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artficlly · 5 months ago

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smog & spirits: eye for an eye (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, smut, p n v, unprotected sex, table sex, light fingering, hair pulling, begging, past wounds, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: hi!! i spent all of jan doing my 50k word challenge on the daughter of rotsál first draft, but i thought i'd take these first few days of feb to update this fic! i also released a smutty/fluffy oneshot called sweatpea you should check out! my birthday and uni is coming up soon so i'm gonna try squeeze in some more work on the daughter of rotsál draft before that and maybe one more update / another one-shot but i'll see how i go! anyway, enjoy this is a spicy one! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The shipment warehouse was a vast, hollowed-out space. Shadows stretched long beneath the dim, hanging bulbs. The scent of aged wood, alcohol, and rust lingered in the air, the faint remnants of the whiskey that passed through here on its way to buyers. Though mostly empty, clusters of wooden crates were stacked against the far walls, some sealed, others pried open to reveal their glass cargo, bottles of dark amber liquid reflecting the weak light. Scattered metal production tables dotted the floor, their surfaces scratched and stained from years of work. These were the stations where workers packed the shipments, but now, the tables sat abandoned, save for one.

At the centre of the warehouse, in front of one of the tables, three men sat bound to chairs. Rope bit into their flesh, tight enough that their fingers were already turning an ugly shade of blue. The table before them had been repurposed for something far crueller than packaging liquor. A collection of weapons lay across its surface—blades, hammers, pliers, each one arranged with careful deliberation.

By the main entrance, Steve and Sam stood guard, their figures solid and unmoving, you eyed them cautiously as you passed through the threshold. They didn’t quite meet your eye, and you wondered if they could hear the deafening pulse that roared in your ears. The cold night air filtered in through the open doors behind them, a scattering of ash decorating the stone floor.

Bucky entered beside you, his steps slow and deliberate. But you could feel the unspoken tension rolling off him in waves. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his shoulders squared rigidly, his jaw tight. The walk over from the Sootline had been silent, even if you could practically feel the heat of rage radiating off him. He didn’t seem eager to talk to you, even if his gaze would occasionally flicker to you to make sure you still followed along behind him. Maybe he feared he would find judgment in your eyes because he never held them for long.

“Bucky—” You called out softly, but the gangster shied away from your touch, the fabric of his sleeve slipping through your fingers.

He strode forward, each step heavy, his boots striking against the stone with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound echoed through the warehouse, filling it like a countdown ticking. You knew him. You had to remind yourself of that. You knew this man—the sharp edges of his cruelty, the weight of his fury, the way violence coiled beneath his skin like a second nature. You knew him intimately; you had felt the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his hands, and the steel of his will.

And yet, in this moment, he felt distant. Unreachable.

Even if he was angry, even if he had been cold and dismissive, his rage was not aimed at you. This was because of you. Because of what happened. The thought should have been comforting, a reassurance that you were not in his path and that his wrath had a different target. And yet, the knowledge did little to ease the weight pressing against your bruised ribs; it didn’t stop the breath from hitching in your throat as you took in the scene before you.

You were safe. You knew that.

But safety did nothing to silence the unease creeping through your veins.

The Iron Rats reacted the moment Bucky neared them. Two of them shrank back, their chairs creaking as they futilely tried to recoil from him. Their eyes darted between Bucky and the weapons on the table, their breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. One of them had already begun to tremble, his lips forming silent prayers, his body betraying him as he shook against the restraints.

But the third man—the one at the end—was different. He didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. He simply stared ahead, eyes hollow, his expression unreadable. It was as if he had already accepted whatever was coming and made peace with the inevitable.

“Barnes.” You snapped louder this time, voice clipped. The gangster paused his movements, not even turning to look back as he raised his hand, silencing you with a raise of his index finger.

“I was considerin’ if the bird needed to see this.” He finally broke his silence, voice low with a dangerous edge. “But I think she needs’a understand, don’t ya think?”

His hand struck forward, grasping one of the cowering men’s chins, forcing his head to look in your direction. You could tell his grip was bruising, even from a distance, the skin around his thumb growing white at the pressure. “She needs’a understand what happens to dirty fuckin’ rats that come crawling into my territory.”

Bucky released the man with a sharp shove, and the Iron Rat nearly sobbed in relief, his chair rocking back violently from the force. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Bucky barely spared him a glance. Instead, he dragged his fingers down the front of his suit jacket in one broad stroke as if ridding himself of the filth he had just touched.

Then, without looking, he reached for the table, his fingers curling around the worn handle of a butcher’s knife. The blade was thick and heavy, meant to cleave through bone as quickly as meat. As he lifted it, it scraped against the metal tabletop, the sound sharp and grating—final.

Bucky turned to you, his fingers curling around the handle, weighing it in his grip like an executioner deliberating his next stroke. His gaze pinned you in place.

“Left or right, doll?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut.

“What?” You stammered back in response.

“Left or right?” His voice was eerily steady, too casual for the brutality hanging in the air. It was as if he were asking you to pick a wine for dinner, not deciding which limb would be lost. Your throat tightened. The Iron Rats were barely breathing, one whimpering, his chair creaking under his tremors.

You forced your voice to work. “Barnes, don’t you think we’ve caused enough damage?”

You knew you'd made a mistake the second the words left your lips.

Bucky’s head snapped towards you, his jaw ticking, something dark and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. The shift in him was immediate, electric. He abandoned the bound man without hesitation, closing the space between you in a few sharp strides. Your pulse stuttered.

He was on you in seconds, looming, his presence suffocating. You turned your head instinctively as his breath fanned hot across your cheek, but there was no escaping him.

“No.”

The single word was like a hammer shattering stone.

“We ‘aven’t caused nearly enough damage after what they did.” His voice, low and venomous, left no room for argument. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers twitching with barely contained rage. “You think I’m gonna let these filthy fuckin’ rats walk away after puttin’ their hands on you? Huh? After hurtin’ you right under my fuckin’ nose?”

Your breath caught, your ribs tightening under the weight of his fury. He leant in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed your ear. His words were a vow, a sentence carved in stone when he spoke next. “You’re under my protection. Mine. You’re mine. So fuckin’ choose, doll. Left or right?”

Your stomach twisted. The Iron Rats were silent, frozen, waiting for your answer as if it were their final prayer. You swallowed.

“…Right.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth curled, but there was no warmth in it. It was a razor-sharp thing, all teeth and no kindness. His eyes gleamed with something feverish, something manic.

“Good girl,” he purred. The praise was smooth, almost sweet, but his grip on the knife tightened, knuckles whitening around the handle. And then he turned. The Iron Rat barely had time to process what was happening before Bucky moved.

The butcher’s knife came down in a single, brutal arc.

A sickening crack filled the warehouse as steel met flesh and bone, followed by a scream so raw, so agonised, it turned your stomach. The man convulsed against his restraints, his bound arms jerking wildly, but there was nowhere to go.

Blood splattered across the metal tabletop, dark and glistening. It pooled. Dripped and painted the concrete floor beneath him. His severed hand tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, fingers twitching uselessly in the growing puddle of red.

Bucky barely spared the carnage a glance. “You touched her,” he said coldly, voice devoid of sympathy.

“So I took your fuckin’ hand.” He tilted his head, considering the sobbing, writhing man before him. “Consider it generous that I ain’t takin’ both.”

The Iron Rat howled, his body convulsing. Tears streamed down his face, his cries dissolving into choked, incoherent pleas for mercy. Bucky wasn’t listening. He wiped the blade clean against his sleeve, smearing crimson across the dark fabric like a war trophy. Then, slowly, he turned to the second man, pointing the stained blade at him.

“Your turn.”

The second Iron Rat thrashed in his chair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His eyes, wild with terror, darted between Bucky and the ruined stump of the first man. Blood still poured from the wound, pooling beneath the chair, seeping into the cracks of the warehouse floor. The stench of it—sharp, metallic, raw—hung thick in the air.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, I—I didn’t even—”

Bucky slammed a heavy hand down on his shoulder, silencing him with a violent jolt. The Iron Rat flinched, chest heaving, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. Bucky turned to you again, the knife glinting under the dim warehouse lights.

“Left or right?”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging deep enough to leave crescent moons in your skin, but the sting barely registered. Your mind screamed at you, an urgent, panicked voice clawing at the edges of your thoughts. Stop this. Say something. Tell him it’s enough.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew the truth now, Bucky wouldn’t listen. Any sense of cold calculation had snapped within him, as if his father himself had possessed his body. His blood was up, his fury ran red-hot and unchecked. Reason was a foreign concept to him in this moments, swallowed whole by vengeance and violence.

Your breath felt thin as you watched him, as you remembered what was left of Varlan Crey. The Rat King, so smug, so untouchable, had been brought to his knees. Felled not by magic or blades, but by the sheer, unrelenting wrath of Bucky Barnes. He had survived, maybe by the hand of a small mercy. Or maybe just dumb luck. Because you had seen it—the flicker of real, unguarded fear in Crey’s eyes. The raw understanding that, for the first time, he had stood at the very edge of death and only barely stepped back in time.

You swallowed, throat dry as dust. “Left.”

A shuddering breath left the Iron Rat, some final, pitiful sound before—

Bucky moved.

The blade came down hard.

The crack of severed bone and the wet, visceral tear of flesh split through the warehouse. The man’s scream ripped through the air, raw and broken, his body jerking violently against the chair. Blood sprayed across the table, warm and thick, dripping onto the floor. His severed hand landed with a sickening slap, fingers twitching before they went still.

Bucky tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders, keeping him from toppling the chair over as he convulsed in agony. He wiped the blade again, slow and deliberate, his gaze flicking to the last Iron Rat—the one who hadn’t made a sound.

The man met Bucky’s eyes with an eerie, empty calm.

No trembling. No pleading. Just quiet resignation.

A slight, bitter smile played at the edges of his lips as he tilted his head, gesturing to his left hand, which was secured against the arm of the chair. A soldier offering himself to the executioner.

Bucky exhaled sharply, amused. “Good choice.”

And then he brought the knife down.

The man grunted as the blade severed flesh and bone in one clean stroke, but he didn’t scream. His body twitched, stiffening against the pain, but he bit it down. His severed hand dropped onto the table this time, fingers curling inward, as if gripping something unseen. Blood seeped from the wound, a slow, steady stream.

Bucky studied him for a moment, almost impressed.

Then, satisfied, he tossed the knife onto the table with a dull clang. The first two Iron Rats were still crying, writhing, staring at their stumps like they could somehow undo what had been done. The third just slumped in his chair, pale and shaking, but silent.

“I think I should take an eye next, for even lookin’ at you. What’d you think, doll?” Exhaustion lay heavy in your bones as your eyes fluttered shut briefly. Bucky was upon you again, his gaze softer now, the fury still burning beneath the surface but tempered. He reached for you, his bloodied fingers grazing your arm in a touch that was meant to be comforting. “Eye for an eye, after all.”

“I don’t…” You stammered but leant into his touch by default. Steve and Sam had adverted their eyes, their expressions unreadable as they pressed their lips into a line.

“I’ll choose for ya, how’s that sound, doll?” He rubbed a bloodied thumb across your cheek. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping something in your eyes could pull him away. But his eyes settled on the faded split in your lip, and his gaze hardened. “They have to pay.”

Bucky stalked off towards the array of weapons displayed along the table once more. The knife he chose gleamed under the dim light, and Bucky tested the edge against his thumb. A single bead of red welled up but he paid it no mind. His attention was elsewhere—on the trembling man before him, the one still staring at his bleeding stump, breath hitching in raw, animalistic terror.

“Please,” the Iron Rat sobbed, voice wet, desperate. “Please, Barnes, I can’t—I—”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like the weight of their begging was nothing more than an inconvenience. His hand was steady, practiced, as he tapped the knife tip against the man’s chin, tilting his face up.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask for pleas,” he murmured, voice eerily even. “Left or right?”

The man shuddered violently. He turned slightly, eyes flicking to you as though you could save him as if you had any say. You swallowed, your tongue thick and useless, pinned in place by the weight of Bucky’s presence and the inevitability of what came next.

When no answer came, Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Left it is.” The knife sank into the man’s left eye in a swift, brutal motion. A high and raw shriek tore through the room, sending a shudder through your bones.

You flinched, but only slightly. The movement barely registered.

You had seen Bucky covered in blood before, had seen him like this before—violent, efficient, merciless. Yet you had also seen him in moments far removed from this carnage.

You had watched him bleed and had pressed your hands to his wounds to keep him from slipping away. You had felt his warmth seeping between your fingers, his breath shallow but steady as he let you take care of him. He had trusted you then, let you see him vulnerable when he could have just as easily pushed you away.

He had defended you against the Rat King, standing between you and the man who had wanted to carve you apart. If it hadn’t been for him, would you have been at the mercy of the Iron Rats? Tied to a chair like the three men before you? There had been no hesitation in him then, just like there was none now. And it was all for you.

The thought made your stomach tighten, but not in fear. Not entirely.

Bucky wiped the knife clean on the Iron Rat’s pant leg, a simple, thoughtless movement, and turned to the last man. The final Iron Rat had been silent the entire time, watching the carnage with eerie detachment. Even now, as the scent of blood thickened the air and his fallen comrades moaned and sobbed, his expression barely shifted. He only blinked, slow and deliberate, as Bucky approached.

“Ya know what I’m gonna ask,” Bucky said, voice quieter this time.

A pause.

Then, a small sigh.

“Right,” the man murmured, resigned.

Something flickered in Bucky’s expression—curiosity, maybe. Approval. He didn’t make him wait. The blade sank deep, and though the Iron Rat tensed, his breath hitching sharply, he made no sound. Blood welled, thick and dark, spilling down his cheek, but he simply slumped against the restraints, his ruined eye weeping crimson.

Bucky lingered, staring at him, head tilted slightly. Considering. Perhaps even disappointed.

Bucky only clicked his tongue before turning back to you. The shift was subtle but immediate. The hardness in his expression softened, his eyes no longer carrying the cold fury he had wielded so effortlessly moments before. His hand, still warm despite the blood smeared across his fingers, reached for you, grazing your waist.

“See, doll?” he murmured. “Now they know.”

Your breath caught.

You should have felt horror. Revulsion. But instead, as you looked at him—his jaw speckled with blood, his chest rising and falling evenly, the fire still smouldering behind his eyes—you felt something else entirely. Something that made your fingers twitch, something that made your chest tighten.

Maybe, just maybe, this was more than just lust.

You weren’t sure whether that should’ve terrified you.

But at that moment, staring up at him, your heart still pounding, you weren’t sure you cared.

—

Bucky quickly issued his orders: everyone was to leave but you. Sam and Steve moved without hesitation, grabbing a bloodied, barely conscious Iron Rat by the scruff of their necks and dragging them towards the exit. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the cold warehouse air, thick and rich, settling into your lungs with each breath.

Bucky didn’t watch them leave.

He stood with his back turned, broad shoulders taut, tension coiling through his body like a predator still primed for the kill. His suit jacket lay discarded on the blood-splattered table. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to his elbows, the fabric marred with streaks of red. His hands—still wet with it—hung at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if the violence hadn’t yet left his system.

You hesitated before moving, carefully stepping past the grotesque remnants of severed hands littering the floor. You focused on him instead, on the way his body seemed stretched too tight like he was waiting for another enemy to appear from the shadows.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, smoothing a hand over his forearm. The muscles beneath your fingers were rigid but warm, his pulse steady despite the chaos he’d unleashed.

“You showed them your hand,” you murmured, your voice soft and testing. “What will you do now?”

Your fingers traced a slow path up his arm, featherlight over the muscle, following the curve of his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you grew bolder, stepping around him until you stood before him. His face was speckled with blood; the scarlet splattered across his jaw and streaked along the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes, cold and unreadable just moments ago, stirred—just barely—as they settled on you.

“They needed to be taught a lesson,” he said simply, his voice still edged with the lingering embers of rage. A repetition of the words he’d spoken before.

You sighed through your nose, your hands splaying across his chest. His shirt was warm beneath your touch, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding you. You pressed yourself flush against him, seeking—what? Comfort? Reassurance? An answer you weren’t sure you wanted?

“Yes,” you conceded, your voice quieter now, steadier. “But you’ve shown ‘em your hand.”

Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric, gripping him, holding him there with you. “You’ve told ‘em another woman is close to you—other than your sister. One that commands enough of your attention for you to do this.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Ya scared, doll?”

“No.” The answer was immediate, instinctive—but the certainty of it wavered, even in your own mind. Was that really the truth? “I just want to understand why you’d expose a weakness like that.”

He snorted softly, his bloodstained hands coiling around your waist, holding you there. His grip was firm and possessive but not forceful. There was no threat in his touch, only something else, something deeper, something that made your stomach twist.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe he would finally say something—something real. Something sweet. He always left you with vague declarations of ownership and lust.

Because he cared, he had to—right? No man would do what he had done tonight if he didn’t care. No man would make a spectacle of his violence, an open display of his wrath for the sake of a woman if she meant nothing? He had carved his rage into flesh and blood for you and left a message in the ruined bodies of those men. You mattered to him.

Didn’t you?

But when he finally spoke, his words weren’t what you wanted.

“You have your worth, spirit-raiser.”

A flicker of disappointment bloomed in your gut. You could have pulled away. Should have, maybe. But you didn’t because you needed something from him: reassurance, protection. Proof that he would stand between you and whatever enemies would inevitably come for you now that he had placed you in the centre of this war.

Perhaps tonight had been proof enough.

Conflict and confusion pressed heavily in your chest, warring with the heat between you.

Fuck Becca’s warnings.

There was something here, wasn’t there?

Your hand slid up, fingers ghosting over the rough stubble of his jaw. You cradled his face, pulling him closer. His breath was warm, tinged with the faint scent of whiskey and blood, and for a moment, you hesitated—just a moment—before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky responded instantly, like a man starved, his eager hands gripping your waist with a bruising intensity as if grounding himself in your presence. A sharp wince pricked at your ribs, but the hunger in his kiss quickly drowned it out. His lips moved against yours with fervour, rough and consuming, parting only to let his tongue sweep into your mouth, claiming and demanding. You melted into him, your body yielding beneath his, heat pooling low in your stomach as his touch ignited something primal in you.

He moved with purpose, guiding you backwards. His hands were restless, roaming up your spine, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your blouse, searching, craving skin. The cool air kissed your exposed flesh as he fumbled with your buttons, the urgency in his touch making his movements clumsy. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss as your own hands wandered lower, gliding down the firm planes of his chest. The taut muscle beneath his white collared shirt flexed beneath your palms, solid and unyielding.

His breath hitched slightly as you dragged your nails over the crisp fabric, feeling the faint thrum of his heartbeat beneath. You felt the shudder in his body as your fingers found the buttons of his vest, slipping them free with deliberate ease. Bucky’s hands found your breasts, moulding the soft flesh through your brassiere with a rough, needy grip, his thumbs sweeping over the peaks in slow, teasing circles. Your head tipped back, a breathy sigh escaping your lips as heat coursed through you.

The vest was discarded in a swift motion, tossed aside without care, and before you could fully react, Bucky’s strong hands lifted you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the cold metal of the production table. The chill of it sent a shiver through your body. Still, the heat between you and him was overwhelming, obliterating any thought. His body pressed between your legs, the hard line of him nestling against you through the fabric of your skirts.

His mouth devoured yours again, possessive and unrelenting, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a sharp, fleeting bite before his tongue soothed the sting. You whimpered quietly into his mouth. Clinging to him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan from deep within his chest. His thumb grazed over your nipple, teasing through the lace, and your breath hitched.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. There was only Bucky—his touch, his breath, his desire pressed into your skin like a brand. And you welcomed it. Welcomed him.

You could already feel the hard length of him, pressing insistently against your inner thigh through the layers of fabric. His heat was unmistakable, searing even through the barrier of clothing, and a shiver rolled through you. The anticipation was unbearable. You reached for his belt, fingers nimble and eager—

But Bucky chuckled, low and deep, knocking your hands away with an easy flick of his wrist. His pupils were blown wide, dark pools of hunger that drank you in as you leant back on your elbows, your body sprawled out before him. His lips were swollen, slick with the mingled taste of you both, his breath warm against your skin. Your chest heaved, one breast exposed where he had tugged it free from your brassiere, the cool air sending a shiver through you.

“Greedy, ain’t ya?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but his touch was anything but teasing. His hand slid beneath the heavy fabric of your skirt, fingers dragging up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You barely had time to process the sensation before he grabbed the delicate waistband of your tap pants and tore them down your legs, the lace rasping against your skin as he wrenched them past your ankles and boots.

The discarded scrap of fabric landed somewhere on the warehouse floor, forgotten. His hands were already on you again, possessive, insatiable. You let out a low groan, head falling back as he trailed a digit through your wet slit, humming in delight as he found you already dripping with desire. “Don’t need an arousal potion for this, do we?”

You ignored his quip, instead wrapping your legs around his waist. He chuckled at you, rewarding your eagerness by pressing one of his digits into your cunt. You clenched around him with a whimper, hips rocking as you internally begged for more friction.

“Let me hear your noises, doll.” Bucky commanded, his spare hand trailing up your thigh. You whined softly, bucking your hips once more in a silent plea. The gangster smirked down at you, pressing a second digit into you as you squirmed beneath him.

“Please, Bucky.” You mewled, pulling him closer with the legs hooked around his back. He obliged, slowly pumping his fingers in and out. You could hear the squelching of your wetness, your body shuddering with impatience at the leisurely pace.

“You want more?” He purred, teasing you with a quick flick of your clit with his thumb. You clenched around him involuntarily, a breathy gasp leaving your mouth as pleasure rocked up your spine, a new wave of electricity flooding your gut.

You pushed yourself up, hands grasping his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt as you pulled your bodies flush. The heat of him seeped into you, intoxicating, overwhelming. Your mouth found the column of his throat, breath hitching as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his exposed skin. His pulse thrummed beneath your lips, quick and heavy, and you traced it with your tongue, savouring the salt of his skin.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale as you dragged your mouth along his adam’s apple, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before sucking a bruise into his neck. His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but you didn’t care. You wanted them. You wanted him to brand himself into your skin the way he had branded himself into your mind.

“Please,” you breathed against his ear, voice hushed, desperate. Your tongue flicked along the shell, teasing, before you nipped at his earlobe, letting your teeth catch just enough to make him groan. “I need you inside me.”

The words sent a shudder through him, a growl vibrating deep in his chest. “Turn around, bend over the table. Now.”

Your head tilted, temple resting against the firm plane of his shoulder as you gazed up at him, your breath uneven. His fingers twitched inside you, a steady rhythm still building, each pump igniting a slow, unbearable heat in your core. A sharp gasp left your lips as pleasure twisted through you, your body tensing in response.

“My ribs—” you managed to gasp, wincing as the dull ache reminded you of your bruises.

Bucky stilled for a moment, a flicker of something soft crossing his face, a rare moment of tenderness blooming between the two of you. His breath was warm against your cheek as he considered your words, his free hand smoothing over your hip as though grounding you.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, low and reassuring, though the husk of his voice betrayed his restraint. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

Gentle. A rare promise from a man like him.

Then, just as quickly as he had stilled, he withdrew. A wet heat lingered in the absence of his fingers, and you shuddered, your walls clenching around nothing. A soft whimper escaped before you could stop it, your body betraying the ache of emptiness. You unhooked your legs from around his waist, knees wobbling as you moved, turning yourself around atop the table.

The cold metal kissed your stomach as you laid your front flat against it, one breast still bare from where he had pulled the fabric away. A shuddering breath left you, anticipation thick in your veins as you braced yourself against the surface, your hips lining up with the edge.

Behind you, you heard the sharp metallic clink of his belt buckle, followed by the slow rasp of leather sliding free. The head of his cock pressed against your slick opening, teasing but not quite entering. You whined into the table as his large hands stroked up the back of your thighs, gripping the flesh.

“So wet,” he muttered. His voice was thick with hunger as he pushed your skirts up, bunching the fabric around your waist, leaving you utterly exposed to him. His hands trailed down, calloused palms smoothing over the curve of your ass before he spread you open, admiring the slick evidence of your need. “So good for me, huh, doll?”

A desperate whimper left you, your body shivering under his touch. You pressed your folded forearms beneath your chest, arching your back in an attempt to save your bruised ribs from the unforgiving metal table.

Then, at last, he pressed into you.

A gasp tore from your throat, your body instinctively tensing as he stretched you open. The intrusion was thick and slow, overwhelming at first, your cunt clenching down against the pressure of him. Your teeth sank into the flesh of your thumb, muffling the choked moan that threatened to spill free. Bucky cursed under his breath, withdrawing just enough before easing back in, working you open with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Ya like this, don’t ya?” His voice was low and strained, his grip tightening on your hips as he pinned you in place. The firm drag of him inside you sent sparks of heat flooding through your veins. “Like me claimin’ you? Like knowin’ I’d fuckin’ tear through them bastards just to keep ya safe?”

A broken moan left you, your body trembling against the metal. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust pressing you further against the table. The slick, filthy sounds of your bodies moving together filled the empty warehouse, the echo of skin meeting skin mixing with your ragged breaths.

Bucky groaned, his hands wrapping around your hips as he rocked into you harder, deeper, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. Your mind swam, the bruising grip of his fingers the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Tell me, doll.” His voice was rough, a demand wrapped in silk and sin. His hips snapped forward, driving into you so deep it left you gasping. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Please—” The word came out in a small, needy sob, your voice trembling as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

Bucky growled, a deep, guttural sound. One of his hands abandoned your waist, sliding up the length of your back before tangling in your hair. His fingers twisted into the strands, yanking your head back with a sharp tug. A strangled moan burst from your lips, your back arching instinctively. Your nails scraped against the metal table, searching for purchase as he fucked into you harder, faster.

The steady, brutal rhythm of his hips grew relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. A filthy symphony of desperate moans, ragged breathing, and the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into you echoed. Bucky groaned, the sound low and primal as he chased his release. His grip on your hip was vice-like, anchoring you in place as he pounded into you without mercy. You could only hope Sam and Steve weren’t lingering nearby to hear the sinful chorus of your pleasure.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as your body tensed, pleasure spiking hot and fast through your veins. Your legs trembled beneath you, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm coiled, threatening to snap.

Then he tugged your hair again, the sting mingling with the pleasure in a dizzying rush, and you came undone.

Your cunt clenched around his cock, a strangled moan ripping from your lips as your body spasmed beneath him. Stars burst behind your eyelids, pleasure flooding through you in rolling waves. Wetness dripped down your inner thighs, evidence of your release slicking his length as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Bucky let out a deep, shuddering moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you into bliss. His grip on you tightened, his cock pulsing as he spilt inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum. He kept thrusting, his movements growing erratic, chasing the last remnants of pleasure as he wrung out every drop of ecstasy.

His fingers slowly uncurled from your hair, his grip loosening as the tension drained from his body. You collapsed against the table, breathless and spent. You lay motionless beneath him, allowing him to use you as he rode out the final waves of his release, his heavy breaths mingling with yours.

Gods, you were going to need to take an anti-pregnancy potion after this.

PART EIGHT

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 5 months ago

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I'm facing a very difficult February...

Due to the reduced work hours I've been experiencing since the beginning of January, I'm looking at a very rough financial situation in the month ahead. I haven't been able to get a second job because first, post-Christmas no one around here is hiring, and second, I'd have to reduce my availability at Walmart, which they never look kindly upon and will end up getting my current hours cut further. However, it does look like I'll be getting most of my hours back by the end of February. So I just have to ride this out for a few weeks more.

In the meantime, in order to keep a room and not have to sleep in my car, I have to try to raise some funds again. I hate having to do this; I'm both exhausted and incredibly ashamed of having to beg this way. While also realizing it's gotten nearly impossible to raise what I need because everyone has their own financial limits. But in my desperation, I need to try - all the while hoping and praying for a miracle.

I'm housed through Saturday night (Feb. 8) and currently have $13 to my name. My immediate goal is to raise enough to keep lodging from the 9th - 15th, plus have some funds for food & gas (my next payday is the 13th). Beyond this, I hope to raise enough to get me into March.

immediate need: $0/$500

long-term goal: $0/$900

As ever, my heartfelt thanks go out to anyone who can help with donations or reblogs of this post. I will be reblogging this as often as I need, so if you don't want to keep seeing this, you can blacklist the tag #coping with homelessness.

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gingernut1314 · 1 year ago

Note

I just want to say I love your blog!! Not sure if you do requests but I loved the one about the hammock and Zoro. Can you do a part 2 where the crew wakes up and teases Zoro about it (and obvi sanji gets jealous)

Demons and Claws Pt. 2

Warnings: gender-neutral reader, Fluff, mild anime spoilers (Chopper)

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Thank you!! I really appreciate your kind words!! 🩷 I do take requests!!! And yessssss!! I love it when the crew interacts! I hope you all enjoy! (Updated style to match like fics on Feb. 4th, 2025. No words have been changed)

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You dreamed of small coffee shops. Coffee shops whose ambiance was interrupted by your crew, who had followed you into its cozy walls.

You dreamed of cool, sea breezes and polishing weapons as Zoro laid his head on your shoulder, snoring up a storm.

You dreamed of--something hard and sharp kicked your face. Something hard and sharp that kicked your face repeatedly in a near frantic manner.

It had your eyes snapping open and held a hand up to protect your face from getting kicked again by the cloven hooves swinging your way. Chopper hung from the edge of his hammock grunting and whining as his hooved feet continued to try and find something to stand on.

“Chopper.” You said, blocking another kick. “Chopper stop.” You grumbled, making the doctor freeze. He turned his pink, top hat-wearing head down to look at you, giving you an anxious little smile.

“Sorry--wait, what are you doing in here?” He asked, his body getting swung slightly by the sea rocking the ship.

“I was trying to sleep.” You huffed, reaching over Zoro’s still snoozing form to grab Chopper. He let go of his hammock and patted your hand with a nervous laugh.

“Heh, heh…silly me. Sorry, Y/N. I’ll let you get back--”

“I am going to murder you both.” Zoro's rough voice said, cutting off Chopper and rumbling through your arms. Chopper gave a squeaking little noise, squirming in your grip and giving apology after apology that was broken by a loud scream when Sanji's head popped up next to him.

“If you two idiots don’t--” When Sanji’s blue eyes found you lying there, the murder, which had once been shimmering in his eyes vanished. “Beautiful.” He greeted, leaning in closer with that charming smile of his. “I thought I heard your melodic voice. What are you doing all the way down here with that dirty oaf?”

“I’d watch your mouth, waiter.” Sanji’s eyes snapped to stare daggers Zoro’s way, who had yet to open his eyes.

“Good morning, Sanji.” You sighed, grabbing hold of Chopper's hooved hands to lower him down onto the nice fabric of the couch below. He bounced a few times before hopping off onto the floor. “I just needed a snuggle buddy is all.” Zoro’s hand reattached itself around your waist and pulled you away from the cook smiling at you.

“If a snuggle buddy is want you needed, you could have come to me. A radiant beauty such as yourself shouldn’t have to stoop so low as to ask such a brutish creature for such things. I’ll do it without a single complaint.” Zoro’s eyes snapped open then with a growl, zeroing in on the chef.

“I’ll give you something to complain about, curly brow. Two things.” He hissed, clenching his fists. Sanji scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Well--” A knock on the wall between the two hammock rows had you pulling your attention away from the still arguing Sanji and Zoro to find Usopp had woken up and was watching all of this unfold with an amused smirk on his lips. The emergency exit that separated the two rooms snapped open and Nami poked her orange-haired head in, a look of slight annoyance on her face.

“Pay up.” He chuckled, looking overly proud of himself as he held his hand, palm up and fingers wiggling, down towards the navigator. She opened her mouth to argue but Usopp silenced her with a simple head nod towards you and Zoro. When her blue eyes scanned you both over, she shut it with a huff.

“What are you two up to?” You asked, sitting up to watch them better.

“Oh, nothing to worry your radiant head about,” Usopp said, teasing you with the compliment Sanji had just given you. Nami ducked her head back into your shared room, grumbling away only to come back out two seconds later with a few green berries which she slapped into his hand.

“Don’t forget the specifics, Usopp,” Nami said, resting her elbows on the ledge and extending a hand toward Usopp with a smug look. “Pay up.”

“But--”

“Pay. Up. Or I’ll add interest.” Usopp groaned and handed her half of the money he had just earned back.

“Usopp.” You hissed, making the man jump around startled, to face you again. “What the hell?” He seemed to grow overly nervous then.

“Oh, you know. Me and Nami are just--” He looked back to Nami for help but the navigator gave him a little salute.

“Hope you two love birds slept well.” Nami teased your way, making your heart nearly freeze.

“Love birds--Nami--” Zoro snapped away from his argument just as she slammed and locked the emergency exit shut.

The swordsman looked over Usopp's nervous grin as he sunk deeper into his blankets before his attention drifted down to you. He took in your tensed-up demeanor. Took you in slowly and in a way that was long enough for him to try and gauge what you might possibly be thinking in that moment.

“Alright.” He hissed, having made his assessment of you. Zoro sat up a bit in his newfound annoyance, making the hammock sway dangerously. You grabbed onto his strong chest for dear life, feeling gravity pull you towards the ground.

New sturdy and not literal burlap sack hammocks were definitely in order.

“I’ve still got another hour left and I’ve had it up to--”

“Did someone say snuggles?” The groggy voice of your captain sounded, cutting the grumpy swordsmen off. You watched with a chuckle as he looked over the edge of his own hammock to spy Zoro and you. “Y/N!” He greeted cheerfully, rapidly ripping his sheets off and rushing up.

“Luffy, no--” Zoro’s warning was cut off with a pained Oomph that spilled from your own lips as well when your captain's body landed on top of both of yours. Dull pain shot through your bones, but the warm, stretchy arms of your captain extending around both your bodies was quick to ease the small hurt.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have a sleepover? We could have had Sanji cook us snacks and everything!” Luffy ecstatically said, his voice slightly muffled from where he had buried it between you and Zoro’s necks. A laugh spilled from your lips as you unwedged your arm out from under Luffy’s body to hug him back.

“I’m sorry, captain. I’ll let you know next time.” You chuckle, patting his back.

“You sure as hell won’t tell him.” Zoro gruffed, grabbing Luffy by the scruff of his red vest and pulling him away.

“Aww--why Zoro?” Luffy asked, a near-heartbroken look on his face that only continued to irritate Zoro.

“Yeah, Zoro?” Sanji teased, a smug grin on his face. “Let’s all snuggle up together next time. I call dibs on the spot next to Y/N--” Sanji had hardly gotten your name out of his mouth before Zoro was flinging Luffy’s body into him. Chopper gave a scream as the two went crumbling to the ground with a sharp grunt, the poor doctor caught in the crossfire and crushed under their bodies.

“I’ll beat you all into a bloody mess if you don’t leave me the hell alone. No one is snuggling with anyone.” He barked down at the pile of bodies on the floor, which slowly started to rise. Luffy gave a forlorn little moan before Sanji threw him off himself.

You chuckled, starting to raise to get ready for the day when Zoro’s strong hand latched around your waist. He gave it a sharp tug to pull you back into his side.

“No.” He said simply, closing his dark brown eyes once more.

“I thought you said no one was snuggling with anyone?” Zoro huffed.

“You’re not no one.” He said simply before going silent once more. You felt your chest warm at his words. A warmth that only spread as you watched his face begin to soften, sleep come to take him once more.

With a satisfied smile, you snuggled right back up into Zoro’s strong hold.

<- Previous

More like this: Couldn't Sleep? {Robin x GN!reader} ⋆ Just Trying To Sleep {Luffy x gn!reader}⋆ How Can I Be Of Service? {Sanji x gn!reader} ⋆ Feeling Generous {Nami x gn!reader} ⋆ Nightmares {Usopp x gn!reader}

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astxroiid · 5 months ago

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sagittarius with viktor? :3

ofc! thank you 💋

'kinks/fetishes'

with minimal experience, viktor doesn't know much about what he could be into - but he's open to just about anything.

If there's a chance it will please you and not discomfort him, he'll do it. He especially loves being tied down to the bed with either a blindfold on his face or gag in his mouth. Occasionally both.

Viktor also enjoys when you use your vibrator on him, it takes no time for him to end up squirming under your touch. He's a switch completely. Submitting to you one day, pulling your hair and slapping your ass from behind the next. It all depends on what tone you set though.

What ever you want, he wants. Just for you.

So far from what you've tried that he's liked has been; bondage, blindfolds, gags, pegging, vibrators, mutual masturbation, anything rough, and anything loud.

again, thanks so much! requests from my 600 q&a are open until feb. 1 !

q&a page ✷ m.list ✷ navigation

#𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 ᯓ★#viktor #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor lol #viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor arcane

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twig-tea · 6 months ago

Text

GL odds and ends 29 December 2024

The end of the year kicked my ass, but I wanted to get one last one of these out for 2024! The last one before this was 10 November. If you're interested in GL older than that, check out my GL rec list through Feb 2024 and my #gl recs tag for the other odds and ends posts. New series marked with an asterisk*.

Currently airing (with thoughts up to 29 Dec):

The Fragrance You inherit 5/8 (Japanese, Friday/Saturday-ish, no official distribution but fansub on @isaksbestpillow's blog [thank you Siiri!] I have been really enjoying this show and have been writing when I have time (last post was for ep4). At its core this is a gentle show about kind people who love each other doing their best, which is always my favourite thing. Subs are on pause for the moment so you have time to catch up before the finale!

Pluto ep 11/12 (Thai, Saturdays 9:30 AM ET, YouTube) This plot continues to be absolutely wild. There's a lot of discourse around Oom this week, to which I'll just say: Setting a test to see if the people you love will hurt themselves in order to make you feel better is not loving or healthy behaviour, even if your motivations are understandable and sympathetic. Namtan is doing a great job making these twins feel like different people, and she and Film are still gorgeous together. And I have no idea what's up with the messy lesbian sides, but I'm on the side of all of them need a time out! I've been pretty dialed out of this show because it's not my thing, so I'm not that invested in any of the relationships going into the finale, but it's been a wild ride and it seems to be holding together for those who enjoy the high drama of this plot.

*Petrichor ep 5/10 (Thai, Saturdays, 10:00 AM ET, iQIYI) The procedural aspects of this show are unfortunately not well executed, but Engfa and Charlotte have fantastic chemistry. I'm also really loving seeing Na and Max again even though I am very worried about getting too attached to their characters. It's always hard for me when a show is about a police officer trying to do good work in a corrupt system because the only takeaway I can accept is that that is not possible lol but I'm enjoying seeing these two on my screen every week (except this week, because we sadly did not get a new episode today).

*Mate, 6/12 (Thai, Tuesdays, WeTV (uncut version)) This one is hard to describe. It seems to be trying to do for trauma in a GL what Love in the Air and Bed Friend did in BL--show a realistic depiction of trauma in one of their characters and have them fall in love, and be taken care of and healed that way. But that also makes it extremely hard to watch. The trauma flashbacks and trauma responses is rough. The main character is not very likeable but that's kinda the point, I'm not minding that part of it so much. There are a lot of things I like about this show, so I don't want to discourage views. Just go into this one informed, and make the decision that's right for you.

*INTP 1/? (Korean, Fridays (?), YouTube) This is the latest short series from RedQ, who produced some of my favourite GL short series including More than or equal to 75 degrees C, and To the Ex who Hated Me. No info on how long it will be or if it will be weekly, so that Fridays release schedule is a total guess. The setup of this one reminded me of Semantic Error if SangWoo realized he was attracted to JaeYoung at their first group assignment meeting.

Recently Completed:

Apple My Love 6.5 50-min eps (Thai, Oct 12-Nov 16, GagaOOLala and YouTube) I ended up feeling like this one bit off a bit more than it could chew, as much fun as I had with it, it was a wobbly landing. I was ok with the ending at the end but I spent a lot of time watching the finale uncertain about how I felt about all of it. There's a 30 min "episode 5.1" that is an important bridge between episodes 5 and 6 (and also includes a 10-min fingering scene, thank you show) that I think resulted from either poor pacing or realizing they needed to set up the episode better? It was odd but something to make sure not to skip. The show does a lot of what I love about Kongthup's latest BLs: it avoids the worst drama pitfalls and calls them out in the show itself when it uses them, and it is largely about being kind to its characters who are figuring themselves out. Warning for extremely hard to watch secondhand embarrassment in the first couple of episodes lol Kris is such a cringefail lesbian I love her. With the caveats above, if you don't mind secondhand embarrassment and want a comedy GL and are willing to be a little patient with the ending, give this one a try!

The Loyal Pin 16 65-min eps (Thai, Aug 4-Dec 1, YouTube) Anin was the bravest right through to the end. I really liked a lot of this show, but I found the pacing a bit uneven and the finale a little rough. It's hard, because I actually am happy with the way the show ended--it makes perfect sense and was where I was hoping they would get to the entire show. What I didn't like was how we got there. It seemed wild that Pin and Anin didn't at least talk about this possibility before we got there; and didn't feel like we ever resolved the disparity between the two leads, though the show was aware of it the whole time which I did like. And you may have seen the shouting about the prank in the finale, it was in really poor taste. In the end, this show was beautiful, gave a platform for promoting Thai culture (food, clothing, history), and had excellent intimacy. I really enjoyed the slow burn between Anin and Pin, and I loved that every character had and used the agency they had, but that the show was realistic about what was in and outside of their control. If you want a slow-burn and high-heat romance and are willing to be a little frustrated for the sake of the drama, and/or you really like a pigtail-pulling romantic dynamic, you should watch this show.

Red Whisper 8 10-min eps (Korea, Oct 2-Nov 11, YouTube) Honestly this show never got better after what I wrote about it a month ago about how its portrayal of bisexuality and nonmonogamy was upsetting. For the record one last time: Not all bisexuals are nonmonogamous, and entering a monogamous relationship under false pretenses and then acting like your partner is being unreasonable by not wanting an open relationship is shitty behaviour. This one is sadly not recommended.

The Nipple Talk 10 30-min eps (Taiwanese, Nov 8-22, GagaOOLala) I highly recommended the first half, and so I am so sad to say that I can't say the same for the second half of the show. I was really enjoying how much the show seemed to support a mix of monogamy and nonmonogamy, but the second half of the show leaned heavily into 'everyone wants a monogamous relationship when they meet the right person', which disappointed me. The show also tried to introduce some themes that felt very dated in terms of how they handled them (e.g. HIV) and I ended up just not really liking the Pony character as a person by the end. The lesbian relationship was super messy in a way that I did not find fun too. Mama was the best part of this show, and I hope we get more characters like them in future (better) shows!

*Soul Sisters 24 12-min eps (Chinese, iQIYI) This entire show dropped this week so I binged it in one go. The basic setup is a GL version of Meet You At the Blossom, except the gender fuckery lasts for most of the series and they don't actually ever get to kiss. I loved this little show; it is a frenetic, very silly and censored comedy, so calibrate your expectations accordingly. But it walks the line in a way that is palatable (or was for me, anyway). Without giving too much away, it is an open happy ending. The caveats for this one are that there is no wasted tape, so the pacing is rollercoaster fast, and the cuts are sometimes jarring. But it's a surprisingly beautiful show for the budget, and I really appreciated all of the ways they came up with to give these women shippy moments. Also, good lord this main character is so competent, which is a major weakness of mine. I had a great time!

*Whisper Me a Love Song 12 25-min eps (Japanese anime, Apr-27 Dec, HiDive) This started airing in April but there was a delay and the last episode didn't air until yesterday. High school lesbians in a band having embarrassing confused and misunderstood feelings all over the place (with good endings including a kiss for at least one of our couples). I appreciate that this anime is not playing with the 'are they friends who joke about wanting to touch each other's boobs or are they more' line, they outright say they want to be more than friends and then kiss. The music is good too! Recommended if you are feeling like a high school dramedy with good tunes that stays pretty light and is in the 'bubble'.

Recent One-offs, Side Couples, etc.:

My Hot Butch Roommate (actually a 2-parter) aired on bilibili 1, 2) and was subtitled by @douqi7s on YouTube (1, 2) These two are very cute, and this little short does a ton with the very tiny 5 minutes of total runtime it uses. Give the original bilibili uploads a stream so they get views, even if you watch the YT subbed version!

Fufuknows put out a new lesbian short titled The Choices of Two Lesbian Couples in Love on YouTube This was a great short (11 min) film featuring the story of two couples at different stages in their relationship, and the different choices they make about their futures. I really enjoy Fufuknows as queer short filmmakers, and I appreciate that they regularly include lesbian and wlw content in their bi-weekly (as in, every other week) fictional shorts that they produce and release. This one is recommended!

Aim's Lesbian plotline in the new Love Sick 2024 remake concluded (this was not a plotline in the 2014 version and it's one of the changes I really like and that I think works really well) Spoiler: she doesn't get a romance happy ending but her story ends with acceptance from her friends about who she is, which was lovely to watch

There was a brief of-the-week lesbian couple who wanted to marry in Spare Me Your Mercy Spoiler: their story is tragic, which is par for the course in a murder mystery

I am suspecting wlw sides in See Your Love I may end up eating these words but I was getting vibes, and so I'm putting this out in the universe now in hopes I'm right lol

There is a new Korean shorts production company on YouTube called Lovememory (Their first BL ep is out and the GL, First Love, has a trailer)

Mom Ped Sawan started airing but I don't have a source so I can't give any info or links unfortunately. If anyone knows of a subtitled source for this show, please let me know!

My Ex's Wedding came out in Thai theatres waiting for an international source for this too

Korean short film What's In my Bag was uploaded to Matchbox I haven't seen it yet but the trailer is on YouTube if anyone is curious! The film is available now for a small fee on Vimeo (runtime 12 mins).

Sastra film app YouTube channel has several short Cambodian GL series that come out weekly Honestly they are not to my taste but I don't like gatekeeping GL especially from smaller markets. I check in on these time to time and if there are any that I think are great I'll give them a shout-out

Ditto above with JPC media YouTube channel for Thai GL shorts if there are any that stand out to me I'll say so; that being said I haven't had time recently so if I've missed anything good let me know!

Starting soon:

Us the series, Thai, 18 January 2025, most likely YouTube (as this is a GMMTV show) Caveat that this date is a rumour, see comments

Fragrance of the First Flower s2, Taiwanese, 18 February 2025, GagaOOLala ok this isn't that soon but I'm just so excited we're getting this second season after all!

It is so, so nice that we have this much GL to keep track of, I can't complain! This covers a whole month of content and it was a month I was very distracted from my QL consumption so while I always welcome anyone pointing out stuff I missed, I would particularly appreciate it this round.

#gl series #gl recs #gl meta #sapphic media #typed so that i can stop thinking it #kimi no tsugu kaori wa #the fragrance you inherit #pluto the series #intp the series #petrichor the series #mate the series #apple my love #the loyal pin #red whisper #the nipple talk #whisper me a love song #soul sisters the series #my hot butch roommate #soul sisters

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holy-puckslibrary · 1 year ago

Text

━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.”

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something.

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.”

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face.

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second.

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips.

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat.

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?”

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside.

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.”

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?”

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.”

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.”

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?”

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth.

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.”

“Why? Because you already are?”

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose.

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor.

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs.

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother.

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why.

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance.

“Who died and made you king?”

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.”

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.”

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved.

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.”

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out.

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.”

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas.

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.”

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend.

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth.

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely.

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?”

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass.

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite.

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.”

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.”

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood.

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back.

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.”

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.”

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.”

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten.

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump.

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another.

At least this one’s easy on the eyes.

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog (writing masterlist)

⬸ back to the main blog

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

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kirathehyrulian · 2 months ago

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💚🧡Wayward Sons Zine 2025🧡💚 🌅We Time🌅

@waywardsonszine (Please do not edit/alter. Feel free to reblog, but please do not repost. At the very least please give me credit.) | Zine•Tumblr | Zine•AO3 | Zine•Download |

Section: Teen Description: Teen Sam and Dean in swim trunks laying on a dock at a lake soaking up the sun.

For more art from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr or my AO3.

👇( wip screenshots and notes below the cut) 👇

For more detailed notes and better resolution pics: [AO3 link]

Art Notes:

So, to give a rough outline of the timeline, I hadn't successfully drawn anything since late September 2024 despite me wanting to. Fast-forward to Jan 24, 2025, I get tagged in the Wayward Sons Zine Vol. 4 sign up post. I had previously contributed to this Zine for it's 1st and 2nd volumes. I skipped participating in the 3rd because I was stepping back from a lot of group fandom events in 2024 and in some part eventually a lot of fandom as a whole.

I had to think about it long and hard before I finally made a decision. I knew I wasn't in the best place to make a commitment, but if I didn't take this chance I'd probably still be stuck in the artless state I was in. So, on the last day to sign up, even down to the last few hours iirc, I click on that google form and filled it out.

Feb. 1st, I was assigned the teen section and started brainstorming.

Feb. 3rd, I had an initial idea of Sam sleeping in bed unaware, while Dean is sitting on the side of the bed watching the windows, armed with a shotgun, staring outside for the monsters lurking around their room. Dean right hand is covering Sam's mouth to keep Sam from making any noise and Sam is supposed to be unconsciously holding gripping his right arm for comfort.

I transferred the right most sketch to a canvas in PaintTool SAI to start the process and immediately my fear took over. I didn't feel confident enough to make a recognizable young Jared!Sam and Jensen!Dean from these angles. And the anatomy would be more complicated than I wanted to go forward with. Also getting the perspective on the room right was intimidating. And the bittersweet-cold theme I had in my head for this idea was starting to depress me. So, I eventually scrapped this idea and tried to think of more lighthearted themes.

By Feb. 12th I had come up with three more ideas. The middle left one is the idea I eventually decided on to pursue. But the middle right was one brother shivering in a lake and the other sneaking up on him ready to pull their feet under. The bottom right was probably them relaxing in trees tops, hammocks, or a piles of books. I can't remember anymore. Dean half-sleeping and Sam reading slightly behind him.

Feb. 28th was our first check in and I sent in this screenshot to Digital. I hadn't made much progress since I had transferred the photo of the traditional sketch over to the art program. My procrastinating was already showing it's ugly head.

I think in fact from here on out most, if not all, of wip screenshots are just work I did that same day I took them. Not much would have been done in between except for the last few days when I tried to cram everything in.

March 10th, I had made significant progress on Sam and Dean's figures. I switched Dean's arms to be behind his head instead of crossing on his stomach. The less hands to draw the better. Also I planned to have Sam and Dean's legs disappearing into the water of whatever lake their visiting.

March 19th, I took two screenshots. One to show the plan I had for the background; swimming fish, tree reflections, and blurry foreground tree branches. The second to showcase I had updated Sam and Dean's face and move Sam's arms to cross over his stomach than folding his hands on his stomach.

March 25th, I started to panic about my lack of progress since it was already around the half way mark of time we were allowed. So after I cleaned up the sketch for the dock, adjusted Sam's face, made a more detailed sketch of Sam's arms, I jumped straight into line art stage for Sam.

The second check-in ended up happening on April 1st. And I said, "I'm in the lineart stage. I wished I was a little further along but I believe every bit of progress made counts and is still good progress. I'm still optimistic I'll get done on time."

But I didn't make any progress past the March 25th wip until April the 3rd. I finished Sam's lineart and made his hand a little bigger in hopes to make it more proportional.

April 16th, and I'm kind of panicking a little because I only have nine days left. But I'm not giving up completely and I start working on Dean's lineart.

April 21th, I have more of Dean's lineart from head to torso mostly figured out, but I'm debating on whether or not I should tell the mods I might not make it for the deadline. But, I'm still stubbornly holding out hope.

I started to make significant progress behind the scenes after this point. But, around the 24th I knew I wasn't going to make the deadline and had to dm Digital to inform her, apologize, and convey that I understood the consequences that I might not be allowed to participate in the final zine.

Digital mercifully allowed me a day or two over the deadline and asked me to keep her updated.

On April 25th, I took two screenshots for myself and made more official flattened layer png wip to share with Digital. I believe around this time I shorted the canvas size because I didn't have time for the background anymore. The first screenshot that day was taken 6:14 am. I had finished all the lineart. The second was taken at 8:09 am. I had filled in all my base colors. I made the png file for Digital at 2:15 pm. and all I added was the shading and luminosity atmosphere layers on top of all the other layers.

I was not going to make it in time because I still needed add the shading, lighting, water details, some foreground greenery if I can around to it and detailing on the swimming trunks. And informed Digital I would need at the very least another day. Digital said okay and that she would inform Lemons about it.

I scrambled to finish for the remaining of the 25th and into the 26th. Iirc, the last thing I did on the 25th was make the swimming trunks patterns.

I woke up around 7 am and immediately went to work on Sam's shading and lighting. And because I started Sam's first I was able to spend more time on it. But, because I took more time on Sam that ate into the time I had for Dean. I ended up having to rush Dean's rendering and he suffered a little bit for it. But, it had to be good enough. Then I added Sam and Dean's shadows to the dock and added a little more shading to the right of the line's separating each wood panel.

After Sam and Dean's shading and lighting I added a free wood texture I had saved from google images a while back to the dock on a multiply layer. I added in a lower opacity layer of Sam and Dean's skin color extending from their legs with blurring at the ends to replicate the effect of their legs sinking into the water. Then I looked up a free water texture on google images to add for the water. And then I added a little bit of luminosity to both the dock and water.

After all this I immediately sent this in at 9:24 pm on April 26th to Lemons, not knowing until I looked back on it on the late morning of the 28th that the water texture wasn't covering the top right corner. *silent tears*

I am so thankful that Lemons allowed and accepted the fixed file I sent in a few hours later after that discovery. (hours because I debated on whether or not I should even mention it and brazenly send in a fix file in hopes that it would be accepted)

In the fixed file besides adjusting the water texture layer, I also took the liberty to change Dean's freckles to a low opacity dark red color instead of just straight low opacity black and added a little more shading to the ab below Dean's right pectoral. But other than that I didn't do anything more because not only did I not want to look at it anymore but also because it felt unfair to do anything else even though I knew it need more work in some areas.

Anyways that's all the steps it took to get to the final work you see up top. 💀🎉

Thank you to @digitalmeowmix for this event and thank you to @fictionallemons for compiling the Zine. And thank you both again for your patience and understanding.♥♥♥ 🫂

🎶Main musical inspiration: Lana Del Rey "Music To Watch Boys To"

Honorable mentions: Lana Del Rey "Say Yes To Heaven" Aurora "Runaway" JP Saxe "If the World Was Ending ft. Julia Michaels"

#spn fanart #sam winchester #dean winchester #teenchesters #wincest #gencest #you decide #summer vibes #sam winchester appreciation #dean winchester appreciation #waywardsonszine 2025 #myart

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skyfallscotland · 6 months ago

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I don’t know if this is weird, but I don’t have many friends and I am weird, admittedly so…yolo, but this is just a diary post really of all the things on my mind right now.

• The response on ink & mistletoe was really lovely and I’m especially grateful for it while I’m still having a rough time.

• I really wanted to write more this week because I wanted to finish off ink & mistletoe and Truth & Talon before Onyx Storm comes out, but I have a migraine again and I’ve just been so exhausted it’s not happening, which sucks.

• I did start a new book though—my first of 2025—Just For the Summer by Abby Jimenez. One of my resolutions for the new year is to read more actual books, so I’m off to a start at least. One thing that wigged me out though, it’s first person past-tense? What the fuck is that, why are we doing that? My brain does not like.

• Speaking of Onyx Storm, should I start posting my theories now as I write them, or just save it for one big post a few days before?

• I’m still incredibly bothered by not only the continuing trend of oh surprise another special edition with content not available to you! But also mostly the response from other people to it, mostly Americans, because no one else is saying “no one’s making you buy them all” or “having choices is a good thing” because uhh *checks notes* we don’t? We just pay twice the amount of money you do for made-in-a-sweatshop, falling apart crap with less features.

• Also, just as an aside so you all are ready, I’m fairly certain there’s a special edition of Iron Flame coming…probably with bonus content. Someone asked if she was going to do one because it just had plain edges and she replied with a winking face. I’m going to say in Feb/March, and with dragon edges to match OS & the original FW print run. Call me Cassandra, idk.

• My (undiagnosed, I guess) OCD is getting worse, so if anyone has any tips or tricks for that throw them my way because seeing a psychiatrist in this town is not only the price of a small car, but almost impossible. Everyone’s books are closed, because we’re all a fucking mess apparently idk. They did say they had someone who might find me and my eclectic collection of mental illnesses “interesting” though, so I at least get to send my referral through 🙃

• Lastly, I am once again calling for people to stop drowning. If you come to Australia, please understand how rips work. If you’re not a strong swimmer, don’t swim anywhere there aren’t lifeguards. You are not as safe as you think you are, I promise you. Almost every day there’s been another drowning death that’s been entirely preventable and it’s infuriating, half the time there are kids involved. Don’t put your kids at risk for fuck’s sake. View the below if you’re curious (or coming here). I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t spot them from front on, most people can’t unless they grew up on the beach, but again, if you can’t that’s why you shouldn’t swim anywhere help can’t get to you. 31 people drowned in four weeks is madness when there are over 600 patrolled beaches in this country. And people worry about the wildlife, good lord.

#amy irl ✨#amy talks 🎙️✨

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xwynn · 4 months ago

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Help Me Keep My Car So I Can Go To Work!

Hi all! Its me, Wynnie! I'm a Black queer woman just trying to make ends meet and finally put this horrible chapter of uncertainty behind me.

In May 2024 I graduated with my master's degree in planetary science. But after graduation I was no longer receiving a stipend naturally and was not able to find any work in the interim which hurt me incredibly. In July 2024, I was evicted and immediately moved in with my boyfriend who I am still living with. Since July 2024 I was struggling to find work and ended up working in retail just to make some money even though it was not nearly enough! As of today's date (Feb 23, 2025) I finally found a job that I literally just started last week that makes decent money with benefits but because I've been living on very little money since July I am really behind on my car bill.

I work an hour away from home and my car is the the sole source of transportation for my household so not having a car for even a day is not an option. My car will officially be assigned for repossession on March 1st, 2025 if I am not able to make a minimum payment of $300.

I am calling on my community in hopes that between my personal efforts of doing instacart after my day job and funds I can raise that I can avoid getting my car repossessed.

Life has been incredibly rough and uncertain since July in more ways than one and I have been barely scraping by but with this new job I can start to get on track with my finances and not be constantly stressed out.

I won't officially put a goal amount on this because I have no idea how much I will be able to make on instacart this week so my request is this:

If you're seeing this, whether you know me or not, please please please please consider sending just $10 or $15 my way. If 10 people sent me $15 or 15 people sent me $10 I'm already half way there. I know we can get there in just a few days.

Please reblog this if you see it.

c@sh@pp: $Wynniemel

P@yp@l: paypal. me/ wyn98916

Ko-fi: ko-fi. com/ wynnie

Please do not send to my V3nmo as that is compromised right now

#wynnie rambles #black history month #PLEASE SHARE AND HELP ME

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drewsbuzzcut · 4 months ago

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Miss Possessive

Jeremy Swayman x Lyla Blair

A masterminds fic

Warnings: smut, alcohol consumption, some jealousy, Lyla being a little mean (we love her for it though) This fic is based off “Miss Possessive” by Tate McRae that I think would be a song Lyla writes. Orange text are lyrics and bolded/italicized are flashbacks

Takes place: Feb 2025

Lyla writes so hard in her journal, the lead tip of her pencil is on the verge of snapping. The silent recording studio is a perfect incubator for her aggressive inspiration.

“Baby blues undressing him

Funny how you think that I don’t notice it

Acting like we’re friends, we’re the opposite

I know what you are, trying so hard

Running ‘round tryna fuck a star”

There’s something wickedly fierce in Lyla’s eyes, fueled by the two double shots of tequila swimming in her system. If looks could kill, the blue eyed girl would be on the floor. The singer has had enough of the way these random ass girls keep coming up to her and Jeremy, not only interrupting their time together, but practically undressing her man with their eyes.

“Look at the floor, or ceiling

Or anyone else you’re feeling

Take home whoever walks in

Just keep your eyes off him

And yes, I’m miss possessive

Pretty girl gon learn your lesson”

Lyla cannot listen to one more word of how these girls were so thrilled by Jeremy’s performance during today’s game. It’d be different if they complimented him and walked away, but they linger like a bad headache. Persistent and annoying. There are so many people that they could fawn over. Why did it have to be Jeremy? It’s not like she could make them walk away either, not when so many Bruins fans are around and can spin this into a nightmare.

The pop star is usually calm and collected, but these wannabe, star fuckers are getting on her last nerve. Not even her boyfriend’s large hand on her waist can soothe the fire boiling inside of her.

“Maybe we should exchange phone numbers,” one of the girls says, shadowing everyone in a shocking silence.

The lid on Lyla’s boiling pot shoots off, allowing the emotions to take over.

“Maybe you and your friends should get the hell away from us before I knock you on your ass,” Lyla suggests with a sarcastic smile, tilting her head in faux niceness.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“A nobody? All I know is that if you keep running your mouth and trying to touch my man, I will make sure you’re never allowed in this fucking bar ever again. Leave,” the singer levels the group of girls with a scarily calm demeanor, but they don’t know she’s ready to throw a punch if one of them goes at her.

Jeremy’s eyes haven’t left his girlfriend since he felt her body deflate with a silent huff. The words spewed by the other women go in one ear and out the other. And now, he stares at Lyla like she just hung every star in outer space.

“Fuck, I love you,” he leans down to whisper in her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe. His hands glide down the sides of her body, landing on her ass and catching the eyes of the other hungry individuals.

With a scoff, they finally realize their chances with Jeremy were always in the negative and walk away.

“I know,” Lyla hums, pulling on the collar of his button up and tugging him into a rough, wet kiss.

The sound of the studio door opening and closing makes the girl fizzle out of her thoughts. An irritating heat swelters her body, making her wish she could shed off her already small, booty shorts and sports bra. She turns from where she’s laying on her stomach on the leather couch to see her man. He must’ve been tired of waiting for her to finish up and decided to just come over, knowing she is by herself.

“Hey, lucky,” Jeremy sighs, dropping a kiss to her exposed spine.

Her usually soft, green eyes fix him with a dark, steely glare. That same jealousy from before starts to boil in her veins, again.

If he notices her displeasure, he ignores it, choosing to sit down next to her legs.

“What’re you writing about?”

Should she, or should she not mention it? Fuck it, Lyla is feeling feisty.

“That blonde, blue-eyed bitch and her group of morally corrupt friends that were hitting on you the other day,” she hums nonchalantly, but her attitude is clear as day to Jeremy.

“Why do you care?” The singer continues, knowing she’s being snippy about people who mean absolutely nothing to the goalie.

Jeremy can’t fight the cocky smirk lifting his lips. He can’t help the fact that his jealous girlfriend is kind of a major turn on. He digs the heat that grows in her eyes and the way she stares at him like she’s ready for him to take her and mark her as his, and only his.

“Don’t be bratty,” Jeremy coaxes, slapping a large hand down on Lyla’s ass with a loud smack.

A soft gasp falls from her lips and lust starts to pool in her underwear.

“Don’t be cocky,” she huffs in return.

“I can’t help that I love how jealous you get, especially when you have no reason to be.” Jeremy’s fingers trail up to the waistband of her tiny shorts, snapping it against her skin until she squirms.

Of course he loves her reaction. Lyla knows it all too well. It’s precisely why she decided to act more bothered than she really is. Yes, she’s possessive, but it’s not in a toxic way.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” she sasses with an eye roll.

“Sure I am,” he hums, finally pulling off the material covering her bottom half.

The girl fights the urge to moan, biting on her tongue and holding her breath until everything is too much. She waits for her boyfriend’s next move with an intense impatience, pricking at each of her senses. It almost pushes her to flip his script and get him in her mouth, but he moves before she can. His large paws knead at the round globes of her butt, his thumb rubs teasingly close to her heat.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so wet for me,” Jeremy moans, hands spreading her cheeks apart and watching her slick, puffy folds separate.

“Touch me,” Lyla whines, taking a glance at him over her shoulder. The goalie’s eyes are much darker and he licks at his bottom lip like he’s a man starved. It makes goosebumps attack her heated skin.

“Baby, touch me,” she pleads, wiggling her hips enticingly. Her journal falls to the ground with her movements, becoming forgotten in the most obscene way.

Jeremy lowers himself so he’s level with her core, eyeing the way her arousal slowly drips from her fluttering hole. His tongue laps it up, eliciting a saccharine moan on his behalf. It vibrates against Lyla’s most sensitive parts, making her eyes roll to the back of her head and grip the leather couch.

“Oh my god,” she shrieks, panting and withering away from the man as his tongue dips into her pussy.

“You like it, lucky? You want more?” He asks questions he knows she won’t be able to answer, but he’s satisfied with her small squeal after his thumb circles her clit.

“More, J. Give me more!”

Jeremy coats two of his fingers in her wetness, teasing her opening before plunging in.

“You going to cum for me? I can feel you clenching around my fingers,” he growls, fingertips pressing down into her g-spot.

“I’m going to cum. Oh my god, baby!”

Her body starts to burn, fire blazing through each of her veins. A tight knot forms in her belly, keeping her on edge and her body ultra sensitive.

His free hand presses against her lower stomach as his sheathed fingers continue to fuck into her.

“Don’t stop,” Lyla cries, body already trembling.

Jeremy pulls his fingers out, silencing Lyla’s groans of protest with another smack to her ass. He loops his arms under the tops of her thighs, lifting her sex up and closer to him and moving her to grind against his face.

The erotic moans that escape the girl’s mouth should be conspired more heavenly than any music that can be produced in this studio. If only he could have it on his phone. Maybe they can record something just for them and store it on a private file.

“Fuck.” Jeremy wraps his lips around her bud, taking turns between sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it.

He doesn’t do it for long as Lyla comes undone on his face. Her body trembles as the knot in her stomach explodes, pushing her into the abyss. He collects her release on his tongue to help her through the aftershocks, simultaneously loving the way she continues to long for him.

“Stop. Stop,” she softly mutters, pulling away from him after her body goes limp. Her boyfriend is quick to listen to her words.

With tingling limbs, she flips over on her back. Her chest heaves and her cheeks are flushed a fiery red color. Her eyes finally focus on Jeremy’s face, his beard glistens with the remnants of her orgasm. His lips are slick and swollen. It fuels her with pride and even more lust.

“Come here,” she sighs, crooking a finger at him.

“Are you okay?” He asks, settling over her. His face finds her neck and his hands push at her sports bra.

“Mhmm. Perfect,” she responds, lifting her arms for him to take off her bra. She desperately needs her bare skin against his body.

“Are you still jealous?”

“N-no,” her words fail as his lips peck and wrap around the flesh of her boobs.

“Good.” It’s Jeremy’s turn to sigh, loving the fragile pull on his curls from Lyla’s dainty hands.

She cups his face, bringing his lips down on hers. Her limbs wrap around him, feeling his hard cock behind his sweatpants. The kiss becomes so intense, they both start to pant against each other. It only spurs them on to explore each other’s mouths with their tongues. The taste of herself on him drives her crazy, driving her to rub against him in a sizzling need.

“You’re booked here for the whole night?” He wonders against her lips, already pulling off his clothes.

“Yes.” Everything after that quickly fades away as they begin to relish in a much more strenuous activity.

#lyla x jeremy #jeremy swayman #oc!singer x jeremy swayman #nhl imagines #boston bruins

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erstwhilesparrow · 4 months ago

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for @mcyt-aro-week , based on the Feb 23 prompt ___ to Friends / Adventure / Baking !

content warnings: brief suicidal ideation, internalized arophobia

---

Jimmy wakes with an ugly pit of dread in his stomach, breath smothered against the blankets. Tango isn’t clinging to him or anything — he’s been careful enough to stick to his side of the bed — but Tango’s body is warm. The bed is narrow. There’s a bit of light slipping in through the rough windows in their front doors.

Tango mumbles something sleepily at him when he gets out of bed.

“Nothing,” Jimmy replies quietly. “Just getting started on the bread. It’ll— take a while.”

The rustling of sheets. Jimmy pictures Tango, the rise and fall of his breathing, and then he can’t. He just can’t, so he goes to the chests, where all the real stuff is, the wheat and the water and the bowls.

It’s not hard, making bread. It takes a while, is all. A lot of it is about waiting around. He listens to the sound of the blankets, the occasional creak of the bedframe, while he mixes ingredients and kneads dough. It’s early morning. There’s light coming in, but not much. There’s a little bit of a snore in the way Tango breathes.

Jimmy dumps the dough in a bowl and staggers out into the dewy morning air. He gathers wheat. He replants the seeds. He thinks about the long drop down to the river at the bottom of the ravine. It wouldn’t even kill him. He’d just fall, unless he missed the water.

Oh, but he doesn’t want to be like Martyn, does he?

—

Jimmy wakes up, same pit, same smothering, same light. He fucked up the bread again. It’s not even that hard. Even you could get it right, Tim, comes Grian’s voice, though only a memory. It’s just him and Tango in this house. Just them and the morning light. Tango mumbles something and Jimmy feels Tango’s breath tickle his cheek.

He gets out of bed and goes straight outside this time. He’ll get it right this time. He’ll keep an eye on the dough as it rises, make sure to dust everything with flour, double check that he greased the bowl but not too much. It’s a lot of waiting around, a lot of watching something until you don’t realize it’s changed, but— He’ll get it right this time.

He almost pinches himself to wake up, the early morning mild around him, but Tango’s still sleeping. It’s like a wire between Jimmy’s teeth, tugging at his jaw. His soulmate will feel it if he pinches himself.

Jimmy collects the wheat. Jimmy checks on their gates, their walls. Jimmy does not hesitate in front of their door. It’s just his soulmate in there, dozing, waiting for him. It’s Jimmy’s turn to handle the food. Fresh, perfect bread for the perfect partner.

—

The next time, Jimmy makes it all the way to breakfast.

“You did the bread,” Tango says, tearing out a haphazard chunk of one of yesterday’s loaves and sticking it in his mouth. Chews. His hair is falling in his face, strands like stretched dandelion flowers. “I can feed the animals.” He glances in the direction of the pen. “They could do with some culling, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy agrees absently. “Yeah, I’ll… Erm. What are we short of?”

Tango snorts unflatteringly. “Everything, man.”

“Right,” Jimmy says. “Right, yeah, we’re really—” He laughs a little. “We’re really poor, aren’t we?”

Tango cants his head, amused. “This is the part where you say all we need is each other, Jimmy.”

“Is it?” Jimmy asks, startled into earnest surprise.

Tango laughs. He turns in his seat so he can stretch his legs out beside the bare, haphazard table. A lot of Tango, besides the colours, is unremarkable.

“I’m not actually done with the bread,” Jimmy confesses. “It’s taking a bit.”

“Just waiting for it to rise, yeah?” Tango says.

Maybe that’s the problem. It takes so long, and Jimmy keeps putting it off. They’ll be out tonight, if he’s not quick about this. And not that they don’t have other food, it is a ranch after all, but if they’ve planted all this wheat, why waste it?

Jimmy’s had a lot of time to think about that. He tries to forget while he eats the chunk of bread Tango hands him.

“Do we not even have two bowls?” Jimmy mumbles, taking another piece of bread and scattering crumbs across their table.

“You used the other two,” Tango points out. He doesn’t make a fuss about much of anything behind closed doors, but sometimes he gives Jimmy this look—

Jimmy sighs and puts his head to his palm. “I forgot.”

As if to salt the wound, when he finally goes to check on the dough, he finds he didn’t even remember to cover it properly.

—

It was different with Scott, wasn’t it? They didn’t trade breath like that. And there was all that business with ‘being married,’ but…

No, we have to share, Scott told him once, in that flower valley with their backs to the border, him rummaging through Jimmy’s chests while Jimmy squinted at him. We’re married; that's how it works. See? I even left a flower for you.

It all struck Jimmy as a very Scott sort of thing to do.

—

This time. This time. He’s put the cover halfway on the bowl already, and he’s got the grease out in the other bowl. He left Tango breathing slowly in their bed and remembered to wash his hands. He’s collecting wheat when he looks up and Pearl’s peering over the wall.

“Hi, Jimmy!” she chirps.

Jimmy laughs weakly. “How are you so chipper this early in the morning?”

Pearl hauls herself up onto their wall so easily it makes Jimmy want to grab his sword. “I guess I’m just a morning person. And a nighttime person. And a middle of the day person. I haven’t been sleeping very much.”

Jimmy puts away the wheat he’d been holding. “You looking for something?”

“You think I’m looking for something?” Pearl asks, grinning too wide.

“Hey now. No funny business,” Jimmy says.

“Funny business? No, no,” Pearl laughs. “Nothing funny at all about this.”

Jimmy crosses his arms. Pearl’s gotten strange, but really, what did anyone expect? Her and Scott breaking off like that— “You should get going. I’ve got baking to do.”

“Ohhh,” Pearl says, eyebrows raised. “All right.” She snickers. “Everything’s harder with two mouths to feed, isn’t it? Tilly’s like that too.”

“Your dog isn’t— Don’t be silly.” Jimmy bites down on his burst of frustration. It’s pathetic is what it is, to be soulmates with a dog. Everyone looks at you and knows. But it doesn’t do to antagonize reds, and whatever Pearl is is close enough. “Just go.”

“Jeez, okay,” Pearl mutters, climbing down the wrong side of the wall and skipping over their wheat. “I thought we were friends, Jimmy.”

Jimmy imagines his chest splitting open, the wicked edge of an axe killing him from the other side of the world.

“We are, we are,” he says. “I’m just— busy right now.”

Pearl laughs again, more brokenly this time. She leaves.

—

Never let it be said Jimmy doesn’t know how to stick to a plan. He’s staying inside for this one, watching the bread rise while Tango eats.

“Ren told you?” Jimmy asks. He’s eyeing the flour they made together. It’s definitely enough, but he’s itching to make more anyway.

“Mm,” Tango says. “Poor guy. But you gotta feel sorry for Grian, too, right? First he gets teamed with Scar, and now this? All that history, the whole server finding out you’re cheating is like—” His voice dips, rough with sleep. “Yeah. Insult to injury.”

Jimmy isn’t sure he can stay where he is another minute. Is he sorry? Is he sorry? Is he sorry? “Poor guy,” he echoes, feeling it reverberate in him, heart and lungs and spine.

“You okay?” Tango asks, the edges of him still soft in the little light that gets in.

Jimmy grins. “Great. I got my soulmate, I got my bread— What more could I want?”

“Iron,” Tango suggests with a sardonic look. “Diamonds.”

Jimmy snickers along with him. He even gets to cut open the dough before putting it in the furnace this time. It burns.

—

Okay. Fine. So it’s not working. So the certainty weighs like a stone in his guts. Jimmy decides on a different tack.

He wakes up — still the pit in his stomach, still the faint light from the door. Still the sheets. But he tries to take a full breath, and he pictures it in his mind’s eye. Outside, once the morning sun has burned away some of the mist. Taking a full breath of cool air. Carrying the dough in the bowl in his hands out onto the wooden platform pressing sinuously along the cliffside. Tearing off a piece of the dough and hurling it, as hard and as far as he can. Like a snowball. Doing that again and again, until all of it’s gone. Until it’s just him, and the air, and a heartbeat in his ears.

Sure. That helps enough. Jimmy gets out of bed. He goes to their chests and follows the steps he’s followed a thousand times. As he’s mixing, he looks down into the bowl. Like a snowball.

No, he’s not doing that. He’s here. He’s got Tango. None of this swanning off to be with chosen soulmates, none of this messing about with snow or cactus or the sharp edge of an axe. Certainly no cheating. Him and Tango, they’re going to get it right, exactly right. He’s going to do it all right this time.

#sparrowsong #mcyt aro week #i've been calling this double life bread timeloop au #and 'bread timeloop' as a concept continues to delight me #get stuck in a timeloop!! playact domesticity like that's ever going to save you!!

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