typical.”

You don’t look at him. You clean him in silence. You dab the rag along the bloodied edges, press into the cut just enough to make him hiss.

“Hold still,” you say.

He does, but his hand clamps around your wrist anyway. Not to stop you, not to guide you. Just to feel you there. You don’t pull away.

“You gonna sew it?” he asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

That gets a huff, half a laugh.

“You gonna let me bleed out, sweetheart?”

“You’re not bleeding out. You’re just being a stubborn asshole.”

He doesn’t argue. You press a clean cloth against the wound, hard enough to make him grunt, and tape it down tight. You don’t ask what cut him, or who. Or why he came here, bleeding, instead of to one of the medics.

You already know the answer. He trusts them with stitches, but he trusts you with the rest.

Joel stands slow, ribs stiff. His chest is still bare. Scarred. Strong. His eyes linger on you longer than they should.

“You done?”

“For now.”

He nods once, then he leaves. No thank you, no explanation.

He leaves blood on your floor, and something in the way he looked at you that says this isn’t over.

- 

You feel him before you hear him. The weight of him in the stairwell. The heat of his stare at your back all day.

You knew he saw it. The way that smuggler - Kevin, or Kit, or whatever — leaned in a little too close when he dropped off the parcel. The way he laughed at something you said. The way his hand brushed your hip like he had the fucking right.

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t flirt. But you didn’t stop him fast enough.

Joel sees everything.

You lock the door that night but it doesn’t matter. Joel doesn’t knock.

He opens it with the spare key you didn’t know he had, steps inside like he belongs there, and shuts it behind him with the softest click you’ve ever heard.

You don’t even turn around. You just stand there, still and waiting.

“Wasn’t anything,” you say.

Silence.

“I didn’t touch him. Didn’t want to.”

Still nothing.

Then: his boots, heavy and slow as he crosses the floor until he’s behind you, close enough to feel the heat of his breath when he says:

“You let him look.”

You swallow. His hand comes up to your throat - not tight, not squeezing - just resting there, thumb stroking the hollow like he’s deciding if he’s going to crush it or kiss it.

“You wore that shirt on purpose,” he mutters. “You wanted the attention.”

“No,” you say quietly. “I wanted yours.”

That breaks something.

He grabs you - one hand in your hair, the other already shoving down your waistband. He bends you over the table, presses your cheek to the wood.

“No one touches you,” Joel growls. “No one fucking sees you.”

He rips your shirt up, bites down on your shoulder - teeth and heat and bruising pressure. You moan, long and loud.

He shoves two fingers into your cunt without warning. You’re soaked already. His fingers curl up and fuck into you hard, fast, brutal.

“Already wet?” he growls. “You like bein’ punished, that it?”

You gasp, legs shaking.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you choke.

His belt’s undone behind you. You hear the zipper. Feel the thick heat of him rubbing against your ass.

“You’re not a reward,” he hisses. “You’re mine.”

Then he slams into you. One long, brutal thrust that punches the air out of your lungs.

You don’t scream. You can’t. His hand is over your mouth now, fucking you deep and punishing, his breath hot against your neck.

You claw at the table, arching your back into him. Joel keeps going, keeps claiming.

“You let him look,” he grits. “So now I fuck it out of you.”

Joel doesn’t slow down.

His hips drive into you again and again, unforgiving, mean. Your nails dig into the wood, your cheek sticks to the table, breath fogging with every ragged exhale.

His hand stays over your mouth, not just to quiet you, but to own you. To remind you who’s in control.

“Could’ve stopped him,” he growls. “Could’ve told him no right off.”

You try to shake your head, to say you did, to say he meant nothing, but Joel just thrusts deeper, and your breath vanishes into his palm.

He leans in close, voice hot at your ear:

“But you didn’t.”

You moan. It’s muffled, wet.

He pulls his hand away just enough for you to breathe and speak.

“You’re the only one,” you gasp. “The only one who gets this.”

Joel grunts. His hand slides up to your throat again, tilting your head back.

“Say it better.”

Your thighs are shaking. You’re sopping wet. The table creaks under both of you.

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

His thrusts get rougher, faster.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Joel.”

“That’s right.”

He lets go of your neck just long enough to pull your wrists behind your back, pinning them with one big hand, and fucks into you like you asked for this. Like you begged for it.

“You think he could fuck you like this?” he snarls.

“No,” you whimper.

“You think he could make you this wet?”

“No—fuck—only you—”

You’re close, so fucking close. Joel knows it. He pulls out suddenly and you cry out, back arching, empty and aching. Then his hand is on your throat again, turning you, dragging you to the floor.

You land on your knees. He fists your hair, presses his cock to your tongue.

“Open.”

You do.

He pushes into your mouth with a groan, not slow this time, not careful. You taste yourself on him, feel him use your throat with the same pace he fucked your cunt.

“Take it,” he growls. “You’re mine to fuck. Mine to fill.”

You choke. Gasp. Drool spilling down your chin.

But you take it. Because it’s him. Because you want this. Because you’re his.

He comes with a snarl, cock buried in your throat, his come flooding your mouth in hot, pulsing waves. You swallow everything. He pulls out slowly, panting, wrecked.

When he looks at you - flushed, ruined, still on your knees - he doesn’t say a word.

He just tilts your chin up with one rough knuckle and nods.

Your breath won’t even out.

You’re on your knees, body slick with sweat and spit and everything he poured into you. Your wrists are sore from where he held them, your throat raw from how deep he took you, and your cunt still pulses with the aftershock of being filled and left empty.

Joel hasn’t moved, not far.

He’s crouched in front of you now, jeans undone, sweat cooling on his chest, eyes unreadable.

He lifts a hand to your face. You flinch before you mean to, just a twitch. A flicker of tension under your skin.

His fingers pause, then they move again, slower. He wipes the spit from your cheek, traces the line of your jaw.

“You alright?” he asks.

His voice is lower now, bare. Almost uncertain. You nod, slow and careful.

He huffs.Then he stands.

You expect him to walk away. You expect the sound of a belt buckle, the door, a muttered see you around.

Instead, he reaches for a rag from the crate in the corner. He runs it under what’s left of the clean water. He kneels again and wipes you down.

He starts at your chin. Then your lips, then lower. You stay still, watching him.

“You mad?” you ask, quietly.

“No.”

His voice is rough, like gravel.

“You sure?”

He doesn’t answer. He wraps your wrists next - not tight, not medical. Just covered, protected. Like he didn’t mean to mark them the way he did. Like he doesn’t want anyone else to see it.

When he’s done, he lets your hands rest in your lap.

Then he sits beside you on the floor, back against the wall. Close enough that your bare shoulder brushes his.

You don’t move.

“Didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Joel says finally.

You nod.

“I know.”

His jaw clenches. You can hear it in the silence.

“I don’t... have a lot,” he says. “Ain’t got much to offer.”

You turn your head, looking at him.

“You gave me everything.”

He looks back. His hand moves. He reaches, settling on your thigh.

“Just don’t wanna lose it,” he mutters.

You know he’s not just talking about your body. You cover his hand with yours, leting it stay there.

Neither of you speak. The silence isn’t empty anymore. It’s full. It’s heavy with everything he hasn’t said, and everything you finally understand.

When he eventually leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed, you let yours rest on his shoulder.

He doesn’t leave. And this time, you don’t want him to.

❤️

[sstan-hoe]

After Hours

Summary: Joel Miller was a very successful businessman, and you just worked for him. Then one night the two of you stay late, and make use of an empty building.

Warnings: mature content, explicit content, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, submissive reader, dominant Joel, minor spanking, dirty talk

A/N: Hi my lovelies it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything on here, but I’ve just been really busy and couldn’t find the time to write. Hope I still have your love and support, and that y’all continue to enjoy my work! Hope you guys are still obsessing over Daddy a.k.a Pedro pascal. Reblog and comment if you like it they would be greatly appreciated and encouraged. If you have any notes or tips or something nice to say about my work don’t hesitate to express it! Always show support for your fellow writers. If you wish to be added to a tag list let your girl know! Thanks everyone! Enjoy! XOXO

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

Hall Of Hunks

The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the click of your heels echoing against the polished floor. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, but you stayed. You always stayed. And tonight, so did he.

Joel leaned in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. "You're still here," he said, voice low and a little rough.

Looking up from your screen, smirking. "So are you."

“Touché.” He stepped into your office slowly, as if crossing some invisible line. "I could say I forgot something, but that wouldn't be true."

You stood still, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Then what is true?"

"That I wanted to see what would happen if we were the last two in the building."

Silence stretched between the two of you, thick with anticipation. The tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither of you blinked as his eyes remained glued to yours.

Crossing the space between the both of you, stopping just shy of touching. "And?"

“I didn’t think anything was going to happen.” His fingers brushed your hip, feather-light. "I guess we could find out."

You didn't stop him when he leaned in. When your mouths met, it wasn't tentative . It was the kind of kiss that made time irrelevant. Hands explored, breath hitched, and the sharp thrill of being somewhere you shouldn't only made it more intoxicating.

It was a moment suspended between rules and desire, and you both knew that you had crossed the line long before the door clicked shut behind you.

Clothes ripped off and thrown across the room with in seconds, as your naked bodies fell down on the leather couch on the other side. You on top hovering over his body slightly hesitating on if you really wanted to do this or not.

Joel could sense your worry and reached a hand up to grab your face, and pull your lips back to his. Groaning in your mouth in the most sensual way possible. That was all it took for you to gain more confidence.

“It’s just you and me.” His hand gripping the base as he rubbed it up and down your folds. A shiver running up your spine as he pushed the tip slowly inside you.

“That’s it baby girl, that’s a good girl.” Soft praises echoing in your ear as you slowly sank down his erect cock. His soft hands caressing your skin so delicately. “You feelin all of me?”

“Mhm.” Struggling to speak just one word concentrating on adjusting around his thickness. Twisting your face in an unusual manner causing him to softly chuckle at how cute and hot you looked at the same time.

“Cat got your tongue baby? Can you not speak?” His tone playful and low.

“Joel please.” Whimpering pathetically as you continued to grind your hips back and forth. Joel loved to see how desperate you were for him.

“You like fucking your bosses? Does the thought make your cunt wet? Huh?” His words repeating over and over in your brain as they got more filthy. “Bet that cunt has been dripping everyday for me.”

Joel loved the feeling of your skin touching his. The way your body molded perfectly against his. Like two magnets connecting together. A powerful and intimidating man holding you like a delicate glass cup. Joel was enjoying this way more than what he thought he would, and he was never going to let you go.

“Fuck you are tight.” Large hands holding the fat flesh of your behind squeezing your cheeks in his palm. Feeling so warm and incredibly deep. “Such a shame you haven’t been fucked properly.”

Nodding your head in complete agreement still unable to form a complete sentence. Wrapping your hands around his neck softly, beginning to tremble as you moved your legs to raise yourself better. Joel helping guide your hips so you never lost your rhythm.

“Take it easy baby girl, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He teased as you started to struggle bouncing up and down. A hand coming down swiftly on your backside in warning, but you never flinched.

“I can do it Joel.” Reassuring him with your glazed out eyes, as he smirked up at you loving the wicked gleam in your eyes. “You’re just so fucking big.”

“Fuck.” That was music to his ears as he wrapped his arms around your back pulling your chest on top of his. Hearing those words sounded like a challenge to him, and did he love a good challenge.

Gasping as he lifted his knees up, and started to pound up into your cunt with no mercy. His warm lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. His hands keeping a firm grip on your ass using it as leverage.

His pelvic hair brushing against your exposed clit it had your thighs shaking aggressively. Joel feeling this smacked a hand against your lower thigh.

“Oh my god.” Crying out so loud that if anyone was on the floor above or below you would definitely hear.

“Nobody else could ever make you feel like this.” Hissing in your ear, and in just mere seconds tears are glistening in your eyes. “My cock, and my cock only can make you feel this good.”

“Yes sir.” Dropping your voice when saying sir, and something switched in Joel’s eyes when you called him that.

Suddenly your body was being grabbed and flipped onto your back. Your skin smacking against the warm leather sticking to your skin. Pulling your legs over both his shoulders, getting right back into the same rhythm.

Drilling into your sweet spot over and over again. Face leaning forward slightly just enough to where your lips couldn’t reach his. Joel always just oozed with confidence whether it was during a business meeting or in the bedroom. A bit surprised a wealthy, attractive man like him would go after with much lower status.

“I’m so close.” Quickly informing him as your body started to tremble. A fire igniting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy as you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Let go baby girl I’m right here.” Cooing softly in your ear like he was telling a secret. His deep and seductive voice was sending you right over the edge.

“Oh fuck fuck.” Crying out as your orgasm was rapidly approaching. Joel looking down at the remarkable expression on your face. Loving that he was the one in control for your pleasure. It made him feel like he was invincible.

“Fucking cum around my cock.” Commanding as he gritted his teeth as a hand reached down to your connected bodies rubbing your puffy clit. Rapid circles around your neck causing you to scream as your hands scratched down his back leaving marks.

Your ribcage falling and rising with each unsteady breath you took. Hands falling down to your sides loose and numb. Stomach trembling from your euphoric orgasm you just received. Your battered cunt was feeling sore and thoroughly stretched from his cock. His hands stroking your thighs soothingly waiting for you to come down from your high.

“I’m so glad you decided to stay after hours.” He chuckled to which you laughed shaking your head.

Then a soft knock came from the door both of you looking over your eyes going wide. “Umm when you guys are done in there, I was wondering if I could get my folder I left on your desk.”

[sstan-hoe]

what you can't have | part 4

Pairing: Cameraman! Joel x Reality Star! Reader

Summary: Hooking up with your cameraman is the last thing you should be doing as the lead of Mr. Right. But when Joel Miller is assigned to be your personal shadow, it's impossible to deny your attraction. He's the guy you want, and the only one on set that you can't have.

Chapter content warnings: 18+ ONLY. Dirty talk, pining, oral sex (f! recieveing), Joel calls you a slut, reader gets handsy at one point

Word Count: ~6.4K

A/N: New banner, who this? Enjoy this filthy chapter <3

AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | First Chapter

Joel Miller slams on the horn of his truck with all the frustration of a man who knows he’s done for.

Sure enough, the Jag still cuts him off, stopping short before the crosswalk as the light turns yellow to red.

Goddamn L.A. idiots.

Like he’s trying to prove Joel right, the driver of the Jag sticks his middle finger out the window. Joel leans on the horn again, telling himself this tool in the muscle car is all that’s got him bothered.

But then he hears your name on the radio. The hosts are filling airtime arguing about Mr. Right, and somebody - probably Tess - has hinted to the press that you might be the next Dream Girl.

You’re everywhere, your lust-drunk eyes glowing neon in Joel’s mind.

He wants to keep last night perfect, laid out exactly as it happened. But he’s revisited it a hundred times by now, wearing creases over the soft sounds you make when you’re close, and he knows already that the memory is ruined.

He can never hold on to good things for long.

You’re toying with him, he knows, chasing after him for the fun of it. You confirmed as much last night. But maybe Joel is a sucker for punishment, because it’s killing him, the thought that you might want him in your warm, wet mouth.

Joel’s cock twitches. He tightens his grip on the wheel. Idiot.

The light turns green. The Jag roars through the intersection. Joel shuts off the radio and drives on in silence.

He’s barely pulled up to Tommy’s place when the front door opens and Sarah runs to the car. She’s got her backpack in one hand and two napkin-wrapped pop-tarts in the other.

Joel eyes the pastries as she clambers into the passenger seat.

“You abandoning the food pyramid?”

Sarah shrugs. “Aunt Maria had to leave for work early, so Tommy made breakfast.”

“Tried real hard, did he?”

“He toasted them, if that’s what you mean.” Sarah holds out a pop-tart. “Brown sugar cinnamon?”

He grunts in surrender and accepts the pastry. “Seat belt.”

Sarah straps in, and he pulls out of the driveway. It’s barely a ten-minute drive to her school, but it’s one of Joel’s only chances to see her during filming.

“It’s going ok then,” he asks, “staying with Tommy?”

Sarah replies through a mouthful of crumbs. “S’good. I like going in the pool.”

“You sure? Cause if you wanna stay home I can find a sitter until the season wraps.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow. “Did Tess give you a raise I don’t know about?”

“That ain’t nothing for you to worry about, kid.”

“So it is something for me to worry about?”

Joel rolls his eyes. “You’re getting too smart for your own good.”

Sarah wrinkles her forehead. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“For my good, then.”

Sarah props her converse up on the dash. Golden yellow. They match her North Hollywood Prep tee.

Joel nudges her feet back down. “You got that dance team audition today, right? Feel good about it?”

“I told you, I did it last year so it’s like I’m on the squad already. But Tommy still wants to celebrate after.”

Sarah glances at Joel, and her voice wavers as she continues. “He said you might be getting off early today.”

Joel’s heart sinks. Tommy’s got no business getting her hopes up like that.

“’S only a possibility, kiddo.”

Sarah crumples up the paper towel in her lap. “Okay.”

Joel reaches across the console to squeeze her hand. “I’m gonna try my best to make it, but it might be out of my control.”

“I get it, Dad. It’s okay.” She looks out the window.

There’s a knot in Joel’s chest. She deserves so much better than him.

“Wanna listen to music or something?”

Sarah turns to him. “Will you let me pick for once? Since you feel bad for being negligent?”

“Damn, kid, my filming schedule is hard enough without you using five-dollar words to twist the knife.” Joel stops at an intersection and sighs. “But yeah, play whatever you want.”

Sarah beams, then rummages through the CDs Joel keeps in the console. “Got it!”

She chooses Summerbash. Of course she does.

The album cover teases Joel from the corner of his eye. A photo of you naked but for a few soap suds. His mind is all too happy to remind him what’s underneath.

Sarah misreads his scowl.

“Yeah, it sucks compared to her first album, but some of the beats are good! Julie wants to choreograph to them for the halftime show.”

She pops the disc in the ancient car stereo, and your voice fills the cab of the truck. You’ve been autotuned beyond recognition, but Joel’s pulse speeds up all the same.

He’s so fucked.

Sarah holds up the CD case, looking sideways at Joel. “I read a spoiler that she’s the Dream Girl you’re filming. Is it true?”

Joel taps his thumb on the steering wheel, checking his blind spot as he changes lanes.

“You know I ain’t allowed to tell you things like that.”

“She is, isn’t she? You must be flipping shit.”

“Language.”

 “Okay, flipping out.”

“’m not flipping anything. It doesn’t matter to me who the Dream Girl is. She goes on dates, and I point the camera. Same as every other season.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. “You’re being weird, Dad.”

“No one’s being weird.”

“Really weird. Is she stuck-up or something?”

Joel wishes that you were. Or cruel. Anything would be better than you, real and vulnerable and terrible at hiding it, finding meaning in his work, making him laugh. You, open wide and begging for him.

He swallows, keeps his voice steady.

“No,” he says. “She’s fine. And she ain’t officially the Dream Girl until Friday, so forget I said anything.”

“I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel lets Sarah celebrate. He finishes the drive while your voice talk-sings “Gimme It!” from the stereo.

Yeah, you’re gonna be the death of him.

The drop-off area at North Hollywood is crowded with parents trying to beat the first bell. Joel waits for a glimpse of open curb and pulls up. He puts the truck in park.

“Good luck today, kiddo. Even if you don’t need it.”

“Thanks.” Sarah picks up her bag and hops out of the car, hesitating before she shuts the door. “Maybe see you tonight?”

Joel’s throat is tight. “I really wanna be there.”

---

It’s seven in the morning when Eliza comes to your room bearing Courtney, a “prep itinerary” and some fantastic news. Every round of Mr. Right ends the same way, with a formal cocktail party and elimination ceremony, but this week Tess is shaking things up.

Instead of an evening cocktail party, you’re having a daytime pool party at the Mr. Right Villa. This means Eliza-sanctioned flip-flops for you, and for the crew, the possibility of an early wrap.

“What are you guys going to do tonight?” you ask an hour later, when you’ve finished the first half of the itinerary and are sitting through your blow-out. “If we finish early, I mean.”

Courtney sighs. “Aaron,” she says dreamily. “From Hinge. I’m praying he can take me to dinner before travel rounds start.”

Eliza shakes her head. “You two are going to jinx us. It’s a lot harder to film the pool party than the regular eliminations. On Ashley B.’s season we didn’t wrap it until three in the morning. Let’s just focus on getting you to your Suitors on time. I told Jacob to have the guys ready by 9:30.”

She delivers. It’s 9:24 by her watch when you pull up to the Mr. Right Villa, dressed in a lavender string bikini and a pair of translucent gauze pants.

Courtney spends a handful of precious seconds reminding you how long it will take her to re-do your hair and makeup if they get wet. Under no circumstances are you allowed to actually get in the pool at this pool party.

“Water will melt me,” you say. “Understood.”

Courtney grins. “Not that you’re unclean.”

Your legs splayed open in the mirror. Joel’s low voice, telling you how to fuck yourself.

Hiding your blush, you scramble out of the SUV.

At the Villa’s entrance, the host of Mr. Right is filming an intro to the pool party. An army of PAs navigates off camera, carrying inner tubes and umbrellas over their heads like worker ants. The line of them indents as they skirt around Tess where she’s issuing instructions from the center of the driveway.

She waves you and Eliza over at once. “Perfect timing. Ryan just got here.”

You’re spared having to ask who Ryan is when a lanky, bald cameraman emerges from the Villa and raises a hand to greet Tess.

You turn to her, confused. “Is Joel not working today?”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “He got here 20 minutes ago. He’s setting up by the pool. Ryan is here to fill in for your interview.”

“Oh, okay.” You deliberately avoid making eye contact with either producer. “Where do you guys want me?”

Eliza escorts you to the front of the Villa, and Ryan trains his camera on you while you answer questions about the Suitors you most want to see shirtless. When you’re done, Tess grabs Eliza and Ryan to look through some B-roll footage, then directs you to the pool.

“We need some footage of you in your swimsuit, Dream Girl. For the promos. Taking off your pants, that sort of thing. Joel will walk you through it.”

You bet he will. You follow the trail of PAs to the back of the Villa, trying to ignore the flutter in your ribcage.

The pool is even more crowded than the driveway, and you dodge a frantic Jacob hunting for a missing mic pack before you cross to the half of the patio that’s blocked off for filming.  

Joel is crouched by the edge of the water, frowning into his camera and fiddling with an attachment over the lens. He grunts in dissatisfaction and glances at his watch, oblivious to your approach.

You stop beside him.

“Hey, Miller.”

His profile breaks into a half-smile. “Morning, Cinderella.”

He’s still looking at his camera, pointing it at the water to test the attachment.

“Is that a waterproof lens?”

Joel shakes his head. “Polarizer. Blocks out glare from the pool so I can see you better.”

He turns the camera toward you. Then freezes. He looks up from the screen, taking in your chest, your bare stomach, the scant outline of lavender keeping you decent beneath your pants.

You smirk. “Is it working?”

“Nice outfit.” His voice is low.

You grin. “Tess told me you’re gonna help me take it off.”

“That so? Because I’m hardly in a position to be pissing off Tess right now.”

“Good thing we practiced, huh?”

Joel is still taking you in. “Reckon I wouldn’t mind practicing some more.”

Your stomach flips.

He stands up and checks his watch again. “We better start shooting. Keep your pants on for now.”

You’re trying to.

Joel starts with a few shots of you walking up to the pool, then switches to a full-body pan. You monitor your expression, conscious of the crew nearby, and try to distract yourself from the way Joel is looking at his camera.

The man is a study in tension, eyes locked on the screen, his grip tight on the handle.

You remember his hands clenching the back of your chair last night. Why didn’t he touch you?

Because it would get him fired? Probably no more than if Tess found out what already happened.

Maybe he gets off on teasing you. Well, two can play at that game.

You wait for Joel to pan the camera over your chest, then lift your arms above your head and stretch. You arch your back, and your bikini top follows, riding up to expose your breasts until your nipples are just barely covered.

Joel grimaces, and the camera shakes ever-so-slightly.

“You’re a menace,” he growls, checking the time before he resets the shot.

You smile innocently at him and adjust your top. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like you’re being tortured when you’re turned on?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I look like I’m being tortured when I’m being tortured.”

He steps back. “I’m gonna sweep the camera down again, and this time, when I signal, I need you to take off your cover-up.”

“Anything you want, Miller.”

“I want you to stop trying to kill me, Cinderella.”

He gets the camera in position.

You smirk. “Almost anything you want.”

He pans over you once more, nodding as the frame approaches your waist. You hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants.

“Slowly,” he murmurs.

You flush at once, your core throbbing in recognition. Judging by the way Joel is tensing his jaw, his mind has gone to the same place.

You lower your pants to the ground. Joel follows the motion with his camera, then pans up to capture the bare skin of your thighs. He takes in a slow inhale, keeping his eyes trained on the screen.

“You’re devastating,” he says quietly.

Your body is tuned to his every word, aching to come apart for him again. You sigh softly.

Joel glances up, holding your gaze for a long moment. 

Deliberately, he steps back. “Good. Got it on the first take.”

“One more to be safe?”

He shakes his head. “No time.”

He pulls out his walkie and signals to production that you’re finished. 

Joel has never wrapped a shot like this after a single take. You shoot him a skeptical look as you pull your pants back on.

“Either I’m suddenly much better at posing, or you have someplace to be after our early wrap, Miller.”

He scowls. “What early wrap? Pool party’s a disaster every time. On Ashley Benson’s season – ”

“– you didn’t finish until three AM. Eliza told me. Why is everyone around here so pessimistic?”

“Cause we know what a bitch it is to make lighting good when everyone is greased-up with sunscreen.”

“I mean, hating sunscreen seems like a symptom of pessimism, not the source of it. And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing later.”

Joel readjusts the polarizer on his lens, expressionless. “You’re looking at it, Cinderella.” His words are harsh, like he’s convincing himself as much as you. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

Not if you can help it. He deserves the night off. Your whole team does. How can you get them out of here as fast as possible?

You contemplate the day’s itinerary. It takes an eternity to film the weekly Love Letter Ceremony, but if you get started by 2:00, the crew will almost certainly be done before sunset.

You can’t start the Ceremony until you’ve had a reasonably personal conversation with every Suitor who is up for elimination. Thirteen of them in total, and you have a little under four hours.

Ambitious, but you recorded Summerbash with a straight face. You can do this.

The crew finishes setting up. Suitors spill out onto the patio.

You charge right up to them, weaving through body oil and board shorts to grab a scruffy twenty-something whose name you can’t remember.

Eliza mouths it over his Hawaiian-shirt-clad shoulder as you escort him to a lounge chair. Zack. Right. You don’t let yourself forget again.

Zack is talkative, so you don’t need to sit with him for very long before he’s opened up about beach days back home in North Carolina. You glance at Eliza. Is this enough personal information? She nods.

You look around for another Suitor you can talk to. Jasper meets your eyes and strides over. He places a hand on Zack’s shoulder, cutting off a monologue about jet-skis.

“Mind if I steal her?”

Zack takes his leave. One conversation down, and you think you’re ahead of schedule. You wish Eliza would let you wear a watch.

Jasper takes your elbow and leads you to a cabana, where he’s set up a champagne toast. Quick and romantic. Perfect.

Only when you get to the cabana, there’s no champagne to be found. It takes a PA twenty minutes to hunt down a replacement, and then the guys all feel so bad about the mix-up that they’re hesitant to interrupt Jasper’s time.

When a Suitor finally does grab you, it’s Sasha, a wide-necked hockey player who production has already decided to send home. He wants to sit with you and go through photos of his best games.

The instant Sasha pulls out the first picture, Joel interrupts with a growl of frustration.

Sasha’s photos are printed on glossy paper. They’re not only unreadable on camera, but they also reflect light from the pool all over your face. Eliza peeks over Joel’s shoulder at the screen, then winces.

“You guys look like you’re telling scary stories at a campfire. We have to move.”

It takes two more locations before you find a spot that works. At least an hour must have passed by now. You can read it in the lock of Joel’s shoulders, in the frantic way Eliza checks the time.

Then Sasha launches into a highly detailed story about something called backchecking. You’re contemplating a mad dash for freedom when Mike interrupts.

“Hey, Dream Girl,” he says in his soft voice. “Can I steal you for a second?”

You look at him with raw gratitude.

Sasha doesn’t look away from your face, lifting a hand to shoo Mike away.

“Later, dude. We’re talking.”

No.

Mike furrows his brow. “Okay, I’ll come back in a few.”

The feeling that overtakes you as he leaves to refill his margarita can only be described as despair. It’s another ten minutes of Sasha describing a fight he got into with the ref before Mike returns.

The two of you cozy up on a daybed at the edge of the patio, and Mike pulls out a set of “get-to-know-you” questions on index cards.

Sweet or salty. Morning or night. Hug or kiss.

You shoot a knowing glance at Eliza at the last one. She raises her eyebrows as if to say she knows she’s good.

“Kiss,” you say to Mike.

He smiles, then leans in to give you one. You kiss him back, bracing your palm against his bare chest. When you pull back, Joel is glaring into his camera so hard that even Mike notices.

“What’s up?” he asks, looking curiously at Joel. “Is there a shadow on my face?”

“It’s probably me,” you say, taking Mike’s hand. “I bet my makeup is all kinds of smudged from the heat.”

You use the pretense of a touch-up to end your time early, then regroup with your team in the Green Room. It turns out you really do need to fix your makeup. Courtney powders over the smudges in your foundation. When she’s done, Eliza offers you a water bottle and a sandwich.

You turn to her. “What time is it?”

She sighs. “Twelve-thirty.”

More than half your time gone, and you’ve only talked to four Suitors.

“Can we do this differently?” you ask. “Maybe you can walkie to Jacob when a conversation wraps, so he can send in the men faster?”

“I suppose. He’ll still have to nudge the Suitors, and they might be slow, but it can’t hurt.”

It helps. A little. When you return to the party and grab Solomon, it’s only a few minutes before Nick S. comes to steal you away.

The conversations start to blur together. A story about Nick J.’s dog. Chris pulling you close for a kiss on the cheek. Then Paulie doing the same. You force yourself to keep up your Dream Girl poise as you chain through the interactions with blinding efficiency.

You still fall behind.

Joel halts production in the afternoon so he can reset the reflectors. When he’s done, Zack steals you for a second conversation, fumbling through a plea to stay for one more week. Then Henry pulls you aside, even though he’s already won a Love Letter this week, and somehow you waste almost an hour on conversations you didn’t need to have.

You get through the last few interactions knowing that you haven’t done enough. But it’s something. The crew will be out in time for a late dinner.

Lucas is the last Suitor to steal you. He’s the chief suspect for the theft of Jasper’s champagne, and he’s been drowning himself in margaritas all day. He slurs that you look like a dream come true in your bikini as he takes a seat beside you on the daybed.

He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Wanna help me put on sunscreen?”

You accept, knowing it will make good TV. You’re sitting cross-legged behind him, spreading the lotion on his back, when he breaks the fourth wall and points at Joel.

“Dude,” he says. “You gotta come closer and get a slow-mo of these Dream Girl hands on my back. You can add in saxophone music behind it.”

Joel levels him with a stony glare. “Shot’s fine how it is.”

Lucas shrugs it off.

“Suit yourself, man,” he says, then turns over his shoulder to look at you. “Honey. There’s a big question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

He sets his face in a solemn mask. “How many people,” he says, “do you think have peed in the Mr. Right Villa pool?”

You burst into exhausted laughter. Lucas springs to his feet and takes advantage of your distraction to scoop you up in his arms.

He sprints to the pool and takes a running leap into the water.

You’re ready to lay into him when you come up for air, but he covers your protest with a kiss. His hands reach beneath your legs, pulling them to wrap around his waist, and he holds you close in the water. The patio falls silent around you.

Your face is burning when you manage to pull away. You try to break out of his embrace, but he’s a solid wall of gym-bro muscle.

Lucas pushes a wet lock of hair out of your face and gives you an “aw-shucks” grin. You can’t bring yourself to smile back.

“That’s enough.” Joel’s gruff voice breaks the silence. “Get out of the water. Now.”

Lucas releases his grip. You wade to the edge of the pool.

Joel sets down his camera and offers you a single, broad hand. You take it, boosting yourself from the water. He tugs you to your feet.

“You alright?”

He’s quiet, asking only you.

His brown eyes scan your face. In the sunlight, you notice that they’re flecked with gold. 

You swallow. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Tess strides over, turning you away from Joel so she can inspect your face.

“Shit, Dream Girl. Your makeup is fucked.”

She snags a nearby PA.

“Tell the crew to take fifteen and call whoever they need so they can cancel their plans tonight. No way we’re wrapping early now.”

Beside you, Joel stiffens. The center of his brow creases. His next breath is slow, like it’s pressing down disappointment.

Is this what crestfallen looks like on Joel Miller? A vice squeezes in your chest.

A smart Dream Girl would follow Tess’s lead here.

You grab her arm anyway. “No. Wait. Don’t cancel the early wrap.”

She looks at you, impatient. “We’re about to film a three-hour elimination ceremony, kid. It’s already four.”

You shake your head. “It won’t take three hours, I swear. Night one took forever because Eliza had to remind me who all the Suitors were, but after today, I know their names.”

Tess is already losing interest. You let go of her arm and point at a sandy-haired investment banker.

“That’s Neil.”

You gesture to each suitor in turn.

“Adam. Sasha. Solomon. Jasper, Mike, Levi. Nick S. and Nick J.. Zack, Paulie, and Chris. Lucas is in the pool. Henry and Brooks already have love letters, so I don’t need to say their names tonight, but I know them.”

You stare determinedly at Tess. She sighs. “Okay, two hours for the elimination ceremony. But it’s at least that long again before we get your face ready.”

“Then don’t get my face ready,” you say. An idea is beginning to form. You look around the patio for a Suitor who can play to the cameras.

Brooks steps out of the Villa, yesterday’s love letter pinned to his open shirt. He pauses as he takes in the stalled, silent crew.

You turn to Joel. He’s studying you, expression unreadable.

“Miller,” you direct. “Camera up.”

You take off toward Brooks, breaking into a jog and springing into his arms. He catches you, looking startled for a fraction of a second before his features smooth into curated delight.

You lock your ankles around his waist and lean down to kiss him.

He kisses you back, grinning softly when you pull away. “Hi, beautiful.”

He’s flawless.

“Hi,” you say. You drop your eyes, putting on your best bashful expression. “My makeup is ruined.”

He lifts a hand to cup your face and gives a characteristically Prince Charming response.

“You’re still just as beautiful to me.”

You stay still for a moment, making sure Joel can get the shot.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

You leap down, then run back to Tess.

“You want me to be vulnerable, right? Then let me do the elimination ceremony without makeup. You can edit a whole storyline around it.”

Tess considers. You push on before she can say no.

“I can film an interview with Eliza about how scary it is, and you can get guys like Brooks to say gentlemanly things in their interviews.”

Tess sighs. “It’s actually a good idea.”

You beam.

She crosses her arms. “But I’m still not letting you film like that. You look like the clown from It. I’ll send Courtney to the Green Room to meet you. She can put you in a quick no-makeup look. Concealer and mascara.”

She activates her walkie and signals to the crew. “We’re starting the elimination ceremony at four-thirty, everyone. Get moving. Six-o-clock wrap if no one else fucks up.”

She turns back to you. “Go clean your face, Dream Girl. Upstairs bathroom.”

You scamper off before she can reconsider, a heady excitement racing inside you. You can’t remember the last time you called the shots like that.

In the bathroom, you realize Tess’s comparison to the It clown was generous. Pennywise at least was serving clean lines.

There are makeup remover towelettes on the counter. Most likely for the Suitors. You steal one and get to work taking off what remains of your face.

In the mirror, the door opens.

Joel slips into the bathroom. His gaze slides over your barely covered body, lingering on the curve of your ass.

He locks the door. “Why did you do that?”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your argument with Tess.

You turn to face him. “I wanted to.”

He walks closer, looking at you like he’s trying to make sense of something.

“You wanted to do the Letter Ceremony without makeup on?”

“I’ve been on camera without much makeup before.” Your words come out unsteady as he draws near. “I know what I’m getting into.”

Joel closes the space between you, resting an arm on the countertop.

“’S not gonna look like you think, Cinderella.”

“Are you calling me ugly, Miller?”

“You know I don’t think that.”

“Are you mad at me for something?”

He braces his other arm on the counter, scaffolding you in the impossible span of his shoulders. He looks at you steadily.

“No,” he says. “But it ain’t your job to worry about when we quit filming.”

“Then call me an overachiever.”

Joel laughs softly.

He’s left open the top button of his henley. The collar stretches wide with every rise of his chest.

You look back up at him, piecing together his words.

“Joel. Is this your way of saying thank you?”

A smirk spreads across his face, and he shakes his head slowly.

“Had something else in mind for that.”

He picks you up, calloused hands warm on the backs of your thighs, and places you on top of the counter.

He nudges your legs apart and takes a step so that he’s standing between them. Your heart stutters.

Joel’s hands go to your hip, his fingers finding one of the knots that holds your bikini in place. He undoes it with a steady focus, then turns his attention to the remaining tie.

When he’s finished, he slides his thumb beneath the useless string, tracing your bare hipbone.

A single, loose scrap of cloth is all that covers you now. Joel strokes his index finger once over the outline of your slit, releasing a shiver of sparks inside you. You gasp.

His smirk widens. “That’s what I thought, pretty girl.”

He trails his eyes up to your chest. His hands lift to sides of your bikini top, and he pushes it up. You’re bare before him.

Joel slides his warm hands over your breasts. It’s dizzying, the feel of him touching you at last.

“This what you wanted last night?”

His voice is rough, a slow drag that strikes a match inside you.

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and you whimper.

“This why you were teasing me this morning? Showing off like a little slut?”

He lowers his mouth and licks your nipple with his hot tongue. You moan.

“Fuck, Joel.”

He raises a hand to cover your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.”

He returns his mouth to your breast, closing his teeth around your nipple and biting softly.

You shudder. He feels it, tightens his hold on you.

He nudges his thumb over your mouth, sliding it between your lips. You run your tongue over it, sucking on him.

He pushes deeper, and you take his finger down to the knuckle, letting out a quiet moan in spite of yourself.

Joel’s eyes flicker shut. “Fuck, Cinderella.”

He opens his eyes and lifts his head to watch you, like he can’t believe you’re real. “You love this, don’t you?”

You whimper softly in agreement.

He pulls his hand free and rises to his full height. You look up at him, not bothering to hide your desperation.

“Please.”

“You’re filthy, pretty girl.” He taps his wet thumb against your lower lip. “Begging for it right here, for me to fill this slutty mouth with my cock.”

His words burn a fuse inside you, setting loose a hazy, overpowering need.

You grab his belt and tug him close. Your hands slide down to find him where he’s pressed against the front of his jeans.

He’s hard for you already. You gasp at the feel of it, running your thumb over his length.

Joel shudders. He closes his eyes as though he’s lost a battle with himself, and then he tilts his hips, thrusting up into your touch.

You stroke him again, and he lets out a ragged exhale.

He’s so beautiful like this. It stops your breath. You whisper out his name and reach for his zipper.

He opens his eyes, and his face is suddenly tight. His hands catch ahold of your wrists.

You whimper, wracked by a longing that’s impossible to control now that you’ve felt him.

“Please, Joel.”

He leads your hands back to the counter, holding them in place.

You glare at him. “And you say I’m a tease.”

“We ain’t got much time, Cinderella.” He releases one of your hands so he can hook a single broad finger beneath the remains of your swim bottom, nudging the fabric so that it falls away. “And I mean to spend it playing with this wet little pussy of yours.”

He grazes the knuckle of his index finger slowly along your folds.

You light up for him, a surge of desire coming forth like it’s been waiting all your life for his touch.

You struggle to clear your head. “You had your chance to touch me yesterday, Miller. It’s my turn now.”

“That so?” Joel slides his finger over your clit. Your body responds automatically, hips bucking against him. He raises a smug eyebrow at you. “Don’t think this cunt of yours wants to take turns.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

He nods sympathetically and strokes your clit again.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let yourself feel good.”

You’re falling apart for him, and he knows it. He traces a slow, patient circle around your clit, studying your face as the pleasure ignites inside you.

You mumble out your final protest, your body shuddering.

“I’ll – fuck – I’ll flip you for it.”

Joel looks at you in shocked delight, a rare, real smile spreading across his face.

“You offering to flip a coin so you can suck my cock?”

He’s still circling your clit, his fingers asking a steady question that your body is all too ready to answer. “Do you even have a coin, Cinderella?”

“Not – not exactly.” You gasp, fighting to stay afloat as your desire swells. “Or you could be nice and – God – and give me what I want.”

His eyes are dancing. He sinks to his knees before the counter, then spreads you open with both hands. He gives you a long look, like he’s memorizing the sight of you.

“Ain’t my job to be nice to you,” he says. Then he leans forward and licks a slow, greedy stripe along your core.

You whimper.

“Gonna need you to keep quiet for me now, pretty girl.” He strokes you with his index finger. “Can you be good for me?”

You nod softly, and he runs his tongue over you again. You bite your lip and rock your hips against him.

He hums appreciatively and brings his tongue to your clit, fast and insistent, stoking the blaze inside you. Your legs start to tremble, and he guides them to sling over his shoulders.

Your hand tangles in his soft curls. He shudders at the touch, looking up to catch you with his dark gaze.

The sight of him is obscene, panting with lust, beard coated in the slick of your arousal. His voice is raw with need when he speaks.

“You’re heaven, pretty girl.”

He pulls your hips as close as he can and lowers his mouth with a desperate urgency. He slides his tongue inside you, and the crude intimacy of it, Joel’s mouth inside your cunt is enough to take you to the edge.

His fingers find your clit, and there’s nothing teasing left in his touch. His pace is relentless, claiming you, setting free a primitive, unstoppable fire.

You want so much more from him, but you can’t hold out any longer. You clench your thighs around Joel’s head and surrender, biting on your own wrist to stifle your cry as you light up inside. 

Joel lifts his head to watch you come. He slows his pace on your sensitive clit, brushing his thumb lazily over you as you catch your breath. You tremble at the soft contact and run your fingers gently through his hair.

Joel rises to his feet, dropping his eyes to retie your bikini strings. You push yourself up and slide off the counter to stand on unsteady legs, separated from Joel by the smallest cushion of heat. He tugs your top back into place, adjusting it so you’re once again decent.

It’s almost unbearable, the warm and steady way he puts you back together. You feel a sudden instinct to be close to him, to press yourself into his chest, but you know that’s not what he wants. Instead, you raise your palm as if to brace yourself and rest it over his heart.

He steps back, and your hand falls.

“You head out first, Cinderella. Can’t keep Courtney waiting.”

You leave him in the bathroom, his hair mussed, and swallow down a feeling that sits tight in your throat.

 --

By Eliza’s watch, it’s 6:19 when you pin the final Love to See You Again letter to Lucas’s button-up. You say your goodbyes to three despondent, letter-less Suitors, and just like that you’ve made it through your first week of filming.

The Villa’s parking lot is glowing with amber light as Eliza walks you to back to the SUV. Courtney rushes past, squeezing you into a quick hug on the way to her car, her Hinge date successfully scheduled. The PAs chatter giddily around you, unable to believe they’re out while the sun is still in the sky.

You spot Joel in the cab of his truck. He raises a hand to you as he turns the key in his ignition. You hear a swell of music as the engine hums to life.

It’s Bob Dyan. “Boots of Spanish Leather.” The kind of music your parents loved.

The ballad echoes in your mind, continuing long after you return to your plush, empty hotel room. Finally, you pick up your guitar and take a seat on the balcony. You sing your favorite verse.  

Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night And the diamonds from the deepest ocean I’d forsake them all for your sweet kiss For that’s all I’m wishin’ to be ownin’

Your hands move of their own accord, shifting to create a wordless melody. It’s slow and deep, the type of song that you’ve forgotten how to find. You watch the setting sun in the distance, steady on its path to meet the sea.

[sstan-hoe]

TYRANT- J. MILLER

day twenty four of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! dilf! joel x fem! reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: you're home for the summer and the local bar is having a western night- and a certain older cowboy catches your eye. good thing you know how to lasso them in and ride them good...

warnings: SMUT- reverse cowgirl ofc, heavy praise kink, petnames, swearing, size kink, daddy kink, hair pulling, joel lowkey mocking and being all condensending, truck sex in the parking lot (kinda exhibitionism?), heavy flirting and sexual tension, intoxication

this is inspired by the time my local bar was hosting a country night and i made a "cowboys only" tramp stamp... yeah

“tyrant every time i ride it, every time i ride it/ make it look so good, try to justify it- boy, i know they're lookin' for me, how we gonna hide it?/ ride it like hydraulics, i am such a tyrant"- tyrant, beyonce

It had started as a joke.

And then, it hadn’t.

You had no marks on your skin, free of ink. Except for the eyeliner that had been used instead, for tonight.

It was Western Wednesday at the local bar- the go to spot back home surrounded by hay bales and tumbleweeds. Without a question being asked, you and your group of girlfriends had gathered at your house to get ready, talking over each other with excitement, catching up as you had all retunited from time away at school.

After a few drinks had been tossed back and rollers had been placed in heads of hair, you brought up the idea. It was silly, and you couldn't get through it without bursting out in giggles.

What if… what if I got a tramp stamp? Just for the night?

It had ended with you flat on your stomach, your friend scribbling your request in pretty font, just above where your thong poked out from your low rise jeans.

Cowboys Only, with a little bow under it.

It was teasing.

Poking out from under your little tank top whenever you lifted your arms up, throwing your head back to laugh and dance with your girls.

And it had gotten you exactly where you wanted to be.

On top of an older cowboy.

He had taken his time before he approached you. Heavy, heated gaze latched onto your figure as you slid past the wooden swinging doors, chatting with your crowd. Your eyes had met his instantly. Heat pooled in your panties and you knew.

That one. I want that one.

He was older, you could tell by his weathered hands and salt and pepper hair that framed his deep, dark puppy dog eyes. That had narrowed in on you.

Like a predator had found its prey.

You waited. You never claimed to be easy, even though you had spent your time gushing about how attractive the stranger in the corner was to anyone who’d listen. You had always joked to your girls about how badly wanted an older man to sweep you off your feet one of these nights.

You hoped tonight was the night.

It had taken a drink or two for you to let yourself relax a bit more, to get used to the buzz of the chatter and the neon lights of the bar. It was then you could dance, swaying your hips seductively side to side, feeling his eyes on you as he sipped on his beer.

Observing the little font that graced your lower back.

Your eyes met his again as you made your way up to the bar, sliding up next to him as you ordered a whisky sour.

“What's a pretty lil thing like you doing here on a Wednesday night?” he murmured lowly, breath smelling like mint and tobacco.

You hummed, watching as the bartender made your drink. “Western night. I like the cowboys.”

His eyebrow raised, a ringless hand drumming the oak bartop.

“S’that so sweetheart?”

You smirked, turning to flip up your shirt, exposing the font, and a good chunk of your little thong in the process. He had already seen it, of course. You had felt his eyes on you the whole time you had danced for him.

“You haven't seen?” you giggled seductively, throwing him a flirtatious little wink as you grabbed your drink from the bartender, tossing him an extra tip as you took a sip.

The mystery man leaned in close, a hand slipping down to cup the dip of your spine. You savoured the touch, his large palm covering the ink, warm and soft as he gripped you in place.

“You’re playing a dangerous game darlin.” he grumbled, southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine.

You hummed. Teasing him, as you leaned more into his touch. Letting his hand slide down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze. Letting him be a disgusting pervert, when he knew he was so much better than that.

He was a gentleman. But you made him want to be anything but.

“How so sir?”

The name sent him spiralling. Fuck it.

“Because I’m twice your age, if not more darlin. And you’re making me think about dirty things.”

You battered your lashes at him, leaning down to rest your elbows on the bar, showing full cleavage. Doe eyes wide and innocent- while your actions were anything but.

“What things?”

“I wanna take you back to my truck and show you how a real man fucks. Cause I bet that pretty lil pussy hasnt been treated right by anyone your age.”

Well. That was the truth.

You wanted to find out what it was like, just once- to see where this could lead you. His dirty words sparked that flame in your lower belly, squeezing your thighs together.

Finishing your drink in one big swig, you slammed the glass down on the wood and whipped the remaining liquid that trickled from the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Well, what's stoppin you old man?”

゜✭・.・✫・゜ ゜✭・.・✫・゜

“Fuckkkkk. Joellll-” you moaned, gripping his thighs as you slid up and down. He was so fucking big he nearly split you in half. And it hurt so good.

“Watch that pretty mouth of yours honey, you know daddy doesn't like when you use dirty words.” he chuckled, admiring your pretty form swallow him up, a creamy ring formed around his base and grey pubes.

It took everything in you to not fold, your legs already quivering from the multiple orgasms he had given you already. Your brain felt incoherent.

“Mmm s’sorry I didn't mean to-”

“I know sweetheart, you're such a sweet girl. Heads just gone all dumb f’yer old man eh? Poor thing.” he cooed, taking your hair in his hands, tightening his grip on you.

Your head leaned back, still continuing to ride him in reverse cowgirl as he taunted you.

He was right. You hadnt been fucked like this before. And you never wanted to go back.

“Need s’help daddy please-” you cried, as you clenched around him again.

He knew your body like it was his own, making it sing and hum for him as he played it like an instrument. Despite him just meeting you tonight. He knew how to make you scream for him. Your voice was hoarse, and he could feel your legs start to quiver.

“Awh sweetheart I thought my lil cowgirl knew how to ride?”

You moaned as your pace was interrupted by his hips pummeling up into you, taking full control. Your back arched , your hair tugged on as if he was holding reins as you bounced from his thrusts.

Your nails dug into his thighs, a sharp cry leaving your lips that echoed off the fogged up windows of his pick-up.

“There you go darlin, just needed your daddy to help ya out yeah? My sweet girl just needed someone to take control of this tight lil cunny.” he whispered, a cocky smirk on his lips as he watched you squirm for him.

That damn ink flashed back at him- and he couldn't help but feel proud of himself for fulfilling the claim.

“S’good Joel, you feel so damn good…” you moaned, sweat trickling down your body, the smell of sex clinging to you like a second skin.

“Yeah baby? You gonna cum again?”

“Please, need to-” He chuckled lowly.

“Go ahead baby. Askin so nicely, always with the manners. M’gonna keep a sweet thing like ya around, ya understand?”

You nodded feverlishy, cuming around his cock with a cry as it hit that one spot that had you seeing stars. Basked in the comfort of his strong hands as they left your hair, finding their way to rest on your hips.

“Joel..”

“M’almost there sweetheart, just gonna use you for a lil okay? That sound okay baby? You just sit there and be all pretty.”

He moaned, letting his head roll back as you clenched around him tightly, biting his lip so hard he almost tasted copper.

“Fuck you're so tight. Such a sweet little cunt. Knew she’d take me so good.”

A few more sloppy thrusts into you and he was spent, filling you up to the brim, cooing sweet nothings at your worn out frame. He had fucked you so hard you knew it was a closed case.

He was the only cowboy you wanted. 

[sstan-hoe]

Giddy Affairs

Pairing: Congressman!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader WC: ~300 Warnings: Fluff | Established relationship | Bucky getting nasty with you in his office | Bucky being insatiable | Bucky being a simp for his wife | Bucky being hot and incorrigible | Allusions to spicy times | Some wrist-tying | Some language | Very much unbeta’d | Lemme know if I missed anything! A/N: Sorry, I haven't been in a great headspace and I've been running my blog on queue. I promise I'll get back to all your wonderful messages/asks/reblogs ASAP. Put this together super quickly for Hot Bucky Summer 2025 | Week 03 Prompt: "Not now" | @buckybarnesevents Thank you for hosting. 😊✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

"Where d'you think you're going?" Bucky drawled, fisting your dress at the small of your back and yanking you against him.

"OW! BUCKY."

You chuckled, trying to squirm away from his grip, but he didn't let you up, instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly to him as he dragged you toward his office.

"Congressman Barnes, Mr. Elliot wants to meet you," Grayson, Bucky's assistant, stopped you just before you both entered Bucky's office. He was clearly flustered to have walked in on yet another intimate moment.

"Not now. Reschedule it for tomorrow," Bucky murmured tersely.

You blushed, offering Grayson an awkward smile before Bucky shut the door.

"Bucky," you admonished, giggling as he lifted you with one arm and carried you to the couch.

He tossed aside his suit jacket, muttering about, "Stupid entrapments."

"What did you think, Mrs. Barnes? You'd show up looking like that and torture me?"

"I love that tie. Don't ruin it, Mr. Barnes," you warned, biting back your grin when you saw him loosen his tie in a hurry to unbutton the top two buttons of his white shirt.

You toed off your heels as he backed you toward the plush couch.

"That tie," he said, already yanking it loose, "is now your problem."

Before you could quip back, he pounced, pinning your wrists to the cushions and expertly looping the silk around. "You're too smug for a woman about to be ruined by her husband."

You laughed, breathless and bound, "Congressman Barnes, you're abusing your power."

He leaned in, nipping at your jaw, "I'm exercising my rights."

"How very patriotic."

"Mmm. Civic duty, doll," His smug reply went muffled as he licked a trail down your chest and took one of your tits into his mouth.

A sudden thought occurred to you, "Buck. The cameras."

He paused, chuckling, eyes glinting at you, "I disabled 'em the time we broke the desk."

"Good times," you said, your laugh turning into a lewd moan as he dragged your panties down.

"Let's see if we can top those times, sweetheart," he said, unzipping his pants.

Well?!

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[sstan-hoe]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[sstan-hoe]

Next Time

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.3k words. Joel keeps his promise. (sequel to Hard Bargain)

RATING: E. Face fucking. Come on face. Blowjob. Deepthroating. Power dynamics. Praise kink. Degradation. Dirty talk. Rough oral sex.

A/N: No-one asked for this but I wanted it and that's good enough for me. 😈❤️

The first time you saw Joel shoot a man, it was up close.

Not in the QZ, not across some ration line, but out there — outside the checkpoint, past the bus graveyard and into the sprawl where the city dies slow. You weren’t even supposed to be there.

He asked you to come. You don’t know why. He could’ve asked someone else — one of the Fireflies he doesn’t admit to working with, or Tess, if she’d still been around, but she wasn’t. Joel needed someone to help him carry two crates of pills and a sealed pack of insulin through a half-collapsed sewer tunnel and into the hands of some desperate people with guns.

He said you knew the route. That was true, but you think maybe it was something else. Maybe he just wanted someone quiet, someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. So you said yes.

Halfway through the return trip — packs full of ration cards, pockets heavy with extra — the man stepped out from behind a burned-out bus and told Joel to drop his weapon.

He looked like nothing. Skinny, shaky, too twitchy to be a soldier. Too desperate to be a real raider. Maybe just someone starving who got lucky with a shitty pistol.

He pointed it at Joel, hands trembling.

He said something about handing it over, said he’d only take what he needed.

Joel never even blinked. Didn’t say a word. Just looked the guy in the eye, then pulled his own gun and put a round through the man’s forehead so clean it didn’t even spatter.

Just dropped him. Fast. Final. Then Joel turned to you and said, flat as concrete: “Let’s move.”

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t check to see if you were rattled. But he watched you.

You know he did. You felt it every time you adjusted your grip on your pack. Every time you stepped over some broken thing and pretended it hadn’t gotten into your head.

Now, the two of you are back — inside. Same room, same tile floor. The same dust. But something’s different.

You pulled your weight. You helped him get out alive. You watched him kill a man and didn’t flinch.

Joel hasn’t said a word since you made it back. He just paced once, slow, then locked the door behind him.

You pull your jacket off and drop your pack. You turn to face him and start undoing your belt.

Joel’s eyes are already on you.

-

He strokes himself slowly at first — just the tip dragging over your cheek, the underside pressing to your lips. Like he’s testing it. Like he wants to feel exactly how soft you are before he paints you with it.

You don’t move. You can’t.

His fist is knotted in your hair, holding you there, angling your chin the way he wants. His breathing is already rough — that rasp in his throat that only comes out when he’s trying not to lose control.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “Look at me.”

You do. 

Even with your mouth open, lips parted and wet, even with your knees burning against the floor — you look up and meet his eyes.

It hits him, you see it. The way his jaw tightens. The way he curses under his breath.

“Fuckin’ hell. You look like this was made for you.”

His voice is low. Not soft — never soft — but there’s something dark in it now, something molten. It makes your thighs squeeze together.

He jerks his cock faster. You can hear it — the slick sound of it, the tension winding tight in his hips. He’s flushed now, breathing hard, leaking all over your mouth and chin. It drips down your throat, and you let it.

“Should’ve done this the first time,” Joel grits. “Should’ve come all over this face.”

Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. You don’t blink, don’t move. You just kneel there like something on display — something that’s his.

“Bet you like bein’ used,” he growls. “Bet you want me to make a mess outta you.”

You moan, a broken sound with no air in it. That’s enough for him.

He groans, deep and guttural, and the first hot rope lands across your cheek. Then another, right across your mouth. You flinch just barely when the next stripe hits your eyelid.

Joel doesn’t stop.

He keeps jerking, grunting through gritted teeth, cock twitching as he paints your face with everything he’s got. It drips down your jaw, across your lips, down your chin.

When he’s done, he breathes like he’s just fought someone off. Hand still in your hair, still holding you in place.

You don’t move. You don’t dare wipe it away.

Your face is slick, skin tight with it, the scent of him hot in your nose and mouth. Your tongue drags across your bottom lip, collecting what you can.

Joel’s still looking at you, and now something else flickers behind his eyes.

Not anger, not even satisfaction. Hunger.

He drops to his knees. Hands on your thighs, forcing them open.

“Thought that was it?” he mutters, voice rough.

Your breath stutters.

His hands are already on your waistband.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, yanking your pants down past your knees. “That was just me takin’ mine. 

Joel flips you.

One brutal yank to your hips and your body turns with him — knees slipping wide, chest down, cheek pressed hard to the cold tile. You gasp as air rushes past your slick lips, the mess on your face cooling fast.

He pushes a hand between your shoulder blades, pins you flat.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” he growls.

You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried. Your pants are tangled around your knees, your cunt bare and dripping, and Joel’s kneeling behind you like a storm about to break. You can feel his heat, the weight of him, even though he hasn’t touched you there yet. 

Then, a single palm, calloused, hot.

He slides it over your ass, down between your thighs, where it pauses.

“Jesus,” he mutters. His fingers spread you open. “You’re soaked.”

You squirm, hips twitching.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t shout, just warns. You go still. 

Joel slides two fingers through your folds, slow and deliberate, dragging the wet slick all the way up before pressing them both into your cunt without mercy.

You cry out, a sound that echoes off the tile.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s what I thought.”

He starts fucking you with them hard, fingers thick and deep, curling up and in until your body shakes. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every thrust, every filthy grind of his wrist.

You dig your nails into the floor, mouth open in a silent moan.

“Already close,” Joel mutters. “Ain’t even tryin’.”

Your whole body rocks under him. Your knees are slipping. Your thighs are trembling.

“Been wantin’ this since the second you dropped to your knees,” he growls. “Not the mouth. This. Your pussy. Wantin’ to see you fall apart like this — all spread out and fuckin’ needy.”

You whimper. You hate how much you need it. How you’re already right on the edge, pulsing around his fingers like they were made for you.

Joel leans over you. His chest presses to your back. His breath ghosts across your ear.

“You come for me,” he says. “Right fuckin’ now.”

Your whole body obeys.

You shatter, legs giving out, cunt clenching hard around his fingers, mouth open against the tile in a silent scream. You don’t just come. You break, falling, shaking.

Joel loves it.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ it.”

He doesn’t pull out until your body stops twitching, doesn’t wipe his hand until he’s sure you’re done.

You collapse onto your side, chest heaving, face still streaked with his come.

Joel watches you from above. For a second, just a breath, he doesn’t look hungry anymore.

He looks like he might stay.

do we want more? let me know what you thought of this follow-up. 😘❤️

[sstan-hoe]

Back It Up

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is hot and fucks like a God.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral sex (m. and f. receiving), dirty talk, flirting, slight feels, possessive behavior, BDE, aftercare mention, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Based on an anon ask. Happy Moanday. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who is hot and fucks like a God. 

Bucky who is confident again, similar to the swagger he had in the 40’s, but a bit more rough around the edges to add to his appeal.

Bucky who knew you were his the second he laid eyes on you and swears the world is a little brighter when you’re nearby, so he gives you a smile instead of his trademark grumpy stare.

Bucky who also gets hard when you’re close to him and has palmed himself under the table because he so desperately wants to be inside you. 

Bucky who wants you and only you, wants you on your knees for him, wants to get on his knees for you, wants to split you open on his cock and make you scream his name, but wants to tease you first.

Bucky who will run his fingers through his hair or toussle it when you’re in his line of sight because you once said he looked like a fucking prince. “Every prince needs a princess, right? You wanna be my princess?”

Bucky who, whether he’s in his tactical gear or uniform, sees the way you shamelessly check him out and hides his smirk when he “catches” you looking. “Isn’t polite to stare, sweetheart, but you can look all you want.”

Bucky who will purposely walk around in only a pair of low hanging gray sweatpants when he knows it’s just the two of you, unashamed of his body or scars, especially when your pupils dilate with lust. “You know, I almost went with black, but…” he trailed off, arching his back and thrusting his hips forward so you could see the very clear outline of his cock before he left the room.

Bucky who will keep his eyes on you when he eats, letting you see every drag of his tongue and lick of his lips as he savors the taste of his meal. “Bet your pussy tastes like heaven,” he says so low you swear you imagined it.

Bucky who wrapped a hand around your throat once during sparring to see how you’d respond, and he was pleasantly surprised when he heard you whimper and smelled your arousal. “I have something you can really choke on,” he whispered, letting you go and leaving you hot and bothered on the mat.

Bucky who didn’t think taking a jacket off could be sexy until he heard you whisper, “Fuck me”, to which he responded in a low voice full of promise, “Soon.” 

Bucky who likes to think he can dish it as much as he takes it, but nearly busts down your door when he hears you moaning his name and fucking yourself with your fingers. “My dirty girl,” he says fondly, proudly.

Bucky who can’t take it anymore when you’re bent over in front of him, stretching and looking back at him with a smile while his eyes greedily roam your body. “Think you help me stretch, Barnes, or are you all talk?”

Bucky who snapped, tore through your legging and underwear like paper, and put you on all fours. “Oh, I’ll help you stretch,” he promised, breaching your wet heat with a finger and smirking when you tightened around him. “With my tongue and fingers first before you get my cock.”

Bucky who ate you out from behind, his fingers digging into your flesh as you pushed back against his face to feel more of the delicious burn from his salt and pepper scruff. “You really do taste like heaven, sweetheart, but be patient,” he warned, slapping your pussy for good measure. “You’ll get yours and I’ll get mine.”

Bucky who nearly came in his pants when you made a mess all over his face, crying out his name as he kept fucking you with his tongue and fingers and only stopped so he could put you on your back and see your dazed expression. “Good girl screaming my name,” he praised, hearing you whine when he shoved his pants and underwear down. “Do it again when you come on my cock.”

Bucky who let you taste yourself on his tongue before he pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the feeling of being one and him having to stay still for a second at the way you clamp around him like a vice. “Greedy cunt doesn’t want to let me go,” he rasped, and he understood since he didn’t want to leave your body.

Bucky who set a hard, deep pace and alternated between pinning you down and letting you pull his hair and grip his back. “Letting me fuck you bare because you know you’re mine,” he groaned, and he couldn’t wait to paint your walls with his release and really make you his.

Bucky who lightly bit your neck and breasts and touched every inch of you that he could, wanting to leave marks on you, before putting your legs on his shoulders and fucking you like his life depended on it. “Look at me. Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he ordered, wanting to see your face twist in pleasure as you took his cock over and over again.

Bucky who teased your clit and smiled when you keen. “I told you you’ll get yours,” he reminded you when you clenched around him and soaked his cock more. “So scream my name when you come for me.”

Bucky who said your name through his teeth when you screamed his name like a mantra and gushed around him. “Good. Fucking. Girl.” he gritted as he fucked you through it, taking your hand to keep you grounded when he saw the fog in your eyes.

Bucky who couldn’t resist when you begged through your gaze, “Come in me, Bucky.” and roared like an animal with his release, flooding your insides and keeping his hips flush against yours so he didn’t waste a drop. 

Bucky who collapsed on top of you to kiss you again and stayed deep inside you as he thought about how he was going to fuck you all over again. 

Bucky who knew he had his equal when you smiled against his lips and asked, “Think you can make me choke before you fuck me again?” and was torn between pulling out of you and staying nice and deep where he belonged.

Bucky who grudgingly pulled out because he had to see what you looked like with your lips wrapped around him. “That’s it, sweetheart. Choke on me,” he urged when you cleaned off your mixed release with a happy moan and kept your pretty eyes on him.

Bucky who put you on all fours again because he had to finish inside of your dripping cunt. “We’re just getting started,” he promised.

Bucky who didn’t stop until you were a whimpering, boneless mess and carried you to your bathroom after so he could take care of you. “So beautiful. So good for me,” he whispered, praising you because he’s a gentleman at heart and he will give you the aftercare you deserve.

Bucky who held you like something precious and kissed your forehead. “I’ve got you,” he whispered and smiled when you whispered back, “And I’ve got you.”

Bucky who is insatiable, able to sleep easier because you’re in his arms, and happy.

So... yeah. Happy Moanday. Love and thanks for reading!❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sstan-hoe]

just joel taking a nap as soon as he comes home from work cause he’s an old man who snores too much

[sstan-hoe]

a well written and incredible finale!!!! 😭😭

real people

chapter eighteen (finale)

18+

the final part.

Content Warning: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, angst, mention of pregnancy, enemies to lovers to strangers, fluff, mention of sex, misunderstanding trope bc why not, and omg I am not ready to say goodbye to these characters I want to cryyyyyyyy. super long author's note at the end

Series Masterlist

Series Playlist

"This is nice," Gwen says, her eyes closed as she stands with her arms up, allowing the breeze to brush over her skin. Her loose, white shirt flies behind her and the waves gently kiss at her feet. You're not sure why she keeps saying that - this is nice - but you hardly go an hour without hearing those words pour from her mouth, drenched in contentment.

The sunset has caused the sky to match her hair, the sand cooling down under your palms. You watch as the ice in your sangria melts, letting the sound of the waves relax you. Not that there's anything causing you any stress right now - having been in Mexico for a week now, you're completely zen. But there is one thought that threatens to disturb your peace.

"Do you think he'll be here?" You can't help but ask her.

Her head turns to the side, her eyes fluttering open. She knows who you're talking about without having to ask for clarification. "He's the best man," She reminds you. "Of course he'll be here."

"This early on, though?" You wonder, grabbing fistfuls of sand. "The rehearsal dinner isn't until Friday."

Gwen turns so she's fully facing you, a blank look on her face. "I know what you want to hear, but I'm not going to lie to you," She begins. "He's here. Just landed today, actually."

Your stomach churns and you nod, looking down at your lap.

"What?" She asks you, taking a few steps closer. "Are you really that nervous to see him?"

"I haven't seen him since..." You trail off, shaking your head.

"Then maybe it's about time you did," She says bluntly. "I mean, for Christ's sake, it's been what? Three years?"

"I know, but..." You mumble, feeling dumb. "It's weird. We were together for such a short period of time, and now we've spent so much time apart... but I still-"

"Don't," Gwen cuts you off curtly. "I swear to God, don't say it."

"I wasn't gonna say love," You claim. "I just mean, I won't know how I feel until I see him."

"Well, then," She chirps. "Good thing both of you brought dates."

"He brought a date?" You ask, feeling nauseous at the thought of seeing him with someone else.

"Mhm," Gwen confirms. "But you have Pietro, so you're both in the same boat, which is good.

"Yeah," You utter dryly. "Great."

Gwen stretches before holding her hand out to you. "C'mon, we need to get ready. If we miss dinner again, Sharon will make me sleep on this beach," She says before grabbing your hand and pulling you up to your feet.

The two of you make your way back to the resort, but this time, you're no longer zen. You're a bundle of nerves.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, you turn to the side to get a look at yourself at all angles. Ever since your conversation with Gwen on the beach, you've felt a pit in your stomach and it's weighing you down, making you want to do nothing more than crawl into bed and hide from the world.

There's a knock at the door which makes you jump slightly, before it swings open. "Hey, you," Pietro says as he walks in with a grin. "You look incredible."

Relaxing a little with his presence, you smile at him in the mirror. "Thank you, P," You reply. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yep - just need to use the bathroom," He says as he walks towards it.

"Ugh, please don't clog it again!" You call out as he walks past you.

With a sly grin and a squeeze of your ass, he swings open the door. "I won't," He swears as he walks in, and you know better than to believe him.

"Why do I fuck you, again?" You call out, shaking your head.

Pietro opens the door again and pokes his head through. "Because I'm a damn good fuck, baby," He says with a wink. "Your words."

Rolling your eyes, you fiddle with your hair. "Whatever. Go poop - and hurry, because Sharon will kill me if I'm late!"

While you wait for him, you sit on the bed and decide to scroll through social media. You notice that Steve's got a new story up, so with a soft smile you open it up, expecting to see a photo of him and Sharon - but it's a photo of a gift-wrapped box with a Rolex on top of it. Gift from the best man, the caption reads. With a gasp, you close Instagram and put your phone down. And immediately, you hate how affected you are, just from a mere mention of him.

Fuck, you're screwed.

"I'm ready!" Pietro announces as he walks back out the bathroom.

"Did you wash your ha-"

"Yes, I washed my hands," He cuts you off with a laugh as he walks over and takes your hand, pulling you up to your feet. Moving in closer, he gives you a soft kiss. "You really do look so fucking good."

"No," You say sternly. "I refuse to be late to this dinner, P."

He tilts his head, giving you the soft-eyed, ever-so-slightly-desperate look he knows drives you crazy. "Gimme ten minutes, baby," He mumbles.

You narrow your eyes at him and push him back. "No. You'll mess up my hair and makeup," You whine.

"C'mere," He whispers before kissing you, once, twice, three times.

You melt into it, allowing yourself the respite of his physical comfort from your overthinking head, but then your mind conjures up the image of Sharon's pissed-off expression, which is enough motivation to give you the strength to pull away. "Let's go," You decide firmly. "It's Sharon's wedding week. I'm not gonna stress her out anymore than she already is."

Giving in with a sigh, he nods and takes a step back. "Alright," He says, following you to the door. "Have I told you how sexy you are when you're being all considerate for your friends, and shit?"

The resort has been booked out in its entirety by Steve and Sharon for the week, allowing them to spend a few days with their nearest and dearest before the big day on Saturday. So far, Sharon's been spending the days with her bridesmaids, Steve with his groomsmen, and each evening, everyone comes together to have dinner. It's been fine so far, but today's the first night that all the groomsmen are here - which has you almost shaking as you and Pietro make your way to the dining hall.

"What's wrong? Nervous to see everyone?" Pietro asks you as your heels click against the marble floor. "You've already met 'em all before, right? Oh, wait, shit. Isn't your ex here tonight?"

He swings the doors to the hall open and, of course, it seems you're the last ones to arrive. Thankfully, Sharon doesn't look annoyed in the slightest, as everyone turns to look at you.

"They're here!" Sharon squeals, standing up with her glass of wine raised up. "Come in, sit down!"

Pietro's got his arm around your waist, so when he begins to walk in, even though your feet feel planted to the ground, you can't help but move with him. But your eyes stayed glued to him.

Bucky.

It's like time slows down. He looks so different, but also exactly the same. And he's staring back at you. A small part of you is acutely aware of the beautiful woman sitting by his side, but everyone else melts away into irrelevance when you're looking at him. It's the first time in three years that you've been so close to him - sitting at opposite ends of a 25-seat table - but it feels as familiar as though no time has passed at all.

"Red or white tonight?" Steve asks you as he stands up to pour you a glass of wine.

Ripping your eyes away from Bucky and looking up at Steve, you let out a huff. "Brown," You reply curtly before grabbing a bottle of whisky from the middle of the table and pouring it into your glass.

Steve chuckles before pouring Pietro some wine, and you take a long sip. Next to you, Gwen gently nudges your stomach. "Way to be subtle," She hisses under her breath. "You guys just stared at each other for, like, five minutes."

"Shut up," You whisper, before you smile widely at Sharon who's sitting opposite you. "You look amazing, Shar!"

And she really does - this whole week, she's been glowing. "Thank you," She sings, still standing. Clearing her throat, she taps her glass of water with her fork, getting everyone's attention. "Alright. Everyone is officially here! Besides, like, our family, and everyone else," She begins with a soft laugh. "Steve and I are so, so grateful that you've all taken time out of your incredibly busy schedules to come and spend the last few days before the wedding with us. Ever since Steve and I started talking about getting married, we really had only one priority - to have a relaxed time with our best friends. Mexico has always meant so much to him and I - ever since the school trip episode of Sunset Lake, and all the times we returned together since - so it only felt right to get married here. In four days, Steve and I will be standing at the altar, with all of you there- but until then, we can eat, relax, get pampered, and party!"

Everyone holds up their respective glasses and cheers along with her, and Steve stands up and gives her a kiss. You grin as you watch them, so entirely in love. It makes you yearn for that feeling. Sure, sleeping with Pietro is fun and fulfils your needs, but you haven't felt a deeper connection to anyone since... Bucky.

You dare to steal a glance at him. He's pouring his date a drink- you recognize her. She's from some TV show that was big on Netflix or Hulu last year. Not his usual type, but then again, he's been linked with all sorts of women over the past three years. And he could say the same about you.

Before long, the food is served, so you can distract yourself with hummus and pita. You have conversations with Sharon and Steve, Gwen and Peter, and a few hushed comments fly between you and Pietro, but as it's such a big group, you can't venture out much further than them. Not that you particularly want to.

She finds him funny, that much is for sure. She pulls him arm whenever he makes her laugh, which is often.

"Her name's Jean," Gwen tells you, knowing you too well to not realize what it is you're thinking. "They work together. They've been spotted out at dinner a few times since."

"I feel sick," You utter, grabbing your napkin.

"Don't worry- you have Pietro, so you're on equal ground with him right now," Gwen says in an attempt to comfort you - as if the thing you're upset about is that Bucky is one-upping you.

"Pietro is nothing more than a human dildo to me," You whisper bitterly. "Bucky's actually dating that woman. With emotions."

"That's mean," Pietro chimes in as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, resting his chin on your other shoulder.

"Shut up. You're lucky I let you anywhere near me," You say to him with an eye-roll.

He bites down on his fist and leans in closer to Gwen with his head at your chest. "Isn't she so sexy?" He says lowly, to which she just snorts.

While everyone else continues chatting and drinking, you can't help but fall into the darkest depths of your mind.

He doesn't want you anymore. He probably hasn't for a while. You wonder how long it took him to officially be over you. You thought you might have been starting to get over him until you saw him tonight. All the feelings just came rushing back, hitting you like a truck. The last thing you wanted all those years ago was to become a stranger to him- but it seems like it might be too late.

Suddenly, you feel a kick under the table. You frown and look up to see Sharon giving you a pointed look as she taps her phone. While Gwen and Pietro chat, you look down at your phone to see a message from Sharon.

SharBear

I need to meet you tonight once everyone's in their rooms. Midnight outside reception. It's important. Please!

Without hesitation, you respond.

You

I'll be there.

Your mind is swirling with all the things Sharon could possibly want to speak to you about - has something gone wrong with the wedding plans? Has she suddenly got cold feet? You pace at reception for ten minutes before she finally appears.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, I was waiting for Steve to get into the shower," She says in a hushed voice as she rushes over from the elevator and grabs your hands. "Thank you for meeting me."

"Of course, Sharon," You say, deeply concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's perfect!" She replies instinctively with a chirpy smile, before letting out a sigh and letting her face fall. "But... it might not be."

"What's going on?" You ask her, pulling her away from the worker at the front desk who's giving you odd looks and towards the entrance of the hotel.

She looks around the lobby, making sure nobody's around before she speaks. "I need... I need you to buy me something," She utters.

You frown as you lower your voice. "Like... drugs?" You whisper. "Something to help you relax? Pietro might have a xanny-"

"No, not like that," She cuts you off with a mild look of panic in her eyes as they meet yours. "I need, um... I think I need a pregnancy test?"

Up until now, you would've liked to think that you'd be the calm, collected friend during crises. That you'd be the level-headed leader keeping everyone's panic at bay, coming up with an action plan and swiftly carrying it out without fault. But instead, you suck in a loud gasp and slap your hands over your face. "Sharon!" You let out, your yell muffled by your hands.

"I know, I know, it's crazy," She says as she shakes her hands. "It's just so I can be sure, before I drink myself into oblivion this week."

"That's why you haven't been drinking," You say with wide eyes as everything falls into place in your head. "And you didn't eat the edibles yesterday!"

"I'm just being careful, until I can be sure," Sharon says. "Now, you're my best friend and the one I trust most out of everyone here. I can't trust the resort workers not to leak it to the press, so I can't ask them or even order one online in case they snoop. So it has to be you, Y/N."

Taking in a deep breath, you nod, accepting the responsibility. "Yes. I can do this," You tell her, keeping your voice firm. "I can do this for you."

"Great. There's a pharmacy about a mile away, it's open twenty-four hours. Steve and I stopped there when we landed, to get... condoms," She says, wincing.

"Yes, got it," You say, trying to remain calm. "I'll call a taxi and-"

"No public transport," She cuts in quickly. "Everyone in this city knows the wedding is this week. They all know we're here. If a cab driver recognizes you - I can't handle the scandal, Y/N."

"So what do you want me to do?" You ask her, shaking your head. "It's not like I can walk a mile in the middle of the night!"

Just then, someone walks into the hotel. It's, of course, none other than Bucky, holding a motorcycle helmet under his arm. You can practically see the cogs turning in Sharon's head as she looks at him.

"Sharon, no. No, Sharon," You say gravely, holding her arms tight. But it's too late.

"Bucky!" She calls out, making you die inside.

"Hey," He replies, while you stare at the floor. "What are you both doing down here so late?"

"We, um, have a little issue," She tells him. "Just a little visit from Aunt Flo, you know?"

"Oh, right," He mumbles, and you can't help but feel a shiver at the sound of his voice. Get it together.

"Yeah, so... would you be able to give Y/N a lift to a pharmacy?" She asks him while you grimace. "So she can stock up on tampons, and stuff."

"Sure," Bucky replies. "Let's go."

"Thank you so much!" Sharon exclaims, giving him a hug before coming back to you and placing her hands on your shoulder. "And thank you. I love you."

"You're lucky I love you, too," You mutter, before turning to face him.

He holds the helmet out to you and you take it before following him out, shooting Sharon one last glare on your way.

"So, the pharmacy?" Bucky asks as he taps on his phone.

"Yeah, Sharon said there should be one about a mile away?" You respond, your voice pathetically small.

"Got it. Let's go," He says while sticking his phone with the map on on the handlebar and getting on the bike.

You take in a deep breath before putting on the helmet and getting on behind him, planning to hold onto the handles located behind you for the entirety of the ride - but the second he rides off, you instantly clamber to wrap your arms around him. It may be awkward, but you'd rather that than die before the wedding.

The ride is quiet, save for the sound of the engine. The streets are pretty bare, being in a less-populated area, and the sky is full of stars. After a few minutes, you take off your helmet so as to feel the fresh air on your face, and to get a proper view of the starry night. Soon, you arrive at the pharmacy, and Bucky parks up outside. When you jump off and he sees you without the helmet on, he sighs.

"I would really rather you keep that on during the ride," He says lowly.

"Sorry," You utter, slowly backing away towards the shop. "Want anything?"

He simply shakes his head, and you nod before turning and walking into the pharmacy. Thankfully, there's a box of face masks at the entrance so you grab one and wear it. The man at the counter doesn't seem the type to keep up with celebrity news, but you want to do all you can to keep things under wrap. You walk through the aisles until you get to the shelves with pregnancy tests, and decide to grab one of each of the five brands available, knowing Sharon's the type to want to double and triple check. Along with the tests, you grab a chapstick, for no other reason than to make it feel like a normal shopping trip, though the combination of Sharon's news and being back on Bucky's bike has you feeling like you're having an out-of-body experience.

Just as you put the tests and chapstick on the counter, you feel a presence behind you. You turn your head to see Bucky standing there, holding a bag of chips. And his eyes are on the tests.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Without a word, you toss four ₱500 notes on the counter and take the plastic bag from the worker before stuffing in the tests and chapsticks and walking out the store. When you get out, all you want to do is scream. He thinks you're pregnant, or at least potentially so. And you can't even correct him because then you'd be outing Sharon. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Ready to go?" He asks as he walks out of the pharmacy, as casual as ever. Fucker.

"You're so annoying!" You can't help but explode at him once you rip the mask off your face.

Taken aback, he raises a brow. "Excuse me?"

"If you wanted fucking chips, why didn't you just ask me to buy you chips?" You ask him, frustration dropping from your tone.

"What is your problem?" Bucky asks you, taking a step closer.

"I clearly asked you if you wanted anything, and you said no," You hurl at him.

"I changed my mind," He says flatly.

"You changed your mi- you're such a dick," You hiss, turning away.

"Will you calm down?" He calls out. "It's... not a big deal!"

"Not a big deal?" You all but scream, turning back to him. He thinks you could be pregnant with Pietro's baby. He thinks you're that close - that you'd be that reckless because you're that locked in with fucking Pietro. And he doesn't seem to care.

"Yes, it's not a big deal," He doubles down.

"Whatever," You huff before spinning back on your heel and storming away.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice booms behind you, but you're too irritated to think or act rationally. You simply continue stomping away, too stubborn to accept a ride back to the resort with him. Safety be damned. You have pregnancy tests and chapstick to defend yourself with.

The rumbling of his bike gets louder and after a few seconds, he pulls up next to you. "Get on the damn bike, Y/N," He orders you sternly.

"Fuck you," You spit, walking even faster.

He trails slowly behind you, his bike swaying side to side as he does his best to keep the slow pace. "You're going the wrong way, dipshit," He says, and it feels like the air turns twenty degrees colder.

The old nickname makes you falter in your steps, but you continue moving. "Maybe I'm taking the scenic route," You utter.

He speeds up for a second before turning his bike in front of you, stopping you from going any further. With a glare, he lets out a huff through his nostrils. "Get on the bike. I'm tired, and I don't have time for this," He says curtly.

"Then go back to the hotel and get in bed," You say with your arms folded across your chest. "I'm sure Jean's waiting for you."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What, are you jealous?" He asks, to which you scoff.

"You wish!" You all but yell. "Just go. I'll call an Uber."

"It's almost 1am. I'm not letting you get a cab alone," He says bluntly. "Get on the bike, we'll go back to the hotel, and we can pretend like this night didn't happen."

A dry laugh leaves your mouth of its own accord. "I've heard that before," You mutter bitterly.

Without a word, he holds the helmet out to you. You roll your eyes before grabbing it off him and getting on the bike, as much as it pains you to give in. This time, even though you're terrified, you keep your hands firmly on the handles behind you, refusing to let him think you want to touch him. Although it hurts to be back at square one with him, it's easier to focus on being annoyed at him than to realize he's over you.

Once you get back to the resort, you clamber off the bike and pull the helmet off, putting it down where you were sitting. He sits and types on his phone.

"Thanks for the ride," You mumble like a child being forced to show manners.

He just grunts in response.

The next morning at breakfast, you're inwardly stressing as you try to find the perfect opportunity for you to transport the five pregnancy tests in your bag to Sharon's without anyone seeing.

"Y/N, sit down!" Gwen calls out before grabbing your hand and yanking you down onto the empty seat next to her.

You give her a smile. "I actually just need to speak to Shar-"

"Eat first," She cuts you off sternly as she places a pastry onto your plate.

"Ooh, those look good," The person sitting on the other side of you comments. You turn to see none other than Bucky's date, Jean. "Could you please hand me one?"

Of course she's lovely and polite. Fuck's sake.

"Sure," You reply with a smile as you grab the platter and hold it out to her.

She grabs a square croissant and puts it on her plate with a bashful look. "Thank you. God, this is so surreal," She says with flushed cheeks. "I'm just, like, a huge fan of you."

Damn. She's making it really hard to hate her.

"That's so sweet, thank you," You reply.

"It's just crazy being in a room, practically on vacation, with a group of people I look up to," She continues with awe in her eyes. "Oh, I'm Jean, by the way. I... I'm here with... uh..."

"It's alright. I know you're Bucky's date," You tell her with a soft laugh. "I'm not sweating over a six-month situationship I had three years ago, don't worry."

A throat clear behind you. "Morning, everyone," Bucky says, squeezing her shoulders before taking a seat next to her.

"Oops," You whisper to yourself.

"Morning, sunshine," Jean greets him sweetly with a kiss on his cheek before she turns back to you. "So, I have to ask you: what was it like working with the Norman Osborn? Was it everything I dream about?"

"Oh, and more," You answer her emphatically. "He's just... a genius. It sounds cliché, but that's really the only way I can describe him. Being on set with him alone was flabbergasting, but being directed by him? I genuinely felt like a new woman every day. A new actress, should I say."

"Wow. I am so jealous," Jean says. "And the movie was incredible. You're gonna think I'm lying, but I literally watched it in theatres, like, twelve times."

"So, you're who I need to thank for the box office success," You say teasingly.

"You were so robbed at the Oscars this year," She says with a scoff. "Like, I know the other nominees were great, but none of them held a candle to your performance."

"I was just grateful to be nominated," You tell her, giving her the PR-approved response.

She narrows her eyes, leans in, and lowers her voice. "Yeah, but you were also thinking, what the fuck? Right?" Jean whispers. "Don't worry, it's a safe space."

With a delighted laugh, you lightly push her arm. "Of course not," You say, before whispering, "Maybe."

After spending the entirety of breakfast laughing non-stop with Bucky's girlfriend, much to the surprise of everyone, you soon become acutely aware of the tests in your bag.

As everyone gets up to return to their rooms and freshen up before the day's activities, you pull Sharon to a quiet corner. "Hey," You whisper. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," She answers with a quick nod. "Haven't vomited today, but we'll see how long breakfast lasts."

"Uh, I've got the... things," You utter, giving her a pointed look as you shake your bag.

"Oh! Yeah, great, thank you so much," She says, holding your hands. "How was it with Bucky? I hope it wasn't too awkward? He didn't see, did he?"

Opting not to tell her about how he saw you buying the tests and how you subsequently screamed at him in the street, you nod. "It was fine," You lie. "Do you want them now?"

"Yes," She says, holding her bag open next to yours. "Just... don't be suspicious."

Trying to act casual, angling your bags so that nobody behind can see them, you slowly transport the tests one by one from your bag to hers.

"Fuck, how many did you get?" She asks with wide eyes.

"I figured you'd want to be really sure," You tell her with a shrug as you drop the last one in.

A smile breaks out on her face. "You know me so well," She says, pulling you in for a hug. "Thank you. You're the best."

"Do you wanna take one now?" You ask as you pull away. "I can come with you."

"I'm gonna wait until tomorrow," She tells you. "When Mom's here. I need her with me in case it's... yeah."

"Of course," You say with an understanding nod, though the sentiment doesn't reach your heart. Not having a mom in your life means if you were in Sharon's position, it would be her or Gwen you needed by your side - and for some twisted reason, it has you feeling bitter that you wouldn't be their chosen pregnancy-test aide. You know it's irrational and unfair to feel that way, but you can't help it.

"Okay, let's go back to everyone before they wonder what we're talking about," Sharon chirps as she takes your arm and leads you back to the group.

Jean gasps and rushes over to you when she sees you. "Hey, have you been to the spa yet?" She asks you excitedly.

"I haven't, actually," You tell her. "Been too busy helping Sharon out with wedding stuff."

"You have to come," She says, grabbing your hand. "They are incredible here. Bring Pietro, too - it can be like a double date at the spa!"

Realizing that that means Bucky will also be there, you falter. "Uh, I don't know if Pietro will-"

"If Pietro will what?" The man himself  asks as he appears, hugging you from behind.

"Oh, we were talking about spending some time at the spa," Jean tells him. "You're down, right?"

"Absolutely," He answers.

"So, it's settled!" She exclaims with a giddy grin. "We'll meet you there in an hour."

"Can't wait," You say half-heartedly.

You all but melt into the warm hot tub, closing your eyes and letting all your stress go with the steam. Pregnancy tests. Exes. Forget it all.

"Mind if I join?" An all too familiar voice asks.

Opening your eyes, you see Bucky stepping down into the tub. "Doesn't seem like I have a choice," You mutter.

There's a few moments of blissful silence, and you close your eyes again, electing to pretend as though he isn't there. The sound of Pietro and Jean racing laps in the swimming pool fades into the background, and all you can hear is the bubbles fizzing-

"So, a six-month situationship, huh?" Bucky abruptly cuts into your thoughts. "That's how you look at it?"

You let out a deep sigh, refusing to let him bait you into giving him a reaction. "What else would you call it?" You ask him.

He doesn't answer, but you're not foolish enough to think that's the end of the conversation. "So, you pregnant?" He asks bluntly.

"No," You reply.

"Took all five tests?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Were you always this childish?" You ask, opening your eyes to glare at him. "I'm none of your business anymore, Barnes. I haven't been for three years."

He's staring at you. "A heads-up would've been nice," He says bitterly. "Y'know, that 'see you later' actually meant fuck you, I'm done."

"I wasn't done," You correct him gravely. "Though you obviously were."

"Are you kidding me?" He asks with a dry laugh.

"Oh, sorry, all the times you tried so hard to contact me must've got lost in the mail," You say flatly.

"Contact you? And when was the best time? When you were dating your co-star while filming in Australia? Or maybe when you came back and started dating those other schmucks?" He spits.

"You cannot be serious," You say gravely. "Says Mr. 'Dating Three Women At Once'!"

"Really? You of all people believe what the media said?" Bucky asks incredulously.

"Oh, fuck you!" You yell, standing up.

"Fuck you," He returns just as harshly, standing up as well.

He's looking down at you with a look in his eyes you haven't seen since you first met - that day on Steve's yacht when you first debuted your fake relationship to the world. It sends a shiver down your spine. Full of rage and seemingly genuine hatred - and it makes you want to kiss him.

Bucky tries to stay strong, but his eyes betray him, flickering down to look at your drenched, bikini-clad body, the same body he's been missing for three years. He remembers all the places he left marks, and all the places he kissed it better.

"I never forgot how I felt," He says in a hushed, rushed tone.

"You didn't even blink at the possibility of me being pregnant with another man's child," You point out coldly.

"Listen to me," He utters, grabbing your wrist. "I thought about you every single minute. I still do."

"Bucky, shut up," You whisper, highly aware of both Pietro and Jean making their way over.

"Tell me you don't feel the same," He challenges you. "Tell me you don't want anymore. That you don't love me anymore."

"What the fuck, Barnes?" You hiss.

"If you can tell me you don't love me anymore, I won't bring it up again," He says.

You raise a brow.

His jaw clenches for a second. "But if you can't, I'll spend every waking moment getting you back," He finishes.

With a pit in your stomach and a lump in your throat, you shoot him one last glare. "You're too late," You utter before pulling your wrist out of his grip and leaving him there alone.

Friday evening arrives, and with it, the rehearsal dinner. Steve and Sharon's families have also arrived at the resort, meaning there's a lot more people around the table which makes it a heck of a lot easier to ignore Bucky's stares.

"What is going on between you?" Gwen asks you in a hushed voice as you're served by the waiting staff. "He hasn't stopped looking at you all day, with that weird, intense stare. Did you speak to him?"

With a shrug, you pick up your glass of wine. "It's Bucky. He's always weird and intense," You answer lamely.

"Oh, my God. Did he say something to you?" She presses. "You have to tell me. Are you guys... sleeping together?"

"What? No," You answer instantly. "What do you think of me, Gwen?"

"I don't know; when two people with history reconnect, there can be major sparks," She says while cutting into a roasted potato. "All the feelings come rushing back."

Instead of validating her theory with a response, you begin to eat.

"Holy shit. You did reconnect, didn't you?" She hisses. "I knew it!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," You say plainly.

She lets out a sigh. "Look, if you realized that there are still strong feelings between you, that's not a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing? He's got a girlfriend!" You whisper-shout, grateful for the sound of cutlery on porcelain drowning you out.

"Hasn't stopped you before," Gwen lets out before gasping at herself. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that. I mean - what he had with Natasha wasn't even real-"

"I get it, Gwen, it's fine," You cut in, and the two of you leave it at that.

While you're eating, Sharon gets out of her seat and walks around the table to you, smiling and squeezing the shoulders of everyone she passes on her way. When she gets to you, she brings her mouth to your ear and lowers her voice. "Can you come to the lobby with me?"

Once again, you're filled with anxiety and dread as you follow her out of the room. She holds your hand tight, and neither of you say a word as you walk to the lobby.

"Everything okay?" You ask once you get there, making sure the receptionist is out of earshot.

Sharon takes in a deep breath. "I took the test. Well, all five tests," She begins, a mixture of worry and fear in her eyes. "And... they were all positive."

You slap your hands over your mouth. "Oh, my God!" You all but scream, thankfully muffling your voice with your hands.

"I know!" She exclaims, breathing in and out quickly.

"That's amazing!" You tell her with a wide grin. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," She whispers with teary eyes.

"Have you told Steve?" You ask her, to which she shakes her head.

"Not yet. I just... I don't know how," She admits. "My mom said I should just tell him, but... what if he gets scared? What if it's too much for him and he gets cold feet?"

"Sharon, that man looks at you like you hung the moon and stars," You tell her, holding her shoulders. "He loves you more than anything. The last thing he would do is leave you alone, especially if he knew the truth. Love isn't something you can just... throw away. Forget about. You can only confront it, and accept it... and... denying yourself of it would be the biggest disservice you could do to yourself."

She narrows her eyes. "Are we still talking about me being pregnant?"

You raise your brows, and let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding in. "I don't know," You say in a small voice.

"Okay, well, I want to do something special for him," She tells you. "He's always planning so many nice surprises for me, and I want to do the same. So, I need your help."

"Anything," You tell her.

A sly grin grows on her face. "I love you," She says.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask her with a frown. "Like you've done something I won't like?"

"Well, I thought you might need some help setting it up," She begins, glancing behind her. "So, I enlisted another pair of hands. The only other person I trust with my life who wouldn't go to the press."

Before you can ask her exactly who she's talking about, none other than Bucky walks into the lobby with an expectant look on his face. "Hey, Sharon. What is it you needed my help with?"

She looks at you with wide, hopeful eyes. "I don't want him to know it's for me, yet," She whispers to you. "Don't want him to know before Steve. You can tell him the truth once Steve knows."

With a sigh, you swallow your pride. "Uh, fuck. It's me, Barnes," You say flatly, hating every second of this. "As it turns out... I am pregnant."

He looks taken aback.

"And she wants to surprise Pietro," Sharon chimes in. "Can you help her set up the surprise on the beach? At this point, we don't want anyone knowing that doesn't need to, or that we don't trust."

With a nod, Bucky keeps his face free of emotion. "Of course."

You're convinced that you died and this is hell, because you've experienced nothing worse than setting up a 'We're Pregnant!' message on the beach with Bucky, who thinks the pregnancy is yours, and that the father is Pietro.

Bucky seems to have an artistic eye as he sets out the flowers around the words in the sand. You're lighting the candles, wondering how it got to this.

"This is so weird," You mumble.

"Yep," He replies curtly. "Didn't imagine this would be happening three years ago."

"It's been a long time," You say. "A lot has changed."

"You haven't," He says, looking down at the sand. "Still just as gorgeous."

A soft laugh leaves your mouth. "Should you be flirting with a pregnant woman?"

Bucky looks up at you, into your eyes. "Do you love him?" He asks you.

You struggle with the lighter, letting out a frustrated huff before answering him. "It started out as just sex," You say truthfully.

"Like us?"

You snort. "I guess."

"Do you love him?" He asks you again.

"Let's... not do this now," You suggest.

He lets out a long sigh and sits up. "When it ended with Natasha... my first thought was you. Carol told me to wait, at least a few weeks, so it didn't look like I was just jumping between you. I also didn't want to overwhelm you, or take attention off the fact that you won the case," He tells you. "Then you left New York to film in Australia. And the rumors about you and Luke... I just thought it would be best to leave you to it. You were working abroad. It wasn't the right time."

"Then I came back, and you were dating someone else," You remember.

"Wasn't dating her," He mumbles. "Emma and I were just friends."

"Well, it didn't look like that, and I didn't wanna reach out just to hear that you had moved on," You tell him truthfully. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing that. For it to be final. Outlined clearly. I guess it was easier to live with the vagueness. The hope that... maybe we just needed time, and eventually we'd find each other again. But I couldn't listen to you telling me you were with someone else. I just couldn't."

He lets out a shaky breath. "I felt the same," He admits. "I know I'm a fucking coward for not trying harder. And now I'm too late."

"You're not a coward. You were just protecting yourself," You say lowly, before looking around. "I think we're done. Thanks for your help."

"Of course," He mumbles.

Sending Sharon a quick text telling her it's ready, you get up to leave. Bucky begins walking away, a look of dejection on his face, when you grab his hand. "Hold on. Just... wait here with me," You say, pulling him behind a rock.

"What are we doing here?" He asks you with a frown.

"Just wait," You whisper, looking over the rock. A few minutes pass before Sharon and Steve walk out the hotel.

"What are they doing here?" Bucky wonders. "Want me to stall them while you wait for Pietro?"

"Wait," You repeat, feeling the confusion emanate from him.

As Sharon and Steve make their way down to the beach, you hold your breath. Steve seems confused to the babble leaving Sharon's mouth, until they get to the candles and message in the sand. They stop. He's looking down at it. He looks back up at her, and she's grinning at him. With a laugh, he swoops her into his arms and spins her around.

You turn to look at Bucky, who just looks absolutely lost.

"What... they... huh?" He utters.

"The tests weren't for me. They were for Sharon," You reveal. "And this whole thing was for Steve, not Pietro. Sharon was just really scared of everyone finding out, and wanted Steve to know before anyone else."

Bucky's lips part in shock, and he just stares down at you. "So, you and Pietro..."

"We just sleep together every now and then," You admit. "I just... wanted to bring someone in case you brought someone. Which you did."

"Jean and I aren't... we're just friends," He tells you. "We're working on a film together. I mentioned that I wasn't bringing a plus-one, and she asked if she could come with me so she could network."

"So..." You trail off, your heart racing.

"So..." He echoes, raising a brow. "I still love you. I still want you more than I've ever wanted anything else. If I have to spend another three years proving myself to you, I will."

"Bucky... I... I love you, too," You say, the words finally flying free. "I don't want to waste any more time. But... I have a lot to think about," You tell him. "And a conversation to have with Pietro. But I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. The big day," He says, looking as though he's holding back from doing something he wants to do.

"Yeah. Very big," You say awkwardly. "Well... good night."

He takes a step closer to you, and you forget how to breathe. Looking down at you, he cups your cheek in his hand. "Good night," He replies.

Swallowing thickly, you nod.

How the fuck are you supposed to get any sleep tonight?

The wedding ceremony is beautiful. The love Steve and Sharon have for each other is evident in their vows and the way they look at each other, and you can't help but notice the glow on Sharon's face. However, the reception is when the real fun starts.

You've been pouring water shots for Sharon whenever someone wants to do a round with her, because she isn't ready for everyone to know about the baby yet. As her maid of honor, you've barely had a chance to sit down, having to fight all the small fires that arise to make sure she doesn't realize anything's wrong. You're grateful once the cake's been cut and the dance floor fills up, meaning you can finally relax as the party goes on.

"It's so unfair that you're breaking up with me," Pietro whines as he looks you up and down. "In that dress? You're killing me."

"Get a grip, Maximoff," You say with an eye roll.

"C'mon, let's dance!" He says, pulling you onto the dance floor before you have a chance to say no.

It's an upbeat song at first, one that you can simply clap along to so as not to make a fool of yourself - but then the band switches to a slow ballad.

"Everyone, grab someone you care about and let's dance a little slower," The singer says.

Bucky suddenly appears behind Pietro, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man. Mind if I steal her from you?"

Only looking slightly intimidated, Pietro nods. "Of course, man. Have fun," He says, giving you a grin before walking away.

As the song begins, a rendition of Can't Help Falling In Love, you smile and shake your head. "Did you request this?" You ask him, placing your hands on his shoulder.

"Who? Me?" He asks with faux innocence as he takes your waist in his hands. "I don't know what you mean."

"Cheesy fucker," You mumble, unable to keep the smile on your face.

This song reminds you of one of the best days you ever spent with him - when you met his family. Losing them was another painful thing you had to deal with when you left Bucky, and getting to see them again is one of the things you're most excited about.

"How is everyone?" You ask him. "Rebecca?"

"She's doing well," He says with a smile. "She's a teacher at our old school."

"I miss her," You tell him. "I miss them all."

"We can see them soon," Bucky tells you. "They've never stopped asking me about you. Ma will probably faint when I tell her you're mine for real this time."

"I'm yours?" You ask teasingly. "Prove it, Mr. Barnes."

He lets out a breathy laugh before moving in closer, holding your body to his, and bringing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. It was everything you've been missing and more. You feel just as safe with him as you did all those years ago.

When he pulls away, he shakes his head. "I can't believe I ever thought I could keep you at a distance. At the start, when I did everything I could to ignore my feelings," He says. "All you ever were was perfect. And I let fear keep me from being with you."

"We both did," You tell him. "And nobody can blame us. We'd never been in love before. Never thought we ever would be. But you came into my life, and... you taught me love. Showed me what it's supposed to be. And I want to spend my life loving you, without judgement, without hiding from the world. I love you, Jamie. No amount of time could have ever changed that. I never moved on, never forgot. I'll always be yours."

"And I'll always be yours," Bucky swears. "I'm gonna look after you, always. I went through life without feeling anything real before I met you. And you made me feel it all. Anger, hate, irritation."

"Damn," You utter lowly.

"Joy, appreciation, love," He adds with a smile. "It's like I was only pretending to feel those things before you made me really feel them. You lit a fire in me. Made me real. You made me real. I want to spend the rest of my life thanking you for that."

"I wish I could tell the Bucky from three and a half years ago that he'd be saying all this one day," You say with a grin. "He'd lose his fucking mind."

"Ah, he was a dick," He says flippantly. "Didn't know a thing."

"He was a dick," You agree, leaning in. "But... he was also really good in bed."

A smirk pulls at his lips. "Yeah? You enjoyed getting hate-fucked by him, didn't you?"

You bite down on your lip, squeezing his shoulders. "So. Much," You utter.

Bucky glances around the thinning-out dance floor and looks back at you. "How about, once we're done here, I take you up to one of the rooms, and fuck you like I hate you?" He suggests, sending a shiver down your spine. "What do you say? For old time's sake?"

With a grin, and ruined panties, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him before repeating, "For old time's sake."

super long a/n incominggggg

the fucking end.

so here we are. i am so not emotionally prepared to say goodbye to real people. the past eighteen weeks have felt so, so incredible (eighteen weeks??? they went so quick omg), and exactly what peak tumblr felt like for me, back in the method acting and suburban pleasure days. for those who have been following me for a while, you probably noticed i took an extremely long hiatus starting in about 2023, only really posting the odd one-shot here and there. real people was my first series back and . oh my God. the support was instant and overwhelming. it felt like a community again. my love for writing was reignited and, though there were one or two weeks when i hit writer's block and had to rush to get a chapter out, for the most part it genuinely felt like this series wrote itself. the storyline of actors fake dating has been sitting in my drafts for literal years. since before my marvel era. since before my anakin era. since an era none of you knew... my harry styles era. yep. i had a really weak intro drafted of a harry styles fanfic with the same concept. it was just called "real". and that was in like... 2016/17. so to be here now, almost a decade later, with a full series based on 16-year-old kinana's idea written and complete that I'm so proud of is so damn surreal. I genuinely would not have been able to write this without your love and support so thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged and sent me lovely messages week in and week out. you are the reason this series exists. i hope i can continue to bring you more stories. i might take a short break from posting anything for a few weeks, work on some drafts. maybe think up a new series. and work on some old ones. i'll see you soon. i love you all.

masterlist

buy me a kofi <3

[sstan-hoe]

Hard Bargain

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2.4k words. You can’t pay Joel in ration cards — not this time. He delivers what you asked for anyway. What happens next isn’t a favor. It’s a transaction. And Joel takes payment in full.

RATING: E. Rough oral sex. Face-fucking. Light D/s. Power dynamics. Dirty talk. Spit and tears. Come in mouth. Comeplay. Finger fucking. Degradation. Praise kink. Dubious consent (but really consensual). Survival Sex. Joel Miller is Not a Nice Man. Emotional aftercare.

A/N: You voted, you got it! ❤️💦

You didn’t think he’d come tonight.

You were counting on that, honestly. Thought maybe you had another day. Maybe two. A little more time to figure out a way around it. Around him.

But then Joel Miller is at your door.

Three sharp knocks. Not frantic. Not angry. Just… certain. Final.

You don’t answer. You just stare at the knob, heart rabbiting behind your ribs. He lets himself in anyway.

The door clicks shut behind him, soft and efficient, and there he is — boots scuffed, jacket still zipped up to his throat, jaw tight, eyes colder than the fucking QZ walls.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. He just tosses the canvas bag on your table.

It thumps like it’s heavier than it should be.

You swallow hard.

You know what’s inside. Tampons. Toothpaste. Chocolate. The good kind, black market rare. You’d asked for it. Whispered the list to him in the alley behind the ration office, voice low, trying not to sound greedy. He hadn’t said yes. Just nodded once and walked off.

That was four days ago.

“I don’t have it yet,” you say, voice thin. “The cards. I’ll have ‘em next shipment—”

He cuts you off with one look. You don’t even get the rest of the sentence out.

You pause. Then try something else.

“I can pay you another way.”

Joel’s face doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch, doesn’t lift. You feel his eyes move down, though — a flicker, quick — like he’s scanning your mouth, your body, the distance between you.

You take a step forward.

Slowly.

He doesn’t stop you.

You don’t make a show of it. No coy smile, no dragging fingers up your own thigh. Just this: the truth of it, stark and raw. You can’t pay him. But you can give him something.

You sink to your knees.

The linoleum’s cold. Your palms hit it with a quiet slap, then settle flat. You reach for his belt.

He catches your wrist. Not rough — but not gentle, either.

“You think this is smart?” he mutters. His voice is low. Dangerously low. “Someone hears?”

“They won’t.”

His grip stays for a second longer. Then he lets go.

You don’t wait.

Your fingers find the buckle, the zipper. His cock is already half-hard when you pull him free — thick and heavy, dark with blood, a slick pearl beading at the tip.

You wrap your hand around him and look up.

“You gonna let me?” you whisper.

His nostrils flare. His eyes burn down into yours.

And then Joel says the words that drop straight into your gut and split you open.

“Don’t fucking tease.”

You don’t tease.

Not now.

Not with him looking down at you like that. Like you're a means to an end. Like he’s been patient for long enough.

You lean in slow, breath warm against the head of his cock. You kiss the tip. Just once. Soft.

He twitches in your hand.

Then your mouth opens.

He slides past your lips with one slow push of your hand guiding him. Thick, hot, swollen — he stretches your mouth immediately. Your jaw aches before he’s even halfway in.

“Goddamn,” Joel mutters, voice low and guttural. His hand comes down — not on your cheek, not to caress — but straight to the back of your head. Possessive. Anchoring.

You swirl your tongue around him, hollow your cheeks, start to move your head.

Not fast. Not yet. You want to give him something sweet first. Soft. You can feel his thighs tighten as he holds still, breath ragged. The tip hits the back of your throat and you choke a little, eyes watering, but you don’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You tryin’ to make me lose it?”

You hum, mouth full, and that’s all it takes. The sound, the vibration of it, the spit running down your chin — his fingers tighten in your hair, his hips roll forward.

The first thrust catches you by surprise.

You gasp around him, nails digging into your own thighs. Your body jerks — reflex — but you don’t try to pull back. You can’t, anyway. His grip is solid. Absolute.

“I said don’t tease,” he grits, and then he does it again.

He starts to fuck your mouth in short, rough thrusts. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. But there’s nothing gentle here. You’re just a hole now — a warm, wet mouth on your knees, and he uses it.

“Look at you,” he mutters, breath hitching. “On the fuckin’ floor, payin’ your debt like this.”

You moan. Can’t help it.

His hand shifts, tightens near your scalp, and he drives forward hard — deeper this time — makes your throat stretch around him.

You gag, sputter, spit bubbles up and slicks your lips, but you stay. You breathe through your nose and hold his hips. Let him.

“Christ,” he groans. “That pretty mouth. You take it like you were meant to.”

Your eyes stream. Tears and drool mix, falling hot down your cheeks.

And he keeps going.

The sound of it is obscene — wet and fast and sharp. Your nose pressed to his pubic bone, your chin soaked, throat working around the drag of his cock every time he drives in.

“Gonna fuck your face ‘til I’m done,” Joel grits. “Don’t care how messy you get.”

You can’t nod, can’t answer. He’s filling every inch of you.

But you want that.

You want it messy.

You want to be ruined for him.

He’s deep now.

Not just in your mouth — in your bones. In the tension running down your spine, the sharp ache behind your knees, the tears slicking your jawline.

Every thrust punches a soft sound out of your throat. He’s panting above you, jaw clenched, one big hand cradling the back of your skull to keep you exactly where he wants you.

And you take it. You let him fuck your face like it’s something he bought. Something he owns.

But then—

Something shifts.

Just a breath. A single stutter in the rhythm. His hand in your hair goes still. His hips stop moving, pressed flush to your face, and for the first time he really looks at you.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy, throat full.

Joel curses under his breath. A quiet, pained sound.

“Shit.”

He pulls out. Slow. Careful.

You gasp as air rushes in. Your lips are swollen, wet, your chin gleaming with spit and arousal and everything else you couldn’t swallow fast enough. You brace yourself on trembling hands and cough once, hard, shoulders shaking.

Then a sound you don’t expect.

Fabric. His jacket. Rustling.

You flinch, thinking he’s leaving.

But then Joel crouches. Heavy boots thud as he sinks down in front of you. You can’t meet his eyes — not yet — so you stare at the zipper of his pants, still undone, his cock glistening and flushed. Still hard.

“You okay?” he asks.

Not a whisper. Not soft. But lower than before. Rough in a different way.

You nod. Try to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, but your wrist is shaking.

Joel’s hand comes up. Brushes your cheek.

It stops you cold.

His thumb wipes a tear away. The pad of it is calloused, warm. Too gentle for the kind of man he’s pretending to be.

“Didn’t mean to…” he starts, then trails off. Swallows thickly. “Went too hard.”

You want to say no, that he didn’t, that you wanted it — still want it — but your throat’s raw. You just look at him instead.

He searches your face.

And maybe it’s just the silence. Maybe it’s the shitty little apartment. The war outside. The fact that no one’s touched you in months except to push you aside in a ration line — but suddenly the heat between you shifts. It softens.

“You didn’t stop me,” he mutters. More to himself than you. “But maybe I shoulda.”

You lean forward. Rest your forehead on his shoulder. Just for a second. His flannel smells like sweat and old soap and the streets outside the QZ.

He doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t say anything else.

Just sits there, crouched in front of you, breathing hard while you catch yours.

Then, after a long moment—

“You ready?” he asks, voice hoarse. Thumb still resting at the hinge of your jaw.

And you nod.

Because you are.

You nod.

And that’s all it takes.

Joel doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak.

He just grabs the back of your head again — slow this time, fingers threading deep into your damp hair — and guides you back down.

Your lips part, obedient.

He feeds his cock into your mouth again like it belongs there. Slower now. No sudden thrusts. No choke. Just heat and pressure and the way your lips seal around him like they remember the shape already.

You breathe steady through your nose, hand curled at the base of him, guiding what your throat can’t yet take.

“Attagirl,” he mutters. Quiet. Like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

You close your eyes and sink deeper. Let the head of him tap the back of your throat, feel the way he twitches when you moan around him.

Joel’s other hand cups the side of your face. Holds your jaw in place, thumb dragging slow beneath your cheekbone. Not rough. Not punishing. Just… firm. Like he’s grounding you.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart.”

You take him a little further. Then more. Your throat flexes, tightens, your shoulders jerk — but you keep going.

He groans. Low and ragged. You feel his hips start to move again, slow pulses forward, controlled now. Measured.

“Fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters. “So soft. So good.”

The praise shoots straight down your spine, lights a fire behind your ribs.

He pushes in deeper, and this time you let him — let your body relax into it, let him press his cock down your throat until your nose brushes his stomach again and your eyes spill fresh tears.

He holds there.

Not long. Just enough.

His thumb strokes your cheek. Once.

“You okay?”

It’s the only thing he says — barely audible, like it slips out before he can help it.

You blink. Look up. Nod.

And Joel groans like you just did something filthy.

“Jesus.”

He pulls out halfway and fucks back in — harder now, but still slow. Still watching. He’s got your jaw bracketed in his palm and his cock sliding between your lips and you realize you’ve never felt more owned in your life.

And god, you want it.

You reach between your knees with your free hand — touch yourself. Just press your palm there, over the heat building between your thighs, and he sees it.

He sees everything.

“You gettin’ off on this?” he growls. His rhythm speeds up — hips jerking now, fucking your mouth harder with each word. “You like this? Me usin’ you like this?”

You moan around him. Loud. Wet. Obscene.

His grip tightens.

And Joel starts to fuck your face like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He’s close. You can feel it — the way his hips jerk out of rhythm, the way his cock throbs between your lips, swelling at the base. His breaths go ragged, hissing between clenched teeth.

You moan. Let him hit the back of your throat one more time and stay there.

His hand clenches in your hair, pulls tight, and his voice breaks—

“F-fuck—gonna come—”

You brace for it. Keep your throat open, your jaw slack, and Joel groans deep when he finally lets go.

“Shit—fuck, that’s it—that’s it—good fuckin’ girl—”

He spills into your mouth in thick, hot pulses. You swallow automatically, gasping through your nose, tears leaking down your cheeks as he holds you there — cock twitching, hand tangled tight in your hair like he can’t bear to let go yet.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow. Like he’s dragging himself out of something he didn’t expect to enjoy this much.

Your mouth is wrecked. Red, swollen, wet.

Joel looks down at you. Spent. Jaw clenched, eyes dark.

He reaches out and smears a drop of come from your lip with his thumb — drags it across your cheek like he means to mark you.

“Next time,” he says, voice still low, still sharp with hunger, “I come on your face.”

Your stomach flips.

But you don’t move. Don’t answer.

You just kneel there. Mouth open, skin flushed, thighs shaking.

And then he grabs your arm.

You don’t have time to react — he hauls you forward, flips you fast, forces you down onto your stomach on the cold floor. One hand shoves between your shoulder blades, keeping your face pressed hard to the tile, the other ripping at your waistband.

You whimper, hips jerking up instinctively, and that’s all it takes.

“Spread your legs,” he growls.

You do. Wide. Exposed.

He shoves your pants down just far enough to bare you. And then his fingers are there — two of them, thick and unyielding, pushing into your soaked cunt without preamble.

You scream into the floor.

“Jesus fuckin’—you’re dripping,” Joel snarls. “That mouth got you this wet?”

He fucks you on his fingers like he’s still fucking your throat — hard and fast, relentless, curling them deep until you can’t even think. You claw at the floor. Try to lift your hips but his weight keeps you down, pinned, helpless.

“Stay still,” he growls.

You can’t. You’re shaking too hard. His fingers hit that spot again and again, and everything inside you snaps.

You come like a goddamn explosion — crying out, whole body convulsing, soaking his hand, the floor, everything.

Joel doesn't stop until you're whimpering, until your thighs are twitching and your cunt clenches around nothing.

Only then does he pull his fingers out.

And press them to your lips.

“Open.”

You do.

You suck his fingers clean.

Like a good girl.

Thank you for reading and dm me about my taglist if you're interested. ❤️

[sstan-hoe]

Random thought, Bucky w pull out method. His pull out game is strong, but the second you wrap your legs around his waist and whisper in his ear “one time wouldn’t hurt”? He’s gone, and you know he could easy escape your legs caging him in, but the fact he just doesn’t want to? Chefs kiss

Bucky’s rhythm was relentless, hands bruising your hips as he fucked you deep into the mattress. Sweat slicked across his abs, blue eyes blown dark with lust as he grunted, “You feel so fucking good, baby. I’m gonna cum soon…”

Your whole body was humming, too full, too needy. You felt him starting to tense—that familiar telltale hitch in his breath—when you suddenly hooked your legs tighter around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back.

He paused, eyes meeting yours, something wild flashing across his face.

“Bucky,” you purred into his ear, lips brushing the shell of it as you whispered, “Just this once wouldn’t hurt… right?”

A shudder raked down his spine. “Doll…” he groaned, hands gripping you like a vice as his hips pressed forward.

And the way you held him—like you weren’t going to let him go—had his resolve splintering, one heartbeat at a time.

He could have pulled away. Easily. Super-soldier strength and all.

But instead?

He buried himself to the hilt, growling low against your throat as the first hot spurts of him painted you from the inside.

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky moaned into your skin, his entire body trembling with the release. “You feel too damn perfect to leave empty.”

And all you could do was arch up into him, fingers tangled in his hair, whispering his name like a prayer as you held him there—exactly where you both needed him.

[sstan-hoe]

Don't wake daddy dad!bucky x mom!reader

synopsis: you've never been able to surprise your husband considering he's an ex trained assassin, but he'll make an exception for you and your daughter on fathers day. not proofread.

wc: 1081

"Mommy when is it gonna be done?" your daughter tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Shh baby, we don't want to wake daddy." You smiled and whispered to her as you finished plating your husbands food.

Giggles and the smell of breakfast filled Bucky's senses as he woke, eyes fluttering open from the couch that he most likely fell asleep on from being to tired to get to bed after getting in from work last night. He watched his four year old daughter clumsily walk into the living room with a marker and paper in her hand. Placing the paper on the coffee table, she locked eyes with her father and let out a gasp.

"Mommy he's awake!" She ran back to the kitchen shouting.

You looked down at your daughter who had the cutest little pout on her face, you opened your mouth to speak before you felt an arm slither around your waist.

"Mornin' love." Bucky mumbled into your neck, the grogginess apparent in his voice.

You turned to face your husband and gave him a slow kiss on his lips, "You aren't supposed to be awake mister."

"Daddy ruined the surprise." You looked back down to your daughter who was now teary eyed staring up at her father.

You glanced up at your husband who was now looking at you wide eyed before he crouched down to pick your daughter up, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean too."

She sniffled in his arms and you watched as he gently wiped away your daughter's tears, Bucky tried to get her to stop crying but nothing was working.

You walked over to the two and placed a hand on your daughter's back as she cried, you slowly placed your head beside hers on Bucky's shoulder, "Don't be upset honey, daddy didn't know."

Bucky could feel his heart twist at his daughter's upset, especially since he's the one who caused it. The moment was too sweet for Bucky to handle, seeing his daughter cry over something so innocent while you consoled her so gently. Becoming a mother came so naturally to you, you were nurturing, loving and so selfless when it came to your family.

Your daughter wouldn't let up about the problem her poor father unknowingly caused, so Bucky decided to try and create a solution.

"How about I go back to sleep, hm? And then you and mommy can finish the surprise?" Your husband suggested in a hushed tone. Gaining not only your attention, but your daughters as well.

Your daughter's head shot up and she nodded with teary eyes. Bucky set her down and walked back to the couch but not before grabbing the hands of your and your daughter, "You and mom gotta tuck me in though, okay?"

"Okay!" Your daughter replied cheerfully, the way her could change so abruptly always surprised you and your husband.

You rolled your eyes playfully at Bucky earning a wink from him, as the three of you walked into the living room. Bucky returned to his original sleeping position and gave you a cocky grin while you placed the blanket over him.

You were just about to walk away before your daughter grabbed onto the hem of your shirt, "Mama what about goodnight kisses? Daddy needs them to sleep!"

"Yeah mama, I want my goodnight kisses." Your husband restated, the man was quite literally beaming while awaiting your kiss.

You giggled and bent down to give Bucky a peck on his forehead, but he swiftly angled his head upwards and your lips landed on his as he gripped your face gently, causing you to squeal slightly before pulling away.

"Okay, Daddy is going to bed now." You picked your daughter up as Bucky shut his eyes and went back to 'sleep'.

You walked back into the kitchen and finished setting up the breakfast tray with your daughter. You carefully walked with the tray in your hands as your daughter held a handmade drawing and a small wrapped rectangular box.

You set the tray down on the coffee table and signaled for your daughter to wake up her father. Bucky pretended to stir in his sleep earning a small chuckle from you.

"Mmm, m' so tired princess. How about you and Mommy join me?" Before either of you could respond, Bucky pulled both of you on top of him and squeezed you both. Your daughter shrieked with excitement before somehow freeing herself from Bucky's grasp,

"Daddy look what I made!!" She revealed the drawing to your husband, it was a picture of you and Bucky holding your daughter's hand along with a scramble of letters that didn't spell out anything, but he wasn't gonna tell that to his little girl. "Look I drew your arm!"

"Oh my. I love it, princess." Saying he loved it was an understatement. Bucky was on the verge of tears, he had been all morning. Bucky never thought in a million years that he would get to experience peace like this. He never thought he would ever deserve to live the domestic life, hell he still doesn't think he deserves it.

"Sweetheart, give daddy the present you got him. " You whispered.

You watched as her tiny fingers handed Bucky the small box. Your daughter watched eagerly as your husband opened the box to reveal a necklace with a small silver rectangular locket, similar to the shape of his dog tags he always wore around his neck.

Bucky's heart almost stopped as he opened the locket, inside was a picture that he had taken of you and your daughter on the beach during his birthday two years ago. The photo was of you holding your daughter in your arms, the two of you smiling in on the sand as the sunset painted the background with beautiful shades of pink, red, and orange.

That was it.

That was Bucky's breaking point, he could no longer hold back the stinging in his eyes. Tears slipped down his cheeks, he wiped them away quickly but not without you seeing.

"Daddy? You don't like it?"

"No no, I love it princess. Thank you." He said while clearing his throat, he pulled the two of you into his lap and smotherd you both with kisses.

"I love you both," He said softly

"I love you too." You pulled him into a kiss before your daughter separated the two of you.

"Ewww."

Bucky snorted out a laugh,

"Let's eat hm? Im starving."

a/n: this is completely self indulgent but idc. also late fathers day post, this was supposed to be posted three days ago oops. anways this is like a test run for me maybe posting a bucky mini fic I've been working on lol.

like, comments, and reblog appreciated!

[sstan-hoe]

i need this man taking off my pants and eating me out as if he haven't had pussy in five hundred years

[sstan-hoe]

When I’m reading a good fanfiction, but then they call reader Sweet girl, innocent girl, baby girl

YOU ARE NOT MY DAD

[sstan-hoe]

omg could you imagine Bucky’s reaction to finding out you think the age gap between y’all is hot?! he’d be horrified for a split second then tease tf outta you with that smirk

Oh yes, and I definitely see him mocking you about it too.

Everytime you’re on a walk and you pass through some older man in his seventies or something, he gives you a smirk and says. „They’re younger than me, you know that?”

„Bucky, I swear to God—”

„What? You said you find the age gap hot” He chuckled darkly. “Bet you like calling me ‘sir,’ too, huh?”

You slapped his arm. “Shut up.”

———

And there is no chance he’s not using this in bed against you just to turn you on.

Your back hit the mattress and Bucky hovered over you with that goddamn smirk again. He kissed you just beneath your jaw, slow and purposeful.

„You’ve got a thing for guys who know exactly how to touch you?” His metal hand slid under the shirt, cool against your heated skin. “Who’ve had decades to learn how to ruin you?”

“Bucky—”

He cut you off with a low groan, his hips grinding against yours. You could already feel how hard he was. “Say it.”

You bit your lip.

He tugged your shirt up just a little more. “Say it, doll. You like that I’m older.”

You whimpered. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” His voice rasped. “Bet you love when I call you sweetheart. Or when I make you beg. Is that it, baby? You like being fucked by someone old enough to know better?”

You moaned, and that was all he needed.

He flipped you effortlessly, chest pressing to your back, lips brushing your ear.

“Gonna show you exactly why you find it hot,” he growled. “And you’re not sleeping ’til you forget your own damn name.”

[sstan-hoe]

heavy in your arms

Summary: Bucky has big arms. And you've been dreaming about losing yourself in them since you saw him for the first time. Inspo: beefy!bucky wrapping his bicep around your neck to pull you flush to his chest while he pounds into you deliciously Pairing: beefy!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warnings/tags: smut; porn without plot; breath play (kinda); arm kink; chocking kink; silent play; p in v; unprotected sex; praise kink (reader); no use of Y/N Word count: 2.6k Notes: quick drabble i wrote in like two hours because i couldn't stop thinking about this post by @fckmebarnes

You’re not entirely sure how you got to tonight’s events.

You met Bucky Barnes a few months ago in a local market. He seemed lost. Like buying tomatoes and plums from a sweet vendor on the street was the hardest chore someone could do in a lifetime. You approached. He looked uneasy, pulled away. You spoke, soft and tender. He barely answered. American. 

But you saw each other again. And again. And again, on the same market. At some point, you wondered if he would come just to see you. One day, you invited him to your home. You didn’t think he would say yes, but he did.

You know his name. He’s hiding something dark, deep, and he’s got a shiny metal arm instead of a left human arm. All the rest of him is… normal. He’s quiet, quieter than should be comfortable, but you’re okay with it. And his presence in your home comes like a balm. Becomes a routine. He comes over once a week, you make him his favorite soup. He always looks tired.

Then, tonight, something shifted. You made a comment about his arms. His big fucking arms, because, God, he’s muscular and big, so much bigger than you. And you’ve wondered what it would be like to lose yourself in those arms, to have them wrapped around you as he fucked you into oblivion, until you forgot yourself.

You’re both in the living room, and Bucky is the first to reach forward, towards you. He’s careful in his motion, but firm, his body moving with a certain precision. Flesh hand, warm, wraps around your smaller right wrist and tugs you closer, until your bodies are practically touching. Every inch of him on every inch of you - almost.

His icy blue eyes trail over your features like he’s studying you, learning, memorizing. They are directly locked into your own eyes for a moment, holding your gaze, and you think you detect something behind that look, like he’s about to say something, but decides against it. Then his eyes are on your cheeks, taking in the pinkish tone on your skin, and then lower, on your lips. Plump, a little trembling, as if they are begging to be kissed. To be devoured by his own. You don’t need to ask it out loud. Bucky’s memories are scattered across the continents, but the look on your face - the want - that one he recognizes.

His body towers over yours and he starts to lean down, and you still catch the moment he starts to close his eyes. And then, a hairsbreadth later, his lips are pressing to yours. The kiss isn’t tender, isn’t sweet. You didn’t expect sweetness from him, anyway.

Bucky is hungry and he kisses you exactly like a man starving. When was the last time his lips were on someone else’s willingly? When was the last time he felt like his body really was his own? He’s not sure he remembers, but this, right here, your small, fragile body on his - it feels good.

Your lips move together, hard and hungry, and he tastes like alcohol and fruit and the mixture is strange on your tongue but not unpleasant. He licks over your lips, inviting himself into your mouth before his tongue slides past your lips and tastes all of you. His flesh hand is still holding on to your wrist, but when he kisses you like that you moan and instantly, his hand moves to grip your hip tight. Bucky holds you hard against his body, and already you feel the outline of his hard cock through his jeans. Your hips roll forward, teasing, seeking friction, and he makes a noise into your mouth which you swallow like it’s your own.

Bucky breaks the kiss for a moment to search for air, and he takes in the sight of your flustered face. He seems proud of the work he’s done, metal arm reaching up and craddling your cheek as his thumb rubs over the reddened skin.

“You’re beautiful.”, he says, and his voice is rough with desire. You open your mouth to say something, but Bucky catches your lips in another lustful kiss that leaves you breathless before you can get a word out. Then he’s pulling away again. “No, love. No speaking unless I ask you to.” His head lowers and you think he’s about to kiss you again but instead his head dips between your neck and your shoulder and he licks a strip across your neck. Then, his teeth are digging into the skin before he sucks it into his mouth and that elicits another moan from you. His hand on your hip tightens and he groans in disapproval. “No noises either, love. You don’t make a sound. Do you understand?” You’re a quick learner, because his question doesn’t receive a spoken answer. Instead, you simply nod, your body already slightly trembling under his hold. “Good. Such a good girl for me.”

His words bleed into your ears like acid, burning their way through every inch of your skin, crawling, a brand being placed upon you. Such a good girl for me. It echoes inside of you, and you can imagine that, many moons from now, those words will still be glued to you like they are a part of your core.

Bucky is still kissing your neck, and his teeth graze the skin ever so slightly a couple of times. He’s testing you, testing your restraint. And you provide nothing. Not a single sound, only your eyes rolling into the back of your head, back arching slightly into him. He’s hot and warm and built like a wall - firm, big, his muscles so big they completely crowd your every sense. There is so much of him. Standing tall and strong, the red henley strained against his arms as his muscles flex as he grips you tight. And your mind is spiraling, because you had to be blind to not notice how big he was, but now, this close, you feel so small in comparison, so breakable. And you are sure he could break you if he wanted to. You’re not entirely sure he isn’t doing that, right now, just in an entirely different way.

You almost mewl in disappointment when Bucky momentarily pulls away from you, but you don’t, and he takes notice. You’re being such a good girl, and he’s never been quite this turned on, even though you’ve barely done anything at all. Both his hands move to the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. Then he’s walking forward, and you walk backwards, and somehow, you end up with your back against the couch. Bucky is grinning at you. Not a full grin, no, but a delicious half-smile, confident he’s tearing you apart bit by bit. His eyes are skimming over your torso, landing on your black lacy bra and he can’t help but immediately move his flesh hand to massage one of your breasts, grabbing, the size of it perfect in his big palm. His thumb brushes the soft material of the bra to the side, just enough to free your hardened nipple and he plays with it between his fingers. 

You still don’t make a sound. God, it’s the hardest thing you’ve done all your life - not making a sound when he’s teasing you like this. But you’re a good girl. You can be good for him.

“Love-”, Bucky breathes and he kisses over the expanse of your chest. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” His voice isn’t demanding like the rest of his body is right now, but it’s rough enough to make it clear he needs an answer.

“So good.” 

*

A while later, you’re both naked, Bucky stroking your bare back with his fingers as you suck in a breath.

You are slightly bent over your couch, legs spread, and your arousal is slowly dripping down the inside of your thigh. Bucky catches some of it in his fingers and uses it to stroke his cock as he looks at you. 

What a sight to behold. You, spread out for him. Wanting, needing, not making a damn sound, like he asked you to. The imagery makes his cock twitch in his hand and he has to take a deep breath, slow his thoughts, otherwise he’d be gone before this even started. 

Bucky runs his metal hand over your hip, around the base of your back, so close to your ass, and his touch is reverent, like he physically needs to touch every inch of skin to make this perfect. Then, the tip of his cock is pressing against your folds, and the intrusion is most welcomed. Your hips roll back into him, and Bucky rests both hands on your hips to stop your movement.

“Don’t be greedy.”, he breathes, but in the next second he’s slowly sinking himself inside of you. His cock stretches you out and you grip the edges of the couch hard, so hard maybe you’ll leave nail marks afterwards, because it’s the only way you can stop yourself from making a sound. Sweat coats your body, and his, and his metal arm circles your waist, gently pressing against your stomach to keep you pressed tight to him as he sinks deeper, and deeper, until he’s fully seated inside of you.

Bucky groans and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard in your life. He doesn’t remember any other feeling quite like the feeling of being buried so deep inside of you. Your pussy feels divine, wet and warm, gripping him like a vice. It feels like it’s singing to him, a goddamn siren song, and he will never be able to leave again. 

“Oh, fuck, love- so tight.”, Bucky says, half a whimper, and he gives one tentative thrust. And you feel it then - his body shaking against yours. “Tell me this feels good. Tell me you want this.” Bucky’s pleading, a small contrast to the way he’s handling you, and you let out a soft gasp you had been holding on.

“Please, Bucky, I want you. I want you so bad.”, you respond, and the arousal in your voice is confirmation enough that you’re not lying. “Please, your cock feels so fucking good-”

And then your sentence is interrupted, because Bucky slides his flesh arm around your neck, hard bicep wrapped around you as he pulls you flush to his chest. He uses his knee to lift one of your legs from behind, resting it against the back of the couch, and then he starts fucking into you, thrusts slow, hard, deep, his bicep pressed so hard around your neck that you feel almost light headed. The grip of his arm is not enough to take your breath away, but it is enough to hold you in place, to stop you from moving, from doing anything at all. Anything but moan for him. You’re not sure he wants you to right now, but you can’t really hold it back when his cock is buried so deep, hitting every sweet spot, his balls slapping against your ass in a slow, sensual rhythm that sends you flying.

“Bad girl.”, he moans into your ear, but he doesn’t make a move to stop, and instead, fucks you through it, a little harder, a little deeper. “Making noise when I told you to be quiet.”, he continues speaking, voice hoarse, but his hips don’t snap out of their rhythm, and so you still moan. One of your hands comes up from the back of the couch and you drag your nails over his large arm, the one wrapped around your neck, and his hips stutter for half a second. “Naughty. And I fucking love it.”

He angles his hips better, lifts your leg a little higher with his knee and then he’s changing the pace, his cock driving in and out of you a little faster. The noises coming out of you are pure filth, obscene, and you’re glad he isn’t asking you to be quiet now, because you don’t think you could. Bucky’s lips drop to your neck, and he kisses the soft skin as his metal fingers slide down your stomach and start rubbing circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. He feels you trembling in his arms and he tightens the arm around your neck, keeping you more in place.

“I’ve got you, love.”, he moans against your neck, and his metal hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t stop and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your moans. “You’re so amazing. Could stay inside this tight pussy for hours.” Your body shudders against him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as his filthy praise makes his way into you. God, you want, need, more of this, more of him. 

But he has you pressed flush against his chest, against his body, and you’re his to take. He doesn’t let you move anything other than your arms, everything else in his total control. And you love it, you’d beg for it if he made you.

His metal fingers fasten the movements on your clit, and the cold metal feels perfect against the heat of your folds, so perfect. Your stomach feels tight, muscles coiled with the pressure of the orgasm that is building right in the back of your gut, spreading over your every limb, expanding and threatening to make a mess out of you. Bucky feels it, feels your walls clutching around his cock and it only spurs him on. His hips snap faster, fucking you with renewed vigor and his lips trail from your neck to your ear, whispering all the filthy things you seem to love.

“Gonna cum so hard inside this pretty pussy.”, he says and you whimper. He responds to that by thrusting particularly hard inside of you. “So good for me. My favorite girl. You gonna cum for me, love? Gonna cum all over my cock? Let me feel you.” 

Your arms are clawing at the bicep still tightly wrapped around your neck, not because you want him to move it but because you need to hold on to something as you come apart, in all senses of the word. “Bucky, I’m so close- please don’t stop.”

He wasn’t planning to. 

And shortly after, he tips you over the edge. You see white, your mouth opening to let out a strangled gasp as your orgasm washes over you and your whole body trembles against Bucky. He whispers soft praise into your ear as you cum, hold you through every spasm and moan, flush against his chest, and his hips don’t falter. He fucks you fast and hard and hot until you’re going limp in his body, and then he thrusts a couple more times, his rhythm broken, before he curses your name under his breath and spills himself inside of you, his seed filling your pussy to the brim. 

For another minute he just fucks lazily into you, like he’s just making sure no second of his or your orgasm go to waste. His arm around your neck loosens up and it seems like he’s about to move it completely out of the way, but you hold on to it. You feel his gaze on you, almost confused.

“Don’t move.” You ask, a little pleading. Your eyes are closed as you try to get your breathing back to normal. “Stay. For a while.”

He does.

For a while.